#alas that does not stop the evil thoughts in my brain

[pen-of-roses]

.

[hauntingblue]

Evangelion movie hello

[faketrex]

Slowly but surely approaching the end of this caper... but first, Alex and Henry need to kick off their best friends tour.

To be continued.

...

SHARING A SLICE... part 5

RWRB, rated T, 750 words (this part).

(click here for part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

...

“Alex.”

Blearily, Alex blinks up at the ceiling.

“It's time to wake up.”

The voice is familiar but weird, like listening to a recording of himself. Alex rubs a hand across his eyes and looks over toward the sound of a floorboard creaking. That explains it: his own voice always sounds strange outside his head.

“Go away, Evil Alex,” Alex mumbles. “I'm tired.”

“What?”

“Why no eye patch, Evil Alex? You always have an eye patch.” It doesn't matter. Alex closes his eyes. Since he's still dreaming, he can get some more sleep.

“Get up, we've got brunch reservations and you should shower first. Unless of course you have a fetish for bees? That certainly wasn't on your Wikipedia page.”

“I – bees?”

“Cake contains sugar, Alex. Are you always so obtuse in the morning?”

Cake. Alex snaps awake. He sits up, but Henry-as-Alex has already disappeared through the doorway. “I thought you were my evil dream twin!”

“Your phone won't stop vibrating,” Henry calls back. “Does the name ‘Bug’ sound familiar?”

Fuck. Alex needs to text June – calling would be better if she's blowing up his phone, but June would see through Henry's shitty subterfuge in a second – and then he needs to – “Did you say brunch?”

“We're leaving in thirty minutes.”

Alex showers and brushes his teeth in record time. It's not easy getting clean while trying to ignore, like, all of his borrowed body – Henry's body – but he manages, mostly. Surprisingly, Henry's pretty fit. Alex had assumed all those beach photos were airbrushed.

Back in the living room, he finds Henry wrapped in a robe on the loveseat, scrolling on his phone.

“Why aren't you dressed?”

Henry looks up. “For the same reason you're wearing a towel, I assume. Going through your suitcase would have felt rude.”

“I'll dig out an outfit for you if you get one for me, just try not to – what the fuck did you do to my hair?”

“Nothing.”

“You must have done something, it never looks like that.”

“I didn't–”

“Did y'all ever have guillotines in the U.K.?”

“Charming suggestion, Alex, don't hold yourself back on my behalf.”

Alex keeps his commentary to himself while he's standing six inches away from Henry, trying to fix his hair from an unfamiliar angle, and even while they’re getting dressed – except for some entirely valid criticism of Henry's boring ties – but it's all fair game once they're seated across from each other, pretending to enjoy one another's company.

“You look exhausted,” Alex begins.

“Why, thank you, your royal highness. I didn't sleep much last night.”

“Maybe I should have warned you, I have insomnia.” Alex waits while the server sets down his coffee and a pot of tea for Henry. “I don't know if insomnia is a brain thing or a body thing, though. Hey, does this coffee taste weird? How often do people try to poison you?”

Henry takes a sip from Alex's cup. “It tastes fine. As a world-class insomniac myself, we may never know the answer to that particular question, but it seems we've already determined that taste is a matter of body, not brain.”

“What? How?”

“I don't like coffee.” Henry blinks at him slowly, obviously, like he's waiting for Alex to pick up on a secret code. “Usually.”

“Oh.” They swap drinks. “Anyway, I didn't know royals ate brunch,” Alex continues once he's sipping his Earl Grey and – as if things weren't bad enough – actually enjoying it.

“Alas, man cannot live on ribbon cuttings alone,” Henry quips, so deadpan that Alex nearly snorts. “Brunch was easier to arrange than any other morning appearance, given the spontaneity of today’s... excursion. Shaan is still organizing our afternoon engagements.”

“He's getting everything cleared, right?”

“Of course.” Henry smiles at the server as they arrive with their food. There's no hesitance to it, not like the smiles Alex has seen him wear in photos. At least Henry’s not a dick to service industry workers.

“In normal circumstances, there wouldn't be any public royal appearances the day after a royal wedding.”

“Yeah?” So they're breaking rules by trying to fix everything. Good to know.

Henry nods. “In an effort to avoid stealing attention from the all-important pomp and circumstance, you understand.”

“Well... seems like that ship has already sailed.”

“Boy howdy,” Henry drawls, sipping his coffee. “I do believe you might say we’ve dulled their sparkle.”

Alex can’t help it this time: he laughs. When Henry grins back, Alex isn't even thinking about the cameras.

...

(Part 6)

[sgcairo]

what are mamattores thoughts on each harbinger????? im hungry for her

She's been rotating in my brain for eons... so let's do it!

Pierro

Smash. She sees him and immediately thinks he's hot, has to physically compose herself so she doesn't start trying to flirt with him in the middle of being questioned by the Snezhnayan court. Sure, he might be the Tsaritsa's (potential) man, but she's not against sharing. In fact, she might just bag the Tsaritsa too, while she's at it. When she does flirt with Pierro, the poor man is hopelessly oblivious, thanking her for her compliments while the other Harbingers look on in disdain. Poor Mamatorre gets a little discouraged, but it's worth the blush on his face (she thinks it's cute).

Il Dottore

I mean, he's her baby so... She loves him. So much. To the point that she pulled a knife on Pantalone and threatened to cut him if he ever breaks her son's heart. That might've been overkill, but the point stands. She's the supportive evil mom, and encourages Dottore to do all the nefarious things he wants. She also advises the segments to try questionable methods of torture, which are suspiciously effective. Regardless, every time they see each other they scream, run, hug, and probably bite each other. She's always believed in her son's abilities, and she isn't about to stop now.

Columbina

Mamatorre thinks she's so pretty. If her son weren't trying to shoot his shot with a clueless banker, she would've definitely encouraged him to go after Columbina, because she is beautiful. Ah, but her son doesn't swing that way, so she'll just have to settle for having tea with the Damselette. Overall, she quite enjoys conversations with the Third over the "narrative" and gushing about Danya. The two also get up to quite a bit of mischief together, as one does when they're evil and inexplicably immortal.

Capitano

Oh, she thinks he's an absolute unit. The beefcake son she's always wanted, and quite the gentleman when she comes to visit. Capitano tends to escort her everywhere when Dottore's busy, and he's chivalrous as always. She quite enjoys his protectiveness, and she often comments that he's the "son she never had", to which the Captain's ego is inflated just a little. She admires his blades quite a bit, and if she weren't so old, she probably would challenge him to a duel, but alas, she has bad knees and he's still young and spry. Ah well, she'll just hang off his arm and pat his muscles for comfort instead.

Pulcinella

Three words: Old people gossip. These two, when put together, will not stop talking about their respective "children". While they often butt heads on whether Dottore or Childe is cuter, they agree that Danya is just the most adorable, most precious little guy ever, and will gush about him for hours. Mamatorre thinks he's a little suspicious, and probably wouldn't trust him alone with her child, but they do have their old person gossip huddle every once and a while, just because they have nothing better to do.

Scaramouche

What a little bitch, she thinks, staring blankly at him as he growls like a damn feral animal. She thinks he has rabies. Either that, or there's something profoundly wrong with him. Probably both.

Sandrone

Does not trust her. While usually she would gush about how pretty Sandrone is, there's something about her that raises Mamatorre's hackles, and she'd rather keep her at arms length, if possible. She's never outright hostile towards Sandrone, but the two being left alone together leads to an awkward atmosphere that won't leave them alone. 0/10, would not recommend.

La Signora

She never got to know her, but I just know, in my heart, that they would be the two pretty best friends.

Pantalone

He's weird, but he's kind of her future son in law, so she can't be too hard on him. Besides, he's pretty rich, and also deals in poisons, so... Okay, she likes him. She likes him a lot, actually, and the fact that he's taking care of her son and grandchild only gives him more points in her book. Sure, he rambles about economic shifts, and is chronically stressed out, but he's not the worst candidate for her son's hand in marriage, and has so much money. He also has a nice wine stash that she can steal from, so extra extra points for that.

Arlecchino

Thinks she's hot, but in a handsome way. They have a sort of comradery, both of them being parents of a sort, but also Arlecchino has the style and attitude that Mamatorre approves of. Yes, put that man in his place, you're doing amazing sweetie- Mamatorre says give this woman a medal. Arlecchino also has a pretty cool and shiny sword, which Mamatorre is a big fan of.

Tartaglia

She thinks he's funny. She's probably one of the only people that thinks he's silly, and is always delighted by his excitement for battle. He's just a goofy little guy to her, and she often treats him to traditional Sumeru dishes when she can, just because she knows he'll eat it without complaints and probably ask for more. She really unloads her motherly nature onto him, of all the Harbingers, given he's the youngest, and proudly watches him dice up enemies from the sidelines while cheering him on.

Bonus:

The Tsaritsa

Hot damn. Give her a piece of that, she'd give anything to bite the Tsaritsa, even if it's the last thing she does. It doesn't help that the Tsaritsa and Pierro are both pretty and standing next to each other all the time, so she's hit with the double whammy of attractiveness. She absolutely loves talking with the Tsaritsa, just because they can gossip and giggle about Pierro together behind his back. Once again, the poor man is too oblivious to realize what's going on, and just thinks they're talking about Capitano again...

[buffster]

Judgement (ATS 2.01)

This is part of my ongoing Buffyverse Project, where I write notes/meta for every episode in an attempt to better understand the characters and themes of the shows. You can find the BTVS list here and the ATS list here. Gifs are not mine.

Host: You know what I'm talking about: in this city, you better learn to get along -- 'cause L.A.'s got it all, the glamour and the grit, the big breaks and the heartaches, the sweet young lovers and the nasty ugly hairy fiends that suck out your brain through your face -it's all part of the big wacky variety show we call Los Angeles. You never know what's coming next. And let's admit it, folks - isn't that why we love it?

I get the feeling I'm missing something in my Angel analysis by never having lived in or visited L.A. It seems like a show informed by and designed around the city in a way that's just going right over my head.

Our trio has grown confident in our absence. They're like a well-oiled machine, intent on their mission and refusing to be distracted. They even have an organized white board to track the progress of cases. But then we learn the reason for this intensity: Angel has been thinking about making it to the finish line. He's ready to be human.

Very on brand that part of his consideration is that he'll soon need a workout regimen.

Angel: You got your steam, your sauna, fresh towel . . . where's the down side?

Cordelia: You shower with a lot of men.

Angel: I'll always be a loner.

We then check in on Lindsey, who is becoming somewhat of a Faith figure to Angel's Buffy: does he want to be him, kill him, or fuck him? He's becoming obsessed with Darla because of her connection to Angel as well. It's clear they plan to use her to get to Angel, but this seems like a very similar scenario to when they sent Faith: there's just too much history and variables here for them to be sure of the outcome.

I'm enjoying Wesley's methodical, practical approach to his job. He really treats it like a vocation he wants to be successful at. He's been working on creating contacts in the demon world for them. And while I appreciate the broadening of the Buffyverse as we learn not all vampires/demons are bad, it does take away some of Angel's tortured soul alure when we learn of people like the Host. If there are creatures like Angel out there, why the lonely, cursed existence? Why didn't he stumble upon this community years ago? The implication is that he's dark and tortured because it's his nature, not his curse.

We're introduced to Caritas and The Host, who attempts to warn Angel he might be headed for a fall and offers to give him a read. Angel declines. He goes to find his demon.

I didn't love the scene where Angel accidentally kills Jo's protector. I just felt it could have been executed better. It felt a little unbelievable that she didn't shout, "Hey! Don't kill him. He's protecting me!" during the whole scuffle. Alas, she did not, and Angel is wracked with guilt over killing an ally in the fight against evil. It turns out the trio's intense focus on knocking out their list of demons so they can reach the finish line is having some unpleasant consequences. They didn't stop to focus on Cordy's vision and what it meant...they just attacked.

I'm happy to see Gunn again, although I could use a little less of this "he's a black man from the streets" being his whole personality. Feels racist. He finally formally meets Cordelia and Wesley.

Angel: I saw the light at the end of the tunnel, that someday I might become human . . . that light was so bright, I thought I was already out.

Cordelia: Yeah, we all got a little cocky, didn't we? It's gonna be a long while till you work your way out. But I know you well enough to know you will. And I'll be with you till you do.

I've watched Angel through all of once before now...we don't get to see what this child grows up to become, do we? Kind of a shame. I'm intrigued.

Angel is forced to sing 'Mandy' so he can save Jo. He admits he finds it kind of pretty.

Cordelia: That man will do anything to save a life.

Angel finds Jo (with the help of The Host) and has a fight to the death before The Tribunal to save her life. Interesting we're not going with the "animals don't like vampires" tradition here and Angel does just fine on the horse. Jo now has protection until the child comes of age.

Angel decides no more keeping score. They're focusing on one job at a time.

Faith: The road to redemption's a rocky path.

We check in on Faith at the very end as Angel visits her in prison. It's cool to see he's continuing to mentor her, and it appears she gets tested pretty often there. She's learning some self-control. I wish she'd gotten more of a role and less of the occasional cameo.

Character Notes:

Cordelia Chase: Alright, I'm too lazy to check. Didn't she draw incredible sketches for the Scooby gang? Why is Angel drawing the demon she saw for her? She's been watching a Noir festival on Bravo.

Faith Lehane: Prison food isn't that different from what she grew up on. She's finding comfort in the routine (possibly becoming institutionalized)

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce: Absolutely loving his sass with Dennis.

The Host: His bar is called Caritas, latin for 'Mercy'. No weapons or violence allowed.

[pekodayz]

uhhh............. ososan oc infodump but i laser u after u finish reading bc i am... out my comfort zone. vulnerable to everything (cries) I HATE BEING SELF CONSCIOUS . plz... read under the cut.. haha.

So I made three in one go, bc I wanted to have a trio...badly. They were initially just my basic ocs, but I realized it would be funny to change them and put them in hell. (stripped of their powers and forced to be human ??!!) Their og clothes were good (they're cute ashell but I NEEDED them to be in casual clothing). So I was thinking about ososan, then my brain clicked. After like 3 weeks of me losing files, getting petrified. drawing something else to cope, and staring at other ppls stuff... I came up with those designs. I AM SHY PLEASE FORGIVE ME and the grammar idk it's 3am...and im a bit nervous

So there's Aini (she/her..5'2) . "what the hell is that "fufufu~" for??" "..I-It's my signature laugh..shut up..". She has a complex where she thinks she's better than everyone else. Cocky. She's a (squints) a chunibyo...and a tsun___.She finds this world boring and a waste of time. She believes that she is a demon, and that she is surrounded by petty humans. Don't mind her, she's harmless. Unless she gets like flustered, then she pulls out a gun and gets trigger happy. (misses every time). She does know deep down, that she's playing a delusion...but she immediately removes that thought once she spots an unsuspecting victim. I think she just likes making rivals. She does get emotional and will break her act when she is at her most vulnerable state. It's rare, but it happens. She is a walking anime stereotype.

Then there's Molly (she/they..5'7). They are a sweetheart...most of the time. She's a bit of a pushover at times, but she does have another side. They care for their friends very, very much. She's the tallest of the three. Why does she always look afraid? Like they just saw a ghost...what...? Nothing is there, everything is a-okay. She lovesssss anything sweet. They get fraps...every, single, day. They can't help but drop an unusual amount of money on a sweet treat. She shares with Aini and Usiuii, they both r foreva grateful for her kindness.

Usiuii. (she/her..5'3). Stoic. Stop staring at me...why is she getting closer?? I don't know what's going on in her head, but she has some sinister vibe that travels with her every step. (jk she just wants to say hi :3!!!!) ...okay she does have some slightly evil tendencies. Keeps Aini in check by slamming her in the head with her bass. (just imagine Usiuii holding it like a bat and aiming for Aini's legs) She has a shark-toothed smiley face, wishes she can eat gum properly. High pain tolerance. She has a side gig. It's suspicious. If you do find her at that gig, do not approach her. She will spiral if she sees anyone she knows at this place, and will chase you down.

They all love pachinko. Molly thinks it's like Vegas, so she drags Aini and Usiuii with them. Aini loses the most, Usiuii is in the middle, Molly wins the most. Aini goes into a frenzy and starts to violently shake the machine, trying to force those damn silver balls to start pouring out. In the midst of her frenzy, Aini accidentally smacks Usiuii in the face. They both start fighting, looking like idiots. Molly gets her cash and pulls both of them by the collars with a disturbing look. They leave. Aini is quietly sobbing. Usiuii is counting Molly's winnings. Molly is staring at the sunset while pulling the two. (fucking idiots: she thinks while giving them a warm smile)

As for jobs: Molly works in the corporate world. She hates it...but alas, it pays well; they're just gonna have to force a smile and keep going. Every waking moment, her boss keeps giving them more work to do. Pushing her around...Molly silently gets angrier by the day. They are testing me, she smiles through the pain.

Usiuii and Aini work in a convenience store. They both love it, they can be as stupid as they want to be. Huhuhu!~ Pathetic humans in need of MY service?? Hmph. I SUPPOSE I can help you. "....isn't that your job." ".....uh....y-yeah....." (i guess u can imagine Aini leaning over the counter when a customer is about to pay...saying that...plz stop aini, you're being bizarre.) Usiuii gets realllyyyy close and welcomes anyone who comes in, she finds their reactions funny. Takes 15 steps to you: WELCOME...!~ (she gives them a wide smile, then she bursts into laughter)

The three of them would befriend Chibita. ummm bc they pay their tab as soon as they finish. And they love. love eating his oden. like it was a gift sent from the heavens. I guess they would also rant to him about their lives.

Aini thinks the matsus are figments, like how are there that many copies of one person...just there? (this is just her trying to make life a bit more interesting..don't try and school her on sextuplets, she will tune you out. ("I AM NOT A FOOL! I KNOW THEY'RE REAL, IDIOT. DON'T RUIN THIS FOR ME..." teary-eyed) Molly tries to believe they r all good citizens, blah blah blah... sees them in action. ....immediate mood change.

I think the 3 would befriend totty first....bc uh...let's just assume he still works at the cafe, okay? since molly is always getting frappes and stuff. She eventually makes small talk with totty, and yknow yay a friend!11!! They rant to him a lot, considers him a dear friend.

Ummm maybe aini would "befriend" oso at some point but like its a rivalry thing idk. it's funny. to me.. It would prob be over pachinko, aini won for the first time and she rubs it in his face. he wins, he rubs it in her face hahaha (stares at wall) .they find each other slightly annoying, but good company. i think aini would be playing one day, and stumble upon him being there..then stuff insues, omg yay friend. they both knock each other out. idk they prob get drunk one night and kiss but its like ewww cooties!!11!1 then they stare at each other. silence. "....that was gay." "....pardon?" (slams head on counter)

Usiuii hmm would be fwiends with choro bc she finds him funny .,,,looking. got em yeah. okay..fine jk they both love idols. but Usiuii does NOT want anyone to know. she begs choro not to tell a soul, threatening to take his if he dares. usiuii...what. she's supposed to be the cool one, not the one who goes bonkers over idols. but..yknow. they both fangirl over stuffz yeah...

WHAT IS ROMANCE. I DONT KNOW. (I fold on real-time romance…expect goofy shit instead. like in the anime’s!!!1!!)

umm yyahhh im exhausted. thank you for reading. i will work on their ref sheets very soon!!!!`` lhahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha oc brainrot starts......when i wake up in the morning . line up -> infodump -> ref

EDIT: i add stuff as i lay here in bed (steam comes out of head)

They all drink. but in moderation…maybe. then they beat the shit out of _____________ ____________ group attack i think. gag. haha (puts finger down)

who would get drunk (first to last): aini usiuii molly

Molly has warm hands, but when she gets nervous, they have the tendency to fidget them together a bit. Then they catch fire. oh no…..

Usiuii keeps putting her hand in the oden, to take a bite she gets yelled at every time. She says she feels no pain, therefore it’s gonna be okay guys. (she smirks, chibita chucks a hot piece at her)

Aini sometimes wears those anime head wing thingys for fun. but uhhh she plays the role. they’re not real, stop wearing them on the job. (Someone just roleplay with her for a few minutes. Then she won’t have to be so cruel with her words)

I think molly is like retsuko (yknow from aggretsuko) since their job pisses them off. she breaks, and goes on a long winded rant, full of evil. Then it wears off, and she’s all like “oh my god??!! im sososoosossoos sorry..!” then they look like they killed someone. plz forgive her.

okay they love u very much, but they might kill u in a triple attack (hearto)

[rachymarie]

Listen I know we are anti-AI here but hear me out: I have finally started seeing some kind of hope (aside from all the good work y'all do out here) for the destigmatization of schizospec illnesses, and liberate us from suffering alone hidden at the edges of society.

Firstly, AI NEEDS to immediately stop stealing from artists (I know, it won't. But a girl can dream) - a huge portion of whom I'd hazard a guess to say are schizospec (not to mention autistic, disabled, etc). Not to mention I have reason to believe that schizospec disproportionately affects BIPOC, or at least their outcomes are often worse. So it is largely affecting marginalized upon marginalized upon marginalized demographics, who are simply trying our best to keep food on the table etc and survive this cost of living crisis ETC.

Secondly, HELP us out! Humanity has been on this earth far too long to still be this embarrassingly behind on stigma. You'd think we would be accepted by now but alas it is not so. Until Hollywood stops making evil violent schizospec characters and saneist plotlines, until people stop making trends, using slurs against us, we can't truly say we are any kind of evolved society.

Now I think that, given it is anywhere near possible to seriously minimize or even eradicate the massive water consumption AI uses (which is currently being COMPELTELY misused on trying to take humans' passions and livelihoods (art etc) away instead of the actual betterment of society), it could be to our benefit. Used wisely (which it won't be), it should have potential to solve the issues humanity still finds itself plagued by. And not by placing any chips in our brains (YIKES. Deus Ex, anyone? If i am thinking of the right game) to "fix" us, but by educating

And hell, even if AI could aid (or if they won't stop being ableist, replace) saneist writers in Hollywood, since none so far (that I've seen) have been able to evolve past their bigotry/hypocrisy (being "progressive" in so many ways, including garden variety "mental health awareness", but ultimately failing to carve any kind of safe life for schizospec) and inspire change to finally touch the lives of a demographic of extremely traumatized and denigrated people.

Anyway I had this thought from Googling things and finding AI overview sometimes helpful and it got me to thinking.

So yeah, need to stop misusing - and overusing - AI!! If it is such a natural resource waste!! Stop adding it as a feature to literally everything, I know AI bros tout it as "making art accessible" - art is accessible (to most) you absolute NINNY - fight your fear/cowardice and pick up a pen/stylus, etc..

Every single thing does not need to have AI. People can't be trusted with this technology at this stage, or at least, largely do not know the true cost of AI and strain on an already suffering planet earth.

At least TRY to put adequate time into making it sustainable before foisting it upon us all!!!!

That is my rant (#2362)

[cinnaminsvga]

a love that endures | Yoongi

→ summary: 

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick��� vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look who’s coming over to say hello!”

{or alternatively: Yoongi and Y/N. Y/N and Yoongi. High school sweethearts that were never meant to last, until a reunion ten years later manages to reignite a flame that never quite burnt out.} 

→ genre: high school reunion!au, exes to lovers, fluff, humor, minor angst → warnings: shy!yoongi and shy!oc live rent free in my brain, mutual pining is poggers, hoseok and seokjin aren’t evil for once in a cinnaminsvga fic, implied smut so it’s pg-13 because i’m a wimp → words: 14.4K → a/n: SHE’S ALIVE!! this is dedicated to @himbeaux-joon​ who commissioned this piece ages ago. thank you again for requesting this because this was honestly so much fun to write. i’ve been in a bit of writing slump these past few weeks but this fic came out so easily and got way longer than expected (perhaps because it’s about yoongi and he’s always been the easiest one to write for me). enjoy!! ;o;

The mere sight of him is enough to knock the wind out of you.

Your body freezes, the hand curled around your paper cup filled with punch tightening ever so slightly. It isn’t like you’re surprised that he came; you aren’t supposed to be. Of course, you should have expected his arrival, but you’ve been hoping all night that he might have been too busy to attend.

He isn’t even on time—it has almost been two hours since the event started and you had been filled with a false hope that perhaps he had RSVP’d and decided he couldn’t make it. 

You had seen Hoseok, his best friend from your younger days, standing outside the entrance of the ballroom before they had started letting people in. The moment Hoseok saw you, he immediately came over to sweep you into a tight hug, his infectious laughter ringing in your ears. He had greeted you happily, expressing how much he missed you since high school, but never once bringing up the elephant in the room.

It wasn’t like you were going to bring him up first. No, that would be weird on your part. Nevermind the fact that going to high school reunions was a recipe for reliving past traumas and seeing all your childhood friends either married or pregnant—you weren’t going to be that person who asked where their ex was. You refused to be the person craning their neck to spy on the entrance every two minutes, hoping to catch sight of an old familiar face.

The problem is that you are that person, and you kind of hate yourself for it. However, it is also the reason why you are probably the only person in the entire ballroom who notices his quiet arrival.

He has never liked causing commotions, which is often apparent from the way he conducts himself. He walks into the room just as a loud round of applause breaks out; an old schoolmate of yours is walking up to the podium, probably the person who had arranged the get-together in the first place. It is a perfect distraction for him as he slinks past the door, keeping near the wall so as not to be seen by anyone just yet.

(Except he has been seen—he just doesn’t know it yet.)

You do not know for how long you stare at him, just that it takes you a moment to realize you haven’t taken a breath since he stepped foot into the same space as you. You take a deep, shuddering breath, forcing your racing heartbeat to calm down. You swallow thickly, throat so unbearably dry that even drinking from your lukewarm cup of punch doesn’t seem to do anything.

But the undeniable truth is there, standing only a few meters away from you, and nothing on earth will be able to wash away the nerves flooding through your system.

After ten years of radio silence, Min Yoongi is in your orbit once again.

In the grand scheme of things, ten years wasn’t all that long. Four years in university had passed by in a blur, and the absolute chaos that ensued right after you graduated as you scrambled to secure a job and move out of your hometown had made the days seem shorter than they actually were. You had not even noticed that time was passing until you found that cream envelope waiting for you one day after work, your alma mater’s school crest painfully recognizable even after all these years.

During all that time, the world around you shifted without you noticing, and that meant people were changing too.

Yoongi is 28 now. And so are you, after many months of denial. You have not seen each other since you were both 18—both of you far too young to know about any of the things you would experience in the next ten years.

He might have grown a little taller since then, something you are sure that your brother will find amusing. His hair isn’t dyed like you remembered, as he has opted to keep it his natural dark black that you have not seen since you were both in middle school. It’s styled differently too: combed over and gelled back, with his bangs pushed back and his forehead exposed. When he turns his head to the side, a gasp spills past your lips before you can stop it.

“Is that a fucking undercut?” you mutter in shock, your eyes straining out of their sockets as you try to drink him in. Even under the dim lighting of the ballroom, his new haircut is hard to miss. No one else seems to be undergoing the same mental collapse as you, judging by how everyone’s attention is still fixated on the person speaking at the podium. How the hell is no one else losing their fucking minds to the sight of Min Yoongi with a fucking undercut? Some questions are impossible to answer, you surmise.

When you decided to attend the reunion, you had not once thought about how Yoongi would look like. Somehow, you had developed this stagnant picture of him in your head, even after all these years. To you, he will always be the boy with the stark blonde hair, the mismatched eyelids, the pouty lips, the dumpling cheeks. He is the boy who can’t wear his own contact lenses to save his life, the boy who sometimes wears his favorite leather jacket to sleep, the boy who only drinks Americanos like it was water.

Gone are those days, you realize. That image of him has been smashed to pieces, instead replaced by this dashing (and incredibly hot) man—a stranger. A stranger with unbleached (and healthy) hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He has his glasses kept away, and there is no leather jacket in sight.

But you can see him, if you look hard enough. The same spark in his eye, the same curve of his lips. You catch him smiling for a second, and his cheeks still puff up like dough. Maybe it’s just hopeless thinking, but you see him. It’s still him. To you, he will always be your 18-year-old Min Yoongi, the one who would greet you with a sweet kiss on the forehead every time you would—

Raucous applause breaks you from your train of thought, and you blink rapidly in surprise. You have to forcibly pull yourself out of your Yoongi-induced trance, clapping alongside everyone without really knowing what was going on. All of the extra noise sounds like buzzing in your ears, especially when it is drowned out by the roar of your blood rushing to your head all at once.

“Once again, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We will begin the program right after dinner, so please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet! Cheers everyone!” You faintly hear your old schoolmate speak, before her voice is quickly overrun by the commotion of people walking over to the extravagant display of food. It takes a moment for the crowd of heads to disperse, so when you can finally look back to where you last saw Yoongi, he is no longer alone.

Hoseok has his arm slung around Yoongi, his infectious laughter loud enough to be heard over clinking plates and silverware. The two are as different as night and day, with Hoseok practically bouncing from excitement and Yoongi rolling his eyes from annoyance. But it is easy to see that his pout is nothing but a ruse; you can already catch the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your own seams breaking, unwittingly sporting a grin of your own. It is nice to know that Yoongi hasn’t been alone all this time, that he still seems close with his old best friend. You cannot count the number of friendships that you have lost over time, and you still grieve many of them during your quiet moments. Alas, it was often never even anyone’s fault, the strains of adulthood often being the biggest deal breakers in your relationships.

That is, of course, except for one.

“Enjoying yourself? I didn’t think we’d share the same voyeuristic tendencies,” says a voice, creeping up behind you. Now, normal people would not usually expect other sane people to invade your personal space and breathe directly into your ear, but that’s just your humble opinion. What you do know is that one certain individual enjoys breaking the mold when it comes to societal norms, and it is none other than…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shriek, nearly sucker-punching the offending degenerate in the face. You hold back your fist from connecting with his face, but your resulting irritation remains. Whether that irritation is because you regret holding back or not will unfortunately also have to remain unanswered. “Oh God, it’s you.”

“Oh, no need for that. Most people usually call me Seokjin,” he snickers, thoroughly enjoying your flushed face. Kim Seokjin pats you on the shoulder, his trademark “pretty boy” smile still as radiant as you remembered. It does nothing to quell your urge to raise your fists again, however. “Hello, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here!”

“The feeling is not mutual,” you snort. Much like how Yoongi was with Hoseok, your derision is nothing but a rouse. As much as you want to kick Seokjin in the nuts, you also cannot ignore how much you want to hug him the slimy bastard—but you definitely will not be the first one to admit it. So like the tsundere that you are, you decide to insult him instead. “Why are you here? You’re not even from this class. Don’t you have other things to do? Or rather, people to do?”

“My heart! You wound me,” he gasps, grasping his chest as though he’d been shot. “How could you say that to your best friend in the entire world? Don’t you know how much I missed you?”

“Easy. I do it because the only other alternative would lead me straight to prison,” you shrug, but your grin betrays you.

This time, you don’t jolt away when he closes in for a hug. “And I guess I miss you too,” you say, your words slightly muffled into his chest. Like always, he sees through your prickly act because as much as you like to pretend, Kim Seokjin is kind of amazing��loose bolts and all.

“It’s nice to know that your tongue hasn’t lost its edge, though I suppose I wouldn’t be intimately knowledgeable in that area. After all, I still am very much a raging homosexual and pussy isn’t really my forte,” Seokjin guffaws, his volume causing a few nearby guests to raise their heads in alarm.

You bow at them, sheepishly apologizing on his behalf before grabbing him by the collar.

“Will you stop being embarrassing for just one second? I swear, I thought I retired from my babysitting job when I graduated high school,” you hiss, but the way his mouth curls up with mischief is answer enough. God, you missed this son of a bitch.

“Unfortunately for you, being a pest is part of my DNA,” he smirks, carefully plucking your hands off from his neck, as though your nails were not mere inches away from ripping his trachea into pieces. “Though, I am offended by your assumption that I am still the same slut that you knew. I’ve grown up a little, you know! I’m a changed man!”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you of all people have settled down,” you laugh, not missing the way Seokjin’s perfectly stenciled brow raises slightly.

“I know we haven’t seen each other since Christmas, but come on Y/N! You of all people should be applauding me for my improved behavior! You must have noticed how much I changed when I visited.”

“When you visited me last Christmas, you immediately insulted my taste in kitchen towels, went on Grindr to find a hookup despite my numerous pleas, and promptly desecrated my guest bedroom that no housekeeper or priest is willing to exorcise to this day,” you gag, shuddering at the memory. “And then you ate all my ice cream and proceeded to clog my toilet!”

“Um? Aren’t you forgetting that I also bought you that dress you wanted? Rude,” Seokjin retorts, not the least bit remorseful. “Well, that’s what you get for agreeing to be my best bitch for life. You know that I take pinky promises very seriously.”

Unfortunately, he does take his promises seriously. It is probably the only thing he’ll ever be serious about, as much as the man enjoys parading his depravity. “Okay, whatever. I’ll bite. Who’s the unlucky man you’ve managed to deceive into a relationship?”

“Oh, it’s someone we both used to know. I’m his plus one for tonight,” he says, supplying you with the most useless non-answer imaginable.

“Seokjin. We’re at a high school reunion. We know everyone here. That could be anyone!” you exclaim.

“Well, isn’t that fun? Then we can do a scavenger hunt!” Seokjin grins, clapping his hands together excitedly. He pulls you in front of him, forcing the two of you to survey the crowd. “Okay, hold your arm out like this—” After a few seconds of you failing to resist him, he manages to get you to unfurl your finger as if you were about to order something from the dollar menu at McDonalds. Unfortunately for you, the tall twink is stronger than he appears. “—and just keep pointing around until I tell you that you’re getting warmer!”

“Seokjin, I don’t think this is very—” you start, but Seokjin is already moving your arm for you. Like a hurricane, Kim Seokjin listens to no one but his own homewrecking whims.

“Park Chanyeol? Close, but not really. You should know that I don’t double dip with past flings,” he says, shifting you to the left. “Kim Namjoon? Now that’s a hunk of meat that I wish I’d taken a bite of, but unfortunately he’s as straight as a ruler. Pass,” he hums, continuing to move you bit by bit.

You’re both getting uncomfortably close to where Yoongi is, and Seokjin doesn’t appear to be stopping any time soon. You did notice that Yoongi had come dateless to the reunion (a fact, by the way, that you did not rejoice over when you had noticed), but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s single. You have known Seokjin for more than a decade at this point, and despite your odd friendship, you are sure that he would never do anything to hurt you on purpose.

Though, that does beg the question… How far does his dick thirst really go? Maybe you’ll finally find out today.

“Warmer, getting warmer…” Seokjin inches you closer and closer to where Yoongi is standing. You feel frozen in his grasp, unsure if you wanted to know anymore. If Seokjin really is dating Yoongi, then what? It’s not like you were dating him anyway… What difference does it make if it’s Seokjin?

(It makes all the difference, but you refuse to think about it.)

“Nope, not Wonho... A little bit to the left… Bingo!” Seokjin declares, stopping your finger right on— “No, Y/N! Stop moving! You’ve gone too far to the wall! I was pointing at him.”

“H-Hoseok? You’re dating Hoseok?!” You squeak, an avalanche of relief flooding through you. You don’t even have the energy to pretend to be composed as your entire body starts untensing involuntarily, your shoulders slumping as though a weight has been lifted from you. “Why couldn’t you have just told me like a normal person? Why must everything be tortuous and dramatic when it comes to you?”

“I am a naturally insufferable and theatrical person. Sue me,” he shrugs, greatly enjoying the exhausted look on your face. “What? Were you actually scared that I was dating your sloppy seconds? What do you think I am? An asshole?”

You stare at him. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Seokjin scoffs. “If I wanted to get roasted, I would approach two tops at a gay bar.” He pauses. “Wait, are you seriously not going to congratulate me for finally snagging a boy who has a functioning moral compass?”

“Define ‘snagging.’ Did you, like, tie him up and blackmail him to become your boyfriend like those terrible One Direction Wattpad fanfics, or—” You stop halfway, giggling at your friend’s unamused pout. “Okay, okay. Yes, Seokjin. I am very proud of you. Congrats on finally becoming an adult. Your hoe days are over.”

“Who said they were over?” He snorts. Noticing your alarm, Seokjin rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Oh, don’t give me that look! I’m not into infidelity and you know that. I just meant that I’m still a hoe with significantly fewer options.”

“How did that even happen in the first place?” you say, jabbing your thumb in Hoseok’s direction. Thankfully, the man in question is still busy talking to Yoongi, though you don’t know for how much longer. If Seokjin isn’t lying, then there’s a high chance they’re going to walk over to say hi and you’re not sure if you’re mentally prepared to go through the five stages of grief all over again.

“Believe me, I’m surprised as well. I started dating Hoseok after he asked me for help with his sister’s wedding gift. He asked me to help arrange an itinerary for her sister’s honeymoon in America,” Seokjin explains with a dreamy smile. He sighs, holding a hand up to his chest. You can physically see the heart emojis circling his head like a halo. “We hit it off from there and dare I say… Not only is he the only person who can keep up with my high maintenance lifestyle, but dear Lord, he could totally be recruited into the NDA for his astounding dick game—”

“Ever heard of TMI? Gross,” you interrupt, your face crumpling in disgust. You shove him away when his loud cackles start rattling your eardrums.

“You were scared though, right?” he says through his giggles. “When you thought that I was dating Yoongi?”

Of course Seokjin had noticed your mini-mental breakdown, judging from the shit-eating grin on his face.

“N-no,” you stutter, but your heated cheeks and averted gaze give you away. “E-either way, I wouldn’t have cared if you did!” you say. You know, like a liar.

“I bet you don’t care that Yoongi got significantly hotter in the past ten years too, huh?” Seokjin teases, snickering loudly. Under the harsh lighting of the fluorescent chandelier lights, you might have mistaken the boy in front of you for the devil instead of your best friend of almost twenty years.

“I sincerely rue the day I introduced myself to you in the third grade,” you hiss, sipping from your cup to hide your humiliation.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re all embarrassed,” Seokjin coos, pinching your cheeks with the gentleness of an ape. You slap his hand away, unable to think of any retort.

“Cat got your tongue? You didn’t even deny it when I accused you,” Seokjin laughs. He claps his hands jovially, acting as though he’s enjoying a show at the circus. Given your performance tonight, that statement isn’t all that far from reality.

“I don’t need to defend myself from you,” you say, puffing your cheeks indignantly. “I just… think he looks handsome. Is that illegal or something?”

“Certainly not. Though, you might want to dial down the pining a teensy bit,” he singsongs. “That’s how I found you in the first place. I sensed your pining from a mile away and came as soon as I could!”

“I wasn’t pining!” you exclaim. “I was just… admiring the plant beside him.”

“Right, sure,” Seokjin says, arching an eyebrow in challenge. You feel your hackles rising at his smug expression, your ‘Seokjin-is-about-to-ruin-your-life’ alarm ringing in your ears. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I brought you over there to say hello? After all, my boyfriend is over there and as much as I enjoy pestering you, I also want to be with him very much.”

You whistle lowly, impressed. “Wow, that’s actually kind of sweet of you.”

“Yes, I know. Kim Seokjin’s heart grew three sizes that day, yada yada yada.” Seokjin says sarcastically, but his lovesick smile ruins the effect. When he opens his mouth once more, the mirage instantly disappears. “But you would understand if you saw how much he’s packing—”

“Shut up, I didn’t ask—”

“Fine, then let’s ask the man himself! Besides, you know you’re being ridiculous, right?” Seokjin tuts, annoyed. He fixes you with a glare, making you feel like a scolded child. “It’s just Yoongi. You and I both know he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and probably would love to see you after so long.”

You wave your hands around helplessly, almost sloshing your drink onto a nearby bystander. After muttering a meek apology at your harried classmate, you turn back to Seokjin with a defeated sigh.

You know that he’s right, and you absolutely hate him for it. “Jinnie, I’m a mess! I can hardly think with Yoongi standing meters away from me, much less if he were to stand right in front of me! I’m just going to embarrass myself,” you lament, holding your head in your hand.

“That’s true. You will definitely embarrass yourself,” Seokjin hums, nodding sagely. He shrugs his shoulders. “All the more reason we should do it. Relax, I’ll be your wingman like old times! All we have to do is remind him of all the fantastic, mind-blowing coitus you had in your youth and he’ll be a goner for sure.”

“If by goner, you mean he’ll be gone from my life permanently this time, then you’re right,” you groan. You have a half a mind to dump the remainder of your disgusting punch all over his expensive Bottega Veneta coat, though you also don’t want to spend the next three months receiving packaged turds from Seokjin in your mailbox. “Please, just let me suffer in silence for the remainder of the night, okay? Is that really too much to ask?”

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look of who’s coming over to say hello!”

Swiveling around, you see that your intuition is right: Yoongi and Hoseok are swiftly making their way through the crowd, one of them appearing to be more enthusiastic than the other. You swallow thickly, your palms growing damp as they get closer to where the two of you stand.

"Seokjin, we gotta go!" you hiss, but your panic goes largely ignored as your best friend leaves you to envelop his lover in a dramatic embrace.

The two men exchange teary and heartfelt touches, acting as if they had been separated by years of war instead of the meager minutes they had spent apart to greet their long-time friends.

"My honeybunch! Oh, how I've missed you so much!" Seokjin cries, nuzzling his nose into Hoseok's neck. You might have mistaken him for a vampire with how aggressively he sniffs Hoseok's skin. Had Seokjin been 5% more unhinged, you do not doubt that he might have started suckling on his boyfriend like a leech.

"Oh, hyung. It's barely been an hour, but why does it feel like it has been forever?" Hoseok sighs forlornly, jaw clenching as though he's in pain. He croaks out a sob, lifting Seokjin in the air and spinning him around. "My love, let us never part again!"

You take a few steps away from them, trying to make it apparent to all the bewildered onlookers that you have nothing to do with homosexual Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

"What kind of shitty production is this? I want my money back," you murmur, fake-gagging behind the two of them. The lovesick fools pay no mind to your disgust; in fact, they seem to relish in it. Their efforts double, their theatrical kissy-smoochy sound effects causing goosebumps to form on your arms. "Seriously, I've had enough of this and I've only been forced to witness it for two seconds."

"Tell me about it," says a voice to your left. Startled, you nearly let out a shocked gasp when you realize that Yoongi had found his way by your side, his own disgusted gaze fixed on the bumbling buffoons still lost in their world. He glances at you for a second, quirking his lips into a small smile. "Hey, Y/N."

In just six words, Min Yoongi manages to make time grind to a halt. You gape at him, your brain ceasing in function. It takes you a full minute to realize that the man standing beside you is not a figment of your imagination. You had been so caught up in the absurdity of the situation that for a moment you had forgotten that Yoongi is a real person.

It's Yoongi, your first love. The person you haven't seen or spoken to in years. The man who has haunted your dreams for over a decade. He's standing right beside you, and he's smiling at you. He's here, he's hot, and he's saying hello.

Like the incredibly eloquent and profound person that you are, you reply: "Yellow!"

You had meant to say "Yoongi, hello!" like a normal person, but your brain had amalgamated your words during its rebooting process. And so, you are left standing there silently, frozen by your embarrassment. You swear you can hear a pin drop as you beg for the earth to swallow you whole.

Unfortunately for you, the floor remains painfully tangible beneath your feet, forcing you to clear your throat and expound on your mystifying exclamation. Yoongi watches you with curious eyes, patiently waiting for you to speak.

"W-what I meant to say is, uh," you stammer, your cheeks heating up to an alarming degree. "Those yellow streamers are pretty tacky, don't you think?"

Nice one. In terms of comebacks, you would personally give yourself a C for effort. (Note: C stands for "Can I please shove a fist up my ass and crabwalk the fuck out of here?")

Yoongi contemplates the tacky decorations in question, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. They pretty much look like the stuff we'd make in elementary school during Arts and Crafts." He points to your mutual friends, grimacing in annoyance. "Them, on the other hand? No child should ever come into contact with those heathens."

"You're right," you snort, shaking your head.

There is a long and awkward pause. Yoongi clears his throat, swaying from side to side while staring at his shoes. You aren't any better, twiddling your thumbs as you will your cheeks to stop flushing. Your senses are practically screaming at you to run away and hide forever, but your limbs feel disjointed from the rest of you.

It's like we're at the zoo on a date and the monkeys won't stop fucking each other, your mind unhelpfully supplies, offering you an image that will permanently make its home on the backs of your eyelids.

Desperate to break the silence, eventually you say, "Hey, Yoongi—"

Right at the same time, Yoongi says, "Hey, Y/N—"

Another pause, but this one is slightly less tense. The two of you share a nervous laugh, though yours sounds a little bit more hysterical. You motion for him to speak first.

"I, uh... wanted to say that you look great. Yeah. Like, you haven't aged a day at all. N-not to say that I don't think you've matured or..." Yoongi stumbles over his words, his voice cracking.

Instead of feeling relieved that he's just as nervous as you, his anxiety only exacerbates your own. There's a reason you have never been good at public speaking, and this is a good example of why:

"No! I get what you mean, don't worry about it," you laugh, on the verge of a mental breakdown. What the fuck is this conversation, even? "You look exactly the same too. Umm... Of course, except for the, uh, hair?"

"Oh, you mean the gray hairs?"

"No, no! Of course not! I m-meant your hair looks really hot—I mean good! It looks GOOD," you repeat, frantically emphasizing the last bit. You had instinctively panicked, your voice rising in pitch.  If your cheeks weren't flaming hot already, then they're definitely redder than Seokjin's ass after a Friday night of fun.

The apples of Yoongi's cheek match your own flustered state, though you can imagine that you’re probably at least a hundred times worse. “Well, thank you. I was actually feeling self-conscious about my hair, so hearing that from you is really… nice,” he says, brushing his hair shyly. “I’m kinda done with bright colored hair for now, so seeing my hair in its natural state is still kind of weird.”

“I seriously doubt that Y/N was talking about your hair color, Yoongi,” Hoseok interjects, magically reappearing behind you when you don’t notice. You flinch in surprise, causing him to let out a hearty chuckle at your jumpiness. It seems that today is “Let’s scare the living shit out of Y/N” day with how many people have crept up on you in just one night.

Beside him, Seokjin looks like a bomb ready to explode, his fist jammed up his mouth to keep his guffaws from slipping out. “God, this is even better than the cringe compilations I watch on Youtube,” he wheezes, wiping a stray tear.

“Don’t be so mean to them, hyung! Don’t mind him,” Hoseok says to you, bowing apologetically. He smiles cherubically at Yoongi. “See, Yoongi? I told you that Y/N is even hotter up close!”

“God, fucking kill me,” you hear Yoongi groan.

“So, have you guys caught up yet, or have you just been fumbling around each other like a couple of horny teenagers?” Seokjin snickers, narrowly avoiding your heel stomping his foot.

“We’ve only just said hello. Leave us alone, jackass,” you huff.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, Hoseok and I can go on our merry ways if you wish—”

“Yoongi! Did you tell Y/N about your work back in Seoul? I bet she’d love to hear about it,” Hoseok interrupts smoothly, saving you from further embarrassment (courtesy of his infuriating goblin of a boyfriend.)

You blink in surprise, turning to the man in question. “You live in Seoul now? Did you move there after finishing university?” you ask.

“Well,” Yoongi starts, clearing his throat. He’s permanently pink at this point, not that you mind in the slightest. He always did have the cutest blush (and once upon a time, you used to love teasing him about it.) “I sort of dropped out of university early. Decided it wasn’t really my thing, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Yoongi. You were a fantastic student. I’m sure Y/N remembers how smart you are,” Hoseok says, winking inconspicuously at you.

You force out a laugh in response. You know perfectly well what he was trying to do; Hoseok isn’t slick in the slightest, though you do admit that you are intrigued to find out what Yoongi had done over the years.

It isn’t like you haven’t been keeping tabs on him. In your defense, it’s hard to stay away from news about Yoongi when he’s such a big deal. So what if you’ve watched a couple of his interviews and streamed all of his songs? He’s always been talented with music, and all the radio shows seem to agree. You couldn’t get away from him if you tried (and it’s not like you were trying very hard, anyway.)

Yoongi shrugs, rubbing his neck bashfully. “E-either way, I decided to tough it out, you know? Follow my dreams and all that, even if it nearly killed me.”

“And now, he’s working in a famous idol company as one of their head producers,” Hoseok finishes for him, chest puffing up in pride. He slaps his best friend on the back, not noticing that he had inadvertently caused Yoongi's spine to cave in from his strength. “Yoongi is so cool, and humble too! He’s been working behind the scenes for a bunch of big names and never got greedy for attention even though he totally deserves it.”

“Damn, so no street cred? Bit schewpid, innit? Imagine all the chicks you could’ve landed, bruv!” Seokjin says, imitating a terrible British accent. You make a move to hit him in the groin, but for once, Hoseok beats you to the punch.

“Nope! Yoongi-chi is super single, aren’t you?” Hoseok says with a sweet grin, ignoring the pained groans of his lover on the floor.

“No need to rub it in, Seok-ah,” Yoongi grumbles defensively. He coughs into his fist, grinding his foot into the floor. He throws a glance your way. “Just been… too busy, I guess.”

From the floor, Seokjin holds up a hand, grasping at Hoseok’s pant leg to hoist himself up. “What a coincidence. Y/N is super single too. In fact, her pussy is so dry that there’d be no chance for any yeast infections to develop—WAIT, DON’T HIT ME AGAIN I PROMISE I’LL BEHAVE!” Seokjin is on his knees, holding his arms up in surrender as Hoseok’s boot is about to connect with his stomach.

“I know I said I was into BDSM, but not like this!” Seokjin says, faking a sob.

“Then behave, darling,” Hoseok replies, eyes lighting dangerously. When he returns his attention to you, you and Yoongi back away instinctively. “Sorry about him. We have an… arrangement,” he says, waving his hands vaguely.

“Understood,” you both say, not understanding but also not wanting to.

Seokjin manages to straighten up eventually, his skin slightly paler than it was before. “A-as I was saying,” he exhales, still gingerly cupping his crotch. “Y/N has been single for so long, but I don’t blame her. Not after that awful disaster of a boyfriend, right? God, Sungjae fucking sucked ass, and not even in the sexy way.”

“Um, yeah…” you say hesitantly, avoiding eye contact. You can feel Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s eyes trained on you, but you’re not confident enough to know that you can keep your face neutral.

With your gaze averted, you don’t notice the way Yoongi’s posture tenses. “Is that so,” he says carefully.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hoseok says. You can hear the genuine sadness in his tone, and you chance a peek at him. He pats your shoulder gently, giving you a soft smile. “Honestly, I feel you. I’ve definitely been there, done that. That’s why I’m grateful for Seokjin-hyung, believe it or not. He’s been really good for me.”

“Hah, I told you I’m a good person!” Seokjin says. Again, he goes ignored.

“It’s fine. It’s all water under the bridge,” you say, shrugging. You can still feel Yoongi’s persistent gaze on the side of your head like a brand. You’re kind of afraid to see what sort of expression he has despite the curiosity burning inside of you.

You are still in the middle of debating if it’s worth explaining or not (and to a lesser extent, why you feel like you need to explain yourself to anyone), everyone’s attention is caught by the onslaught of waiters bringing in a fresh batch of food to the buffet. Your stomach growls in response, and you are reminded of the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast in preparation for tonight’s event.

“Hold that thought, Y/N,” Hoseok says, holding up a finger. “Hyung! I saw a platter of tuna belly and I know that shit is gonna disappear in two seconds. Let’s head out!” He tugs Seokjin in a hurry, the elder’s gangly legs flying about as he trips over himself to keep up. Seokjin yelps and hollers for him to slow down, but the hangry Hoseok train stops for no one. They run off, leaving Hoseok-and-Seokjin-shaped dust clouds in their wakes.

“Wow,” Yoongi says, dumbfounded. “Did we just get ditched by our two self-proclaimed best friends in the world?”

You nod, equally dumbfounded. “I guess we did.”

He shakes his head. “Fucking traitors.”

And just like that, the conversation dies.

Without your friends acting as buffers, the pair of you return to your painfully awkward states. You rack your brain for a conversation topic, anything to keep the tension at bay. You don’t feel nearly comfortable enough to ask him about his love life, even though you want nothing more than to shake the details right out of him. For perfectly sane reasons, of course.

Lucky for you, Yoongi thinks of a solution. “Um, I guess we should go grab our food as well? I’m assuming we’ll be sitting together since our friends are... you know. Unless you don’t want to, then that’s also perfectly fine with me. I can find somewhere else to sit.”

“I’d love to sit with you,” you say, cringing at your choice of words. Love to? What are you, desperate?! your brain screeches at you, and you mentally beat yourself in the coochie.

Deep down, you know that you’re overreacting, but you can’t help acting like a blushy teenager talking to your crush when you’re around Yoongi. It’s almost as if you’ve reverted to your high school days, back when you’d both started to notice your feelings for each other and the steady flow of butterflies erupting in your stomach had felt less like a burden and more like a revelation.

After tossing your disgusting drink into a nearby bin, you and Yoongi line up behind the rest of your classmates for the buffet, the scene reminiscent of having lunch at your old high school cafeteria. You’re still mildly distracted by Yoongi’s proximity, not looking at what food you were getting and randomly scooping and hoping you don’t dislike all of them.

From the corner of your eye, you notice that Yoongi’s plate is steadily piling up, probably with enough food to feed two people. You’ve never known Yoongi to be much of a heavy eater, but you suppose that free food is still free food at the end of the day.

“So,” Yoongi says after a beat. He pulls you from your trance, and you catch the small smile on his face that tells you that he figured you had been distracted. “How is Jungkook, by the way? He graduated from university a year ago or something, right?”

You pause, your hand stilling on the metal tongs. “How did you know he graduated last year?”

He shrugs. “Well, assuming that he didn’t take any gap years, I did the math and figured he should be at the age where he’s looking for a job.” He turns to you with a sly grin. “Plus, I’m still his friend on Facebook.”

“That’s surprising,” you comment. You backtrack a little, “And I mean it’s surprising in the sense that… All his posts are reshares from dank meme pages and I thought you wouldn’t be into that.”

Yoongi laughs. “I’m not. But… it’s nice to know how things are back home, I guess.”

Do you wonder about me, too? you think, but you internally shake your head. But why would he? He doesn’t owe you anything.

“And your dad? I heard he got hip surgery last fall,” Yoongi says.

“Wait, Jungkook has been posting about our dad’s surgery on his Facebook?”

“Oh! No, not exactly.” Yoongi clears his throat, suddenly nervous. He heaps a big portion of kimchi, some of it staining his sleeve. “I… called him a few days ago, to catch up.”

You’re staring at him, and you dimly register the people lined up behind you huffing impatiently. “You… called him? You have his cell number, too?”

“No, I just… happen to still have your home telephone number memorized and hoped that you guys hadn’t moved,” he says, a little guiltily.

You’re silent for a moment, thoughtlessly scooping more bean sprouts onto your plate than any sane person would be comfortable eating. The two of you inch along the buffet display as you attempt to process his sudden confession.

On one hand, you’re slightly betrayed that your own brother hadn’t thought to mention that your ex had called him, but on the other hand, what would you have done if he did? Ask if you could say hello? The Y/N from last month probably would have laughed if she had known that Min Yoongi still cared enough to call and check on her family, much less have her landline memorized even after all these years.

He still cared.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the room, your heart skips a beat at the thought. You cradle a hand to your chest, urging your nerves to quell. Keep it together, you beg your stupid, naive heart. You can survive one night without falling in love again, can’t you?

...can you?

“I…” you stammer. You swallow thickly, desperate for something to say, anything to stop your mind from going in the wrong direction. “They miss you, you know? You have no idea how many times my parents ask if you’re coming home for Christmas, or—I don’t know.”

“Yeah, my parents are the same. They always wanna know if I’m coming home for the holidays, and they,” he hesitates, swallowing thickly, “They always ask about you, too.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you mutter lamely. Your cheeks feel like they’ve been lit on fire the moment you got here, and you haven’t even visited the bar yet.

You finally make it to the end of the long buffet table where there is a large chocolate fountain just begging for you to ravage if only your stomach wasn’t besieged by butterflies. Yoongi glances at you, his own hands too full to get any desserts, but he still pauses as if he’s waiting for you. When you make it apparent you aren’t interested in the mouthwatering cakes and pastries (a big fat lie, but you also don’t want to vomit in front of him and your hundreds of schoolmates), he raises a brow as though he’s surprised.

“What? I’m not that much of a sweet tooth,” you scoff.

“This is coming from the girl who broke into her little brother’s piggy bank to buy some ice cream from a passing street vendor?” he teases.

“That’s the old me. Now, I make enough money to buy my own sweets,” you say smugly.

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he looked endeared.

The pair of you search for Hoseok and Seokjin, only to find that the couple had somehow found a table for all of you somewhere near the back. With one last longing glance at the wondrous chocolate fountain, you walk away with Yoongi in tow. You have to push through throngs of people, a few old familiar faces stopping to say hello before they notice the precarious situation on Yoongi’s plate and let you through. You wave at them, promising to greet them later before turning to Yoongi.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to see all these people again? Not gonna lie, it’s almost hard to recognize a few of them.” You note some of the crazy hair colors and drastic fashion choices that you never thought you’d see a decade ago. An even stranger sight, however, is the occasional schoolmates with little ones attached to their hips. You recognize one of the new parents, your mouth dropping in shock.

“Wait, is that Seulgi? And is that her—”

“Her son? Jesus Christ,” Yoongi mutters, equally as bewildered as you. “Damn, I did not expect her of all people to be one of the first to have a kid. I’d always thought it’d be Sooyoung.”

You nod in agreement. You observe the little boy tug roughly at her skirt, his tiny fists making grabbing motions at the cookies on her plate. “Yeah. I always thought I’d have a kid before Seulgi, at least. What a surprise.”

You speak before you think, and it takes longer than it should have for you to realize your mistake. By then, Yoongi’s expression had already morphed into astonishment, his eyes bugging out as he chokes on his spit.

Your cheeks are burning, your mouth opening and closing as pure panic seizes you. You cannot believe that you just said that! No fucking way! Did you eat lube this morning or something? Why are words just spilling out of your mouth at an unprecedented rate?! You’re begging your brain to come up with something, anything, to control the damage, but alas your thoughts remain resolutely frozen.

If aliens were to choose to study the human race right now, they’d be sorely disappointed to find the lack of intelligent lifeforms. No complex thoughts going on over here! Not one goddamn neuron firing in this bitch!

“O-oh, well, that’s…” he trails off. He clears his throat, his jaw clenched as he awkwardly tries to feign composure. “I didn’t know you were, um, interested? Well, n-not that I think you were averse to the idea of having kids, since I remember you mentioning it when we were, um,” he pauses, struggling to find a word other than dating, or together, or in love, or not painstakingly careful around each other, like every conversation topic was a fucking minefield.

“Younger?” you supply. A safe, neutral word. Yay for you! You deserve a snack from your animal care keeper right about now.

“Right,” he nods. He looks down at his shoes, revealing his flushed neck. He’s frustratingly adorable like this, but it does nothing except distract you. “Were you, um, planning on having a kid with your ex-boyfriend? Before you broke up?”

Ex-boyfriend? Why is he bringing him up all of a sudden? You stare at him in confusion for half a second before realization strikes you. Thankfully (or unthankfully), it seems that Yoongi misunderstands the implication behind your words and has taken your little slip-up the wrong way. For once, you are so thankful that Yoongi almost failed Math during the 10th grade and never learned to put two and two together.

“Definitely not,” you bark out a laugh, but it sounds incredibly forced, even to your own ears. You stare at the plate of food in your hands, a wave of unpleasant memories washing over you. “I doubt he’d ever want kids, anyway. Seokjin used to make fun of him and call him the world’s biggest toddler.”

Yoongi winces, his brow furrowing. “How long were you together?”

“Like, two years?” You shrug. “It felt longer, to be honest. Even if we dated for so long, I could never imagine myself having a family with him,” you say.

It was almost the truth, but not quite. While your ex-boyfriend had undoubtedly been a pain in your ass, he wasn’t completely bad, especially in the beginning. You had enough self-respect that you would have ended the relationship earlier if he didn’t have any redeeming qualities. The main problem was that he had a tough act to follow, and you don’t think any man on earth would be able to live up to your lofty expectations at this point, not when you’d constantly be comparing everyone to—

Yoongi speaks up again. “Seokjin seems to really dislike him. Was he really that bad?”

“Seokjin has never really liked any of my past flings,” you admit, rolling your eyes. (You fail to mention that Yoongi has always been the only exception.) “Despite his own disgustingly high body count, I can’t say he was wrong. Sungjae was a self-centered prick who never gave me the time of day. Hell, I was almost thankful when I caught him cheating. It was the final push I needed.”

Even though it’s been so long, the pain of seeing your ex-boyfriend locking lips with a stranger he had randomly picked up from the street still throbs inside of you. It wasn’t like you were particularly sad or surprised to find out, but you’d always been a bit sensitive to people who kept secrets from you. Plus, it kinda sucked to know that they had fucked on your favorite Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Fucking bastard. If I ever saw him in person, I’d definitely kick his nuts ‘til he’s left with a concave crotch,” he seethes, eyes narrowing.

You laugh. You have to confess that the mental image is satisfying. “You don’t even know what he looks like though!”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Seokjin would tell me if I asked,” he huffs. He mutters something else after, but his volume drops to a whisper and you have to step closer to properly hear him.

“What? Sorry, I missed that,” you say, but you could have sworn he said something like “I wouldn’t have done that if it were me” but you couldn’t be completely sure.

“N-nothing,” he stutters, waving off your confusion. He tacks on a smile, but you can tell that he must have been embarrassed by whatever he’d said. If it was anything like what you thought he’d said, then you could understand. It wasn’t like he was wrong, anyway.

He makes a move to rub the back of his neck, but he greatly underestimates the weight of his platter and nearly drops everything. Something deep inside of you kicks in, and your body instinctively moves to hold his plate with your free hand, saving him from a very messy situation. However, that also means that your hands are now touching each other, your fingertips grazing his knuckles.

Instead of letting him go like a normal person, your ape brain makes the first move (as per usual).

“Your hands are still cold,” you say dumbly. You had wanted to say more, like “your hands are still as cold as they were from when we were younger,” but bringing up your past together, even for something so harmless, still feels taboo. You keep your hands where they are, your eyes locked on his. It feels like you’re in the middle of a dramatic TV show while I Will Go To You by Ailee plays in the background. You can almost imagine the numerous ads for random Korean cosmetic products framing the two of you in slow motion.

Yoongi chuckles, reluctantly pulling away from you. You already miss the sensation of his skin on yours. “I guess some things never change, huh?” he says, wavering slightly. He stares at you for another moment before shaking his head, as though he’s pushing away some unwelcome thoughts. He turns away, leaving you behind to make his way to your table.

Despite the unbidden emotions bubbling up your throat and threatening to spill over, you have no choice but to follow.

At the table, Seokjin and Hoseok speak mutely with each other, though the exaggerated expressions on both their faces tell you that they had been in the middle of an argument. When Yoongi takes his place beside Hoseok, the couple pauses in their bickering to greet you.

Hoseok looks at Yoongi’s overflowing plate. “Dude. I know I teased you about being a skinny twig a while ago, but I wasn’t implying that you gorge yourself.”

Yoongi jolts in surprise before staring back at his plate. Weirdly enough, he looks just as shocked as Hoseok to find the amount of food he had gotten, as though he hadn’t even noticed.

Perhaps he was just as distracted as you had been? you think, staring at your own meager pickings. Oops, you definitely didn’t get enough food to fill your ravenous appetite.

“That’s fine. I can share with you guys,” Yoongi says.

Seokjin peers at your plate, smirking knowingly. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Y/N would love to get some of your food. It seems like the two of you either over or underestimated how much you’d eat.”

“Aww, cute!” Hoseok coos, pinching Yoongi’s cheek. “You still have the habit of getting food for her. That’s so sweet that you still remember that about her!”

You had been in the middle of taking a swig of your water, but Hoseok’s comment nearly causes it to spew out from your nose. You cough harshly, beating your chest as your nose burns, among other things.

“Hoseok!” Yoongi scolds. He hits his friend on the shoulder, but Hoseok’s giggles refuse to stop.

“Oh shit, you’re totally right! Remember all those times when either one of us was forced to third-wheel with them?” Seokjin guffaws. “Y/N always orders something gross whenever we eat out together, and Yoongi ends up having to share half of his food with her when she starts moping.”

“I did not mope!” you retort vehemently.

“You kind of did,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, but you catch him this time.

You cross your arms, scowling. “Did not!”

Yoongi covers his mouth to fake a cough, but you can tell he’s smiling from how his eyes start to crinkle.

“You guys are so cute,” Hoseok sighs, squeezing Yoongi into a hug. Yoongi paws at him weakly, but you know that he enjoys skinship too much to push his friend away.  Still, he pouts cutely, his cheeks puffing up like a pastry.

“Anyway, why were you guys arguing a while ago?” Yoongi asks, changing the subject. “Seokjin-hyung is kinda red in the face.”

“Oh, we weren’t really arguing. Hyung had gotten some wine from the bar but he forgot to get me some,” Hoseok says. He glares sharply at Seokjin. “Bastard.”

“You just said we weren’t fighting!” Seokjin whines. He stands up, raising his arms in surrender. “But fine! I’ll go get your damn wine,” he sulks, groaning when he stretches his back and a few worrisome pops resound from his joints.

“Damn, hyung. I know I told you that I hope you grow up well when we were kids, but I didn’t think you’d take it that literally,” Yoongi jokes, earning a sharp laugh from you. Yoongi glances at you then, visibly proud when he catches the wide grin on your face.

Seokjin gasps, offended. “I am not old! I’m literally a year older than you guys! And here I was, about to get you both drinks as well! It sucks to be the nice one in a friend group,” he sniffs.

“Yes, we are eternally grateful for your service,” Hoseok says sarcastically. “Oh, and remember to get some drinks for Y/N and Yoongi-chi too!” Hoseok adds, slamming his palm on Seokjin’s sore back.

Seokjin yelps, before biting his lip. “Owwie, that hurt,” he moans, winking salaciously.

As the closest person to him, you make it your right to jam your heeled foot onto his gelatinous and push away with a shout of disgust. “Leave, wench!” you snarl, but you’re unfortunately drowned out by his cackling. Even so, he does make his leave, affording your table some level of peace.

“So,” Hoseok starts, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. He cradles his chin with his hands, smiling innocuously at the two of you. “How’s it goin’? Are you both having fun?” he says, laced with meaning.

Ah, you had forgotten; peace was never an option.

Though he is undoubtedly less annoying than Seokjin, you still don’t trust the way he’s staring at you, like he’s waiting for one of you to jump into the other’s lap and recreate his favorite porn scene.

(A terrible thought to have, especially when you’d probably be as begrudging as you should be if you were swayed sufficiently.)

“It’s going fine, thank you very much,” Yoongi responds, giving his best friend a stern look.

You nod wordlessly, unable to trust yourself to keep from stammering and making your frayed nerves apparent (if they aren’t already.) You grab your glass and busy yourself with your drink to delay answering.

You don’t notice that you had taken Yoongi’s cup by accident until you’ve already gulped a third of his water, dropping it with a loud clunk. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to drink from yours,” you say sheepishly.

Yoongi smiles at your concern. “No worries. It’s just a cup.”

“Sharing cups too? Damn, what happened while Seokjin and I were away?” Hoseok laughs. Yoongi flicks him lightly on the wrist in retaliation.

“It’s just a cup,” he repeats before turning to you. “Sorry, I think he’s a bit drunk.”

“Haven’t had a single drop of alcohol but whatever,” Hoseok says, shoveling a large piece of tuna belly into his mouth.

The sight of him eating reminds you of your own hunger, your food slightly colder now after talking to Yoongi and your friends for so long. You take a spoonful of chicken, the taste not terrible but not as good as you would like. Your face must give your disappointment away because you hear Yoongi chuckling beside you.

“Bad food again? Guess you really are the same,” Yoongi says, low enough that Hoseok wouldn’t hear. He pushes his plate towards you, carefully nudging some of his bulgogi onto yours. “This tastes kind of sweet, so I’m not really into it. But you prefer it sweeter right?”

All you can do is nod in agreement, watching as he piles your plate with his food. His sleeves, which had already been stained previously by some stray bits of kimchi, become even more saturated with sauces and oils. Now that you see it up close, his sleeves seem a bit too long for him, his palms half covered like sweater paws.  

Without thinking too hard, you place your hands over Yoongi’s wrists, his entire body freezing as he waits for what you will do. Gently, as though you’re approaching a frightened kitten, you fold his sleeves until they’re no longer dangling into his food. The gesture is more intimate than you had intended, his proximity allowing you to smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne.

Paco Rabanne, your mind reminds you. Of course.

You pull away, trying your best to appear as unfazed as possible. You clench your hands and dig your nails into your skin to keep them from trembling. “If I’m the same, you’re no better. You always used to forget to pull back your sleeves before eating.”

After a beat, Yoongi returns from his stupor, licking his lips. “My hands were cold,” he explains.

“I know.” You lick your lips too, suddenly parched despite all the water you have drunk.

A forgotten treasure trove of memories resurrects inside of you, things that you had thought had been buried too deep for you to find again. You are filled with this odd feeling, an awareness. An old wound has resurfaced, one that you thought had healed long ago.

That wound throbs, still.

It’s so strange, being with him like this. A piece of your past that has come to your present, both the same and different as you remember. He knows parts of you that no one else will, as do you with him. But those parts were only ever supposed to stay buried: memories, after all, aren’t supposed to be tangible.

And yet, here he stands: real, alive, close.

It leaves you feeling emptier than before.

The atmosphere grows somber after that, neither of you offering much to the conversation. Hoseok is more than happy to pick up the slack, filling the stark silence along with the occasional hums from Yoongi. When Seokjin returns, he makes no note of the change in mood and focuses more on eating and talking with his partner. It allows the two of you to remain deep in thought.

You are pushing your remaining bits of food around your plate when the soft instrumental music playing on the overhead speaker stops abruptly, and the sound of a microphone being tapped prompts everyone to turn to the front of the ballroom. The host of the event announces that the next part of the reunion will begin shortly and encourages all the performers to head to the sound booth to prepare. A couple of your schoolmates rise from their seats, most of whom were the students you remembered being part of choir or band.

You half-expect Yoongi to stand up as well, but he stays rooted to the spot. Apparently, Hoseok is wondering the same thing.

“Yoongi? Didn’t you say that the organizers asked you to perform some of your songs?” Hoseok questions.

“They did.”

“But?”

Yoongi brings his fingers to his teeth, biting on them anxiously. Your hand makes a move to pull them away, but you think better of it. No need to supply your friends with more teasing ammunition. “But I changed my mind last minute. I felt kind of embarrassed to be performing my own songs. I’m more of a producer, not a performer.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Yoongi. You’re poggers, as the kids like to say,” Seokjin pipes up.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but he’s right. A lot of people like your music and think you’re a great performer,” you assure him. “And I like your music, too,” you add shyly.

Yoongi’s hand drops from his mouth, eyes glittering with disbelief. He looks like he wants to disagree with you, but eventually decides to just smile in gratitude. “I didn’t know you listened to my music,” he says quietly.

Before you can reply, Seokjin chooses to interrupt with his migraine-inducing cackle and ruin the moment (as he is prone to do.) “Oh bitch! If you only knew how much this girl loves your music. She even buys your physical CDs AND collects your photocards.”

“I do not!” You scream, flinging a piece of bread at his head. You refuse to peek at Yoongi.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I collect his photocards too. Wanna trade sometime? I’m missing the one when he still had mint hair,” Hoseok giggles.

“Will the two of you stop? God, it’s like you both had been planning to embarrass us as much as possible,” Yoongi exclaims, incensed.

When neither of them responds, you and Yoongi whip your heads towards them only to find two self-satisfied, smirking shitheads.

“Why watch reality shows when you can make your own?” Seokjin says in lieu of an answer, pointing finger guns. He blows you a kiss with a wink.

You clutch your chest, pretending to wince in pain. “Augh! Poison damage!”

Seokjin scoffs. “Swagever, man. You’re just mad because you’re angry,” he retorts, sticking out his tongue.

While you were occupied bickering with Seokjin, you had not seen that one of your old schoolmates had invited herself to your table. She sandwiches herself in the space between you and Yoongi, bumping you roughly enough to topple you out of your chair.

“What the fuck?” you yelp in surprise, holding onto the table to balance yourself. After straightening back into your seat, you find that your view of the world has become obscured by asscheeks the size of beachballs.

“Hi Yoongi,” she purrs seductively. Or at least, what she thinks is seductive. To you, her voice sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Hello?” Yoongi says, but it comes out sounding more like a question. It’s clear that he doesn’t remember her name, as he searches your eyes for help. You shrug unhelpfully; you deleted almost all the names of everyone that you had gone to school with right after graduation. Besides, her horrendous plastic surgery makes it even twice as hard to discern her identity.

“Hi Hyejin,” Hoseok speaks up, answering your unspoken question. Oh, right. The name does ring a bell, somewhat. You don’t recall her looking like a cartoon character before, but you suppose beauty standards are meant to be subjective. Maybe she wanted to look like a One Piece character.

Hyejin purses her lips into a tight smile but doesn’t return his greeting. She turns back to Yoongi, bending forward until her boobs are practically smooshed against his face. You wonder idly if stabbing her chest with your chopsticks would cause them to burst like a balloon, or perhaps drain like a puss-filled pimple. Both, you surmise, would be very entertaining to watch.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other, hm? I heard you’ve been very busy ever since we graduated from high school,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

“Uh, yeah? Some of us have jobs,” he says, passively dissing her. You let out a strangled laugh, causing Hyejin to aim a glare back at you. You bring your (his) cup of water to your lips, feigning innocence.

Hyejin rolls her eyes. “Right. But I meant that you’ve become a real star back in Seoul! I didn’t know you were such a musical prodigy!”

“I’m really not. I just work hard,” he shrugs. He’s visibly uncomfortable, especially since Hyejin was pretty much breathing the same air as him. Every time he leans away from her, she takes it as an invitation to come closer. He is nearly lying horizontally at this point, his back parallel with the floor.

“Humble as well as handsome? My, my. I didn’t think you’d be such a charmer,” she laughs, saccharine sweet. She twirls her dyed brown hair with her perfectly manicured acrylic nails. You rub at the goosebumps forming on your arms, cringing at the phantom sensation of her nails digging into your skin.

“Just spit it out. What the hell do you want so you can leave,” Seokjin interjects. Everything about his demeanor says calm and collected, but the way he presses his lips into a thin line says otherwise. You can sense the air dropping in temperature, despite the embers burning behind his eyes.

“I came over here to ask if Yoongi could give me his autograph, that’s all. I am his biggest fan, after all,” she sulks. She winks at him for extra measure. “And maybe his number too? I’d love to discuss your music with you sometime!”

“Oh, um. That’s—” he cuts off, hesitant to answer. He tugs at his ears nervously, exchanging subtly alarmed glances with you.

You remember that signal very distinctly; it’s a distress call that he would do whenever he needed a way out. He used to do it a lot when you were at social gatherings, especially when people would trap him in boring or awkward conversations. He never did like socializing with people outside his circle, but he was often dragged to parties by his more extroverted friends.

He might be hot as hell with his stylish clothes and jaw-dropping undercut, but he’s still awkward as hell around strangers. When the universe created him, they made sure to keep everything in balance. If they hadn’t been fair, you certainly would’ve died much earlier.

“Yoongi, don’t you have spare CDs of your music?” you quip, dragging Hyejin’s attention onto you. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly, suspicious.

“I do?” He stares at you blankly.

You resist hitting your forehead in exasperation. “Yes, Yoongi. Remember? You left a couple of them in my car.”

Yoongi’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh, right! I left my CDs. In your car. That we drove here. Together. We came here. Together. Yes, correct.”

From your periphery, you can sense Hoseok barely holding onto his sanity after witnessing that pitiful display. Who can blame him when Yoongi’s infamously terrible acting skills are having their first appearance in over ten years? How he managed to pass Drama class is still a mystery to this day.

“Yup,” you say, popping your p.  You give Hyejin a winsome smile, your hands folded neatly on your lap. You can almost see the steam blowing out of her ears. It fills you with delicious satisfaction. “Why don’t Yoongi and I go get them so he can sign one?”

If her eyes had been made of lasers, you’d be a cauterized mess jumble of organs by now. Can’t say you would regret it either way.

“How kind of you.” She sneers. “Also, I wasn’t aware that you two were still a thing.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were required to inform you of anything,” you retort placidly. You plaster on your fakest grin. “Now, if you can please move your fat ass—I mean, if you can please move out of the way so I can go to my car...” you trail off, gesturing for her to leave.

After a few more indignant sputters on her end, she eventually makes her exit. She throws a couple of poisonous glares, but they go largely ignored by you and your friends. With her gone, you feel as though you can finally breathe fresh air again.

“Great stuff, Y/N! Congrats on winning your first bitch-off,” Seokjin chirps, back to his usual self. You roll your eyes at his antics but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks. I learned from the best.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “So, are we still gonna go?” He looks back and forth from her to you. “Just so we can pretend you actually have my albums in your car?”

“Trust me, Yoongi-chi. She does have your albums in her car.” Seokjin titters. “I wasn’t kidding about the photocard collection.”

“Ignore him. And yes, I do have your albums. I listen to them in my car from time to time,” you say, attempting nonchalance. “I’d hate to give them away to that bitch, but if it keeps her away...”

Away from you is left unsaid, but it’s heavily implied.

(No, you aren’t jealous. You’re above jealousy. It’s not like that bitch would ever have a chance with him anyway, unlike you—!

Woah there, cowgirl. Let’s stay on the right path. Don’t want your heart getting chewed up and spat back out all over again, do you?)

“I’ll just mail you a new one. Signed, if you want. You can probably sell it on eBay or whatever.” He tries to say it like a joke, but his brow is too furrowed to be convincing. (You want to kiss him there and make it go away.)

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so all you do is nod mutely. You stand up and Yoongi follows suit.

“We’ll be right back. If she comes back before then, tell her to scram,” you tell Hoseok and Seokjin. They salute you in response (well, Hoseok does. Seokjin does a very rude gesture with his fingers that is supposed to mimic something explicit. Feel free to use your imagination.)

The walk to the parking lot is a quiet one. The two of you stay side by side, his strides naturally matching your own. Unlike before, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence for once, content to just be in each other’s presence.

The hotel that your reunion is being held at is unusually unpopulated. The lobby consists of a handful of employees milling about, a few of whom look ready to fall asleep on their feet. You nod politely at the bellboy who opens the main doors for you, declining his offer to call the valet service to fetch your car.

“Just hand me my keys. I’ll look for my car in the parking lot.” It wouldn’t be hard to find, anyway. Your beat-up Toyota Corolla looks as though it’s been through three wars and then some.

It isn’t long until you find it parked close to the entrance. You unlock your car from the passenger seat, shimmying the glove compartment open to reveal your collection of CDs.

“Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you listened to my music,” Yoongi says, voice loud amidst the tranquil night. It startles you, and you accidentally knock over some of the albums onto your car floor. On top of the pile lies Yoongi’s most recent album, the one you recall he had released a couple of months ago.

Strange, how just hours ago you were listening to his music on the way to the reunion, only for the boy on the cover of the album to be just inches away from you.

“Yeah, well. You’re a pretty good artist,” you say.

“Only pretty good?” he repeats, amused.

“Don’t push it,” you snort. You grab the album on top, waving it in front of him. “This should be good enough, right?”

He plucks it from your grasp, an unreadable expression clouding his eyes. He chuckles, but there’s an edge of sadness in his tone. “Good enough,” he agrees solemnly.

His sudden quietness is different from the peaceful one before. It’s sorrowful, maybe regretful. He looks like a man stuck in grief.

“Did you know that I didn’t finish this album before releasing it?”

The question seems a little out of the blue, but you answer regardless. “No, I didn’t. They don’t sound unfinished to me.”

“The songs themselves aren’t unfinished,” he explains. He turns the album over, his finger running down the back where the tracklist is printed. “One of my songs never made it in.”

“Couldn’t you have delayed the album launch so you could complete it?”

He shakes his head. “It was actually the first song I finished out of all of them.”

“Then..?”

“It didn’t matter, at the time. I wrote it for someone specifically, but I didn’t want to put it on the album if she—they didn’t listen to it. It wouldn’t matter if the whole world heard that song because only they would understand it.”

“But now? What changed?” Fear and hope run down your spine in tandem when the question tumbles out of you. You hold your breath, and the world shifts from its axis.

But he doesn’t elaborate further.

x x x x x

You return to the hotel after acquiring both an album and some more tension. The album feels heavy in your hands, weighed down by secrets you are still too afraid to uncover. Not that Yoongi would ever willingly divulge them to you—because revealing them would make them real, and making them real would mean you would have to accept them, and accepting them would cause you to—

“They’re gone,” Yoongi announces when you reenter the ballroom. You can’t spot your table from the entranceway, but the certainty in Yoongi’s tone makes you believe him.

“No fucking way. Did those two little shits ditch us to exchange body fluids or something?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Please don’t say it like that. It’s bad enough that I was sitting close enough to Hoseok a while ago that I got accidentally footsie’d by Seokjin hyung.”

You wince, placing a pitying hand on his shoulder. “God didn’t make us his strongest soldiers.”

Yoongi tries dialing Hoseok a few times, but none of the calls connect. “Just my rotten luck,” he groans. He types angrily into his phone, worry creasing his forehead. “He was supposed to be my ride back to his place.”

“Seokjin isn’t answering his phone either,” you say apologetically. “How much do you wanna bet this is part of their evil scheme to leave us together?”

“I don’t doubt it in the slightest,” he deadpans. He sighs tiredly, rubbing his temples. “I suppose I can take a taxi there, but I also don’t know if he’ll be home to open the door for me.”

“Then why don’t you just stay with me?”

You don’t know what you’re doing.

In your head, the offer makes sense. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Nothing is stopping you from rekindling a friendship with him. You have purely platonic intentions. Friends help each other out.

Never mind the fact that your heart hasn’t stopped fluttering the entire night. Never mind the fact that you’ve caught yourself staring at him just as many times as you’ve caught him staring at you. Never mind the fact that you don’t want the night to end, not now not ever.

(Never mind the fact that you’ve never quite stopped loving him.)

So when he accepts, you convince yourself that offering had been the right thing to do.

(Maybe. Hopefully. You just wish your heart doesn’t end up as collateral damage.)

The drive home is short, thanks to the late hour. You had asked him if he had wanted to stay until the end of the reunion, but he had declined. “Nothing else left for me there,” he says.

You feel as though he’s hinting at something. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. “At least I get to keep my album.”

Yoongi laughs, short and sweet.

As much as you try to fight it, sitting in the car with him brings up a lot of memories.

The two of you in the backseat as his older brother drives you to his house for dinner, backpacks filled with crumpled notes and loose pens, a promise of an intense study session for your upcoming exams ready to be broken. You remember how the sky would turn orange in the afternoon, the warm light streaming through the car window and washing Yoongi’s skin with a soft glow.

His cheeks had looked inviting, his lips even more. And you would lean over, kissing him like it was easy. Because it was easy, and you never had to think twice about it.

Your trip down memory lane doesn’t end in the car. As you walk up the steps to your childhood home, you hesitate by the door, your keys frozen over the lock. You can hear Yoongi’s soft breathing behind you, but his presence doesn’t feel as stifling as you thought it would be.

You’re far from being at ease, but you aren’t frightened either. Mostly, you’re just filled with anticipation. Of what? You aren’t sure.

“Excuse the mess. Jungkook is in the middle of moving out so there’s just stuff everywhere,” you say just as you open the door. You toe off your shoes by the entrance, kicking them off haphazardly into the pile of sneakers and boots.

You hear Yoongi huff out a laugh behind you. “Aish, that kid. Still hasn’t let go of his Timbs, huh?”

“He has also been really into chunky sneakers these days. I think he’s finalizing his transformation into Thumper,” you joke. “He’s staying at his new apartment for the weekend with my parents, so you won’t be seeing them. They’re helping him settle in.”

“Really? He didn’t mention moving when we spoke. Where is he moving to?”

“Busan. He and his best friend from college are going to start a restaurant in his hometown. Which is funny, since neither of them are the best chefs.”

Yoongi whistles. “Still, that’s impressive. I can’t remove the image from my head of when he was a kid. He was so scared of anything. He wouldn’t let go of your mom’s leg even if his life depended on it.”

He steps deeper into the house, his gaze jumping from end to end as he surveys your childhood home. You watch him, noting how right he looks standing there in the middle of your living room, like a chipped painting that has been restored.

It’s scary, how easily you’ve accepted him back into this place.

He stays rooted to the spot, the moonlight filtering through the kitchen windows and illuminating his frame. The air pulses with something magical, something dream-like, and it muddles your vision. It’s the only explanation you have for why your chest tightens when he turns to face you, with a gaze filled with sadness, mourning, yearning.

“Jungkook’s height chart is still here,” he murmurs. The small nicks on the kitchen door frame are hard to see, and other people have mistaken them for signs of wear and tear. But he knows what they are because he was there when your mother had etched the first scratch.

He looks at your ancient dining table, his hand brushing over the surface. “This too,” he says, rubbing at a large burn mark on the wood.

“Mom made sure to use placemats after that. I didn’t think a sizzling plate would burn through the table like that,” you say, giggling as you reminisce. “You know, we still use your mom’s galbi jjim recipe. We haven’t found a better one.”

“I’m sure she would love to hear that,” Yoongi smiles, but it fades just as quickly. “It’s so… strange. Being here again and seeing that nothing really changed.”

But things did change. Upstairs, in your bedroom. That night, ten years ago.

You still remember what you had said to him, when you had said it to him, how you had said it to him.

It was a sunny afternoon, the time of day when you’d be on your way home from school. The two of you had stood in your room, neither of you wanting to sit because sitting meant staying, and staying only made this harder.

There hadn’t been many tears in that moment; those were shed only after the realization had sunk in, when you’d fully understood what had happened. At the time, the decision had been as easy as breathing.

Except you had both been drowning. The clock was ticking down to the end of high school, and the inevitable wasn’t slowing down.

Yoongi wanted to chase his dreams in Seoul. You wanted to stay closer to home, with your friends and family.

You weren’t going to be the one to hold him down. You weren’t going to be that person, not when he’s destined for greater things than his hometown could offer—not even a girl who loved him would be worth staying for.

He had suggested it, first. He had been prepared for you to cry, or maybe scream, but you did none of that. Instead, you pulled him close, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. You wanted to make it last, imprint the sensation onto your brain so that his warmth might stay with you, even after he’s little more than a distant memory. You trembled, terribly so, even though the beginnings of summer crept on your skin like a brand.

It’s time to let him go, Time whispered. You refused to listen, just for another moment.

Let me have this last moment, you beg. But Time refused to listen.

“Do you know?” Yoongi had spoken into your neck, had hoped his words would stain there. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Love, not loved. “I did,” you say. You think better of it. “I do.”

When you separated, for good this time, it had left an ache deeper than you could have ever imagined.

But you were young. Young love was supposed to hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to last. “You’ll find others,” your mother had said, brushing a soothing hand through your hair as you sobbed.

Then why? Then why has it lasted this long?

It has been a question you’ve asked yourself, and you’re starting to think that the answer has always been right in front of you.

The answer is standing in front of you: real, alive, close.

“Why didn’t you ever date again?” you ask. You ask even though you know he can lie, if he wants. He can tell you anything and you would believe him.

But he wouldn’t; you know he wouldn’t.

“I was afraid of closing a door that I never meant to close in the first place,” he says. His voice crackles like static, but that might be the blood rushing to your head. He moves toward you but keeps a hand’s width away. Still too far.

He continues. “After that day, when I left,” he swallows, “after I left, I think… I think I left a piece of me with you. A-and I don’t think I ever stopped…” he cuts off, exhaling shakily.

“Stopped what?” you breathe.

“You know.” He waves his hands around helplessly. They fall heavily back down to his sides, defeated. “You know?” he repeats.

You do. Because you are the same. The old wound had never healed; it burns and it bleeds like new.

Your skull feels like it’s stuffed with cotton when you close the distance between the two of you. He circles his arms around your waist, tentative, but he relaxes when you wind your arms around his neck. Your vision is warped, so you choose to close them. You wait, with bated breath, as his warmth inched closer and closer.

The sensation of his lips on yours jolts you back to your senses. His kiss reminds you of your youth, of a love that had made you excited to start your day. Even now, your body remembers, and it rejoices.

The tenderness does not last long before it turns fervent, tongue and teeth crashing like waves against the shore. If his kisses could speak, they would tell you stories of how much he missed you, of how much he mourned the time you had both lost. They would tell you of the days when he’d almost pressed your number onto his phone, of the nights when he’d stare at the polaroids he had kept of you.

They would ask if you still love him like he still loves you.

He tastes of desperation, and you are likely to be the same. It is a desperation you haven’t tasted in years—but it doesn’t feel scary like it used to. Time no longer feels like it’s racing against you, like you had something to prove before the hour was over. This reckless abandon feels like home against your skin—it is an ache being soothed after having ripped your scabs over and over again.

It’s Yoongi.

And when he pulls you to your room, he doesn’t even need his eyes to find his way as his feet still memorize the floorboards. He struggles with the doorknob, forgetting that it always jammed, but it’s okay because you can always teach him again. You can teach him everything again.

The bed creaks under your weights and even the mattress sounds like it is sighing in relief. That sigh echoes from your lips when his hand slips under your clothes, his palm stopping over your heart.

“I won’t break it, this time,” he says. He promises. “If you let me.”

You wonder if he can feel your heart soaring, pounding against your ribs. “I think the line has long been crossed to ask for my permission.” You place your hand over where his is laid. You squeeze tight.

This time, you don’t let him go.

[pridewon]

@deepsets​ said:  "KUROO, MY MAN!" he gives a nice, resounding slap to kuroo's back, a wide smile on his face. "being a busy bee as always, i see." always the observer, that bokuto. "weeeeeell, how about you stop and spend the night with me?" with an added emphasis, brows waggle with a smirk plays on his lips. "although i can tell work has got you PRETTY stressed—" or not. "—so why don't you just let ol' bokuto, your best friend, take some of that pressure off of ya'?" and so, he grabs kuroo by the tie to pull him in and place a fat kiss upon his lips. "heh, no need to thank me. it's all in a days work!"   bokuto is an idiot I'm tired and tipsy so if these kiss asks don't make sense then I'm sorry cha

To give Bokuto credit where credit is due: Kuroo is busy as a bee, at the moment. With an upcoming competition to organise, and a promo operation to lead with the MSBY Black Jackals (the reason of his being here in Osaka today), and a list of partnerships he has been working to establish for the past few weeks? Kuroo has stopped counting his hours. Don’t get him wrong, he loves his job, but -- the fatigue is settling in, seeping into muscle and bone, and... maybe it shows a little more than he thought it did.

That, or Bokuto’s uncanny sixth sense strikes again. Go figure.

Bokuto’s sixth sense, however, doesn’t seem to detect the way Kuroo’s brain momentarily freezes (... or maybe it does, and he continued his litany on purpose) (which would be nothing short of evil). “Uuuuuuuuuuuuuh...” What the hell are you on about, dude, he asks without asking - as it turns out, asking questions when a million of them comes to mind in the face of absurdity is difficult. And... well. If only it was only absurdity. Absurdity loses its power of conviction, when the absurd thing in question has already happened, right? “Bokuto, I don’t think now is the time to --- “ Oh, he tried. He tried, genuinely, to hide the early signs of fluster that Bokuto’s tempting offer arouse. 

... it’s very hard to contain fluster when your stupid best friend pulls you down by the tie to kiss you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“ !! “ Kuroo... tries to fight back. With something. Anything. Tries to will himself to do something: jab a finger between his ribs, pinch Bokuto’s side, double down on that surprise kiss to fluster him back... the possibilities are, in theory, endless; and in practice, amount to nothing. Bokuto breaks the spell of his own making before Kuroo can figure out his counter-attack; leaves him stunned in the dust of the aftermath of his own personal hurricane. Bokuto has that effect on people, sometimes. Bokuto has that effect on Kuroo, when he so liberally smashes past his usual defenses with a smile bright enough to light up a room and reduce the master of provocation to stunned silence.

“Oi, you... !!” No need to thank him? All in a day’s work?? What, does he think he can just get away with whatever that was?? “Oi, Bokuto, get back here you little - !!” Alas, too late. The owl has already taken flight; and the cat is left behind with the same gobsmacked air on his flushed face. “...” Kuroo looks at Bokuto already back on the court like nothing just happened (holy crap, did anyone see any of that? Bokuto, you empty-headed bird, what were you thinking?!); and drops onto the bleachers behind him to half scream into his hands. No sound really makes it through, but... maybe a couple of training assistants look at him a little weird / with a reasonable dose of concern. 

... alright then. Bokuto better remember his offer, because Kuroo is not letting him get away with this that easily. 

[cherriesink]

Takeuchi - Murmurs

Murmurs are snippets of character reflection earned by increasing Explore Points during Exploration. They usually include 6-7 monologues about other characters and 3-4 monologues about things important to the specific character.

These lines are taken straight from the English translation of the game, so fair warning of bad grammar.

About Yatsufusa “According to my statistics, older vampires tend to rank above C-Class... Presumably, D-Class and under end up dying. 

But it’s a shame with Yatsufusa. Because he is a C-Class that has all the potentials to fight in a battle. Yet, he cannot demonstrate that in a different way than Kurusu can’t. 

It seems he occasionally uses the umbrella I gave him... He’ll end up hurting himself if he carelessly swings a sword since he has never trained for it. And he will break it if he uses it with all his strength. I can’t let a civilian hold a sword anyway. So, an umbrella was the best solution.

...Oh! I have an exciting idea that improves his umbrella. Haha, this will help him even if he’s not a good fighter...”

About Kurusu “Kurusu is very intriguing. He is the strongest vampire in Japan! How is he different from other vampires?! Unfortunately, current science does not allow me to analyze blood at a micro-level... In that case, I must invent a machine that can. I’d love to improve Kurusu’s abilities from an A-Class to S-Class and above through my inventions. 

If Colonel Maeda who is a human can defeat unranked vampires, then that means dynamic visions can be improved through training. This then leads me to the question- do I use a drug or machinery to improve his speed and muscle strength...

But Kurusu must improve his speed of judgement more than anything. That, I cannot help him no matter how great I am. It probably comes from his kindness. But, oh well. I’ll let Colonel Maeda deal with that.”

About Maeda “Colonel Maeda is certainly an intelligent person. A true rationalist and finds the best course of action in an instant- because how else can someone decide to amputate their right arm after being bitten by a vampire before the poison enters their system? The surgery went well because he was in luck with a series of events. His wound was a clean-cut, he was able to stop the bleeding, and the fact that Code Zero has plenty of blood supplies for us vampires...

I’d say he was still lucky to survive despite having an aftereffect due to hemorrhage of the heart. I must say he is an astounding human being since his combat skills are still the same where he is capable of beating vampires to death with his prosthetic arm.

Ah- that reminds me that he asked me to fix his arm. What next functions should I add next?”

About Yamagami “Yamagami is the best to experiment on. I wonder what will happen... if I can make him strong enough so he can fight with my inventions? Alas, the greatest assassin will be born! We vampires cannot detect ones that rank below us- they appear like an ordinary person to us.

Yamagami on the other hand is capable of detecting every vampire out there since he is unranked. Which makes him the best candidate to become an assassin sneaking up on vampires from behind! I must conduct every experiment on Yamagami then! It will become a revolution for us vampires if the experiment succeeds.

However, there is just one problem... Yamagami’s personality is not ideal to become an assassin...”

About Suwa “We did not have any vampires that specialized in combat at the time when Code Zero was established. That is why we induced Suwa into our team. I knew the moment I heard the rumor about a vampires that hunts other vampires that he will join our unit.

One of the reasons was that I heard he was alive even before the Edo period... He must be clever if he managed to survive hundreds of years since it is not easy for vampires to survive such a long period.

Secondly, we carry the same goal if he enjoys hunting vampires, whatever his reasons may be. Back then, vampires in the Imperial Capital shivered when hearing “Vampire Hunter.” It’s very promising if that “Vampire Hunter” joins Code Zero.

His body was of a child’s, so his arms were too short for Japanese swords. That is why I made him two daggers.”

About Defrott “I wonder if Defrott will allow me to study his blood... We don’t have any blood samples of S-Class vampires nor any data yet. But he’s not the type that goes with “Please” and “Thank you.” After all, I do not want to die either.

...All I want is to conduct my research peacefully. No need to panic or rush. It’ll become available someday. I can get close to the birth of vampires- if I can learn about S-Class vampires. When, why, and how did we derive...? The only thing we know is that the oldest vampires on the recond spoke ancient Greek... Were they the first? Or did vampires exist long before that, but the records got lost...

It is a mystery how humanity began, but it is even a bigger mystery how vampires started. Was it a strain that occurred during the evolution process. Or mutation... Some call it evil or the devil’s doing. However, I do not believe in unscientific things.”

About Tenman-ya “Come to think of it, our relationship with Tenman-ya has been going on for quite a long time. Considering Colonel Maeda’s personality, there is no way he will miss a vampire’s nest like them...

But perhaps they’re untouched because of the amount of information they’ve accumulated about vampires since the Edo period and the fact that they’ve been confining vampires that are in the Imperial Capital. 

As far as I’m concerned, it’s a give-and-take relationship since they refer me to wholesales to sell my drugs I invented. The vampires referred through Tenman-ya are all clean and diligent. Some practice Western medicine like me so it helps. 

It appears vampires fight all year round when just looking at Code Zero, but the one that avoid battle are the ones that live long. Tenman-ya supports those vampires.”

About the Experiments “There are three ways to kill a vampire. One, have them fight a vampire that outdo them. Very primitive method. Two, make them powerless through science. What we are currently doing. Three, obtain strength that overthrows higher rank vampires through science. This- is our homework.

Creating heavy firearms is easy, but we are dealing with swift subjects... Even unranked vampires may be described as “...at lightning speed” to an ordinary person. 

Thus, I am working on a drug that improves our physical ability... I mixed some into Yamagami’s food the other day, and the results were quite surprising. It was as if he got drunk. I thought I developed a drug that makes the world seem slow, but Yamagami said “The world is spinning! You blockhead!”

My work is trial and error. Well, I do have plenty of time.”

About the Past “I never would’ve imagined that I would end up being a serviceman when I was just an ordinary human being working at a pharmaceutical company. It all happened when the military authorities asked me to research a certain blood sample. I accidentally exposed it to sunlight without knowing that it was vampire blood. The flask exploded from the boiling blood...

Luckily, I did not die from the poison and gained a brain that never degenerates. It was pure coincidence, but I was lucky indeed. I can come close to the secrets of this world with an eternally young brain. 

I don’t mind not being able to walk under the sun. I was in the lab day and night in the first place. Not feeling time or seasonal changes aren’t important to me. I don’t care much about food either. 

Research is my life! I am the happiest vampire on Earth!”

About the Side Job “Code Zero hardly has any budget for R&D... But we aren’t a special unit that simply gathers vampires for combat. Weak, domestic ones can benefit from my drugs and put up a decent fight with the ones ranking above them. I believe- that is the purpose of our unit.

Colonel Maeda couldn’t care less about the name of the unit. So I named it “Zero”- implying “Starting everything from zero.”

Either way, you need money to experiment. That is why I sell my inventions beneficial to humans to department stores and medical institutions made in the process of my vampire studies. The profit I make all goes to my research. Every purchase helps us foster future vampires.”

[thanksjro]

Dark Cybertron Chapter 12: That’s the Power of Love, Babeyyyyy

Thank fucking god, it’s almost over.

Our issue opens up with Ironhide deadnaming Slug, like the out-of-touch grandpa that he is. Everything is going to shit, the whole city’s covered in lasers like the world’s worst rave, and someone thought it was a good idea to let Swerve have a gun.

As the Ammonites try to murder everyone in sight, Whirl and Arcee have a little chat about how Whirl’s seemingly caused every problem ever in the last four million years.

…Whirl, you have been keeping up with your appointments with Rung, right? Like, I know he’s not the best therapist around by any stretch of the imagination, but surely something would be better than nothing in this case.

On the Lost Light, Hound, Perceptor, and Mainframe are keeping track of how many Ammonites have been killed. Everyone is extra British in this bit. Perceptor basically calls Hound a fucking idiot, because even with all the guys who’ve been taken out, there are still literally BILLIONS of these suckers running around.

Which seems a little overkill to me, but what do I know? Warcrimes aren’t my specialty.

Meanwhile, in the Mystical City of Making Science Cry, Starscream apparently knows what cosplay is, and takes a potshot at Jhiaxus for stealing his look. Metalhawk explains how the Ammonites got here in the first place, which, y’know, is cool. Love me some technobabble exposition.

I don’t actually love it.

I’m sorry for lying.

I WOULD ALSO LIKE FOR METALHAWK TO PUT A STOP TO THIS

BUT WE’VE GOT ANOTHER 19 PAGES TO GO

SO I GUESS LIFE JUST ISN’T FUCKING FAIR RATTRAP

While Metalhawk contemplates ending the comic event early, Starscream is getting his ass kicked by an old man who spent the war sitting on his butt in the Dead Universe.

Over with Team -Imus, Brainstorm’s taking a breather after getting Robertsed at the end of last issue. Ultra Magnus makes a pun, I guess to cope with the fact that he doesn’t understand anything that’s going on. Cyclonus is still dying, but this isn’t about him. Nightbeat is also dying. Oh, and Kup. Turns out, being a part of the Dead Universe is sort of an issue when you’re out of it.

Even though Galvatron was fine. And Jhiaxus. And Nova Prime, for the little bit he was out of it.

I feel like this plot point kinda just shows up when it’s convenient.

Anyway.

Brainstorm has shit in his lab that can help them not die, but he and Skids are gonna need help to get all these undead morons back to the Lost Light, which means that only two folks would be going to face Shockwave in this final confrontation.

Speaking of Shockwave, he’s gone full Burning Justice with that time drive shoved into his chest, as he makes fun of Megatron for being a dumb stupid idiot who gave him everything he needed to end the universe. He reveals himself to be a nihilist, claiming that a Cybertron which only exists for existence’s sake- and without any form of life- is the ultimate in perfection. Also, he’s a communist now. A nihilistic communist.

Just… whatever, Shockwave.

Megatron’s annoyed by all this posturing- which, same- but enough about him, it’s time for Ultra Magnus and Optimus Prime drop down from… somewhere… to kick some ass. Shockwave promptly shoots Magnus, and is about to do the same to Optimus, when this starts happening:

Huh. Wonder what all that’s about.

Shockwave snaps out of his stupor and proceeds to fire on Optimus, yelling about being the only thing that exists as he does.

Over with Rodimus and friends, Cyclonus is bitching about Rodimus not leaving him behind so he could go fight Shockwave. Nightbeat, who I guess just doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut, tells Cyclonus to quit it, because they all know that he just misses his boyfriend. Cyclonus, though blatantly annoyed, doesn’t actually refute this claim. Brainstorm wonders aloud just how this gaggle of assholes managed to escape the Dead Universe without murdering each other.

Rodimus explains that when they heard the singing at Swerve’s, it proved they could still get out of the Dead Universe, so they desecrated Nova Prime’s corpse to make a space bridge. Brainstorm became a doorway, because he’s very nearly dead, and oh yeah, he should probably fix that when they get back to the lab, and also reconsider his lab safety protocols.

The gang reaches the outside world, and Rodimus is given a chance to spout off his personal philosophies.

Fantastic, you funky little man.

Then everyone looks up in the sky and sees some real bullshit.

Hey, Cahill? I just wanna talk, man. Just wanna talk about this boobie Windblade you’ve cursed my eyes with.

Back over with Jhiaxus and Starscream, Jhiaxus just cannot shut up. He just keeps waxing poetic about how smart Shockwave’s plan is. I couldn’t even tell you what the guy’s saying- my eyes glaze over whenever he gets a speech bubble.

Metalhawk at this point has had quite enough of all this nonsense, and decides he’s gonna throw himself into the equation that allows the Dark Cybertron prophecy to manifest.

By killing himself.

He just fuckin’… tosses himself into some heavy machinery and explodes, and that throws all the ores out of wack, since he’s got the Resurrection Ore in him. Jhiaxus is distracted by a man just straight-up dying in the same room as him, and this give Starscream the opening he needs to stab Jhiaxus in the gut.

Then the background just straight up disappears, as Rattrap lets everyone know that it’s all still going to shit, but in the opposite direction.

Really not sure about this art direction, but whatever. I’m over it.

Back outside, all the Ammonites are exploding. All of them. Billions of the little suckers, just popping off like fire crackers. The environment’s going to be ruined at this rate. Metroplex is having a great fucking time. Happy for him.

The Lost Light calls the ladies inside Metroplex’s brain room, and lets them know that they’re gonna break up Monstructor like the mediocre boy-band he is, though not without Mainframe being difficult beforehand. The ladies jump out and enter the fray, admiring Arcee’s style as they do.

Back with Rodimus and pals, Nightbeat’s being fucking cryptic, and Brainstorm gets to work making it so folks aren’t dying from being in the wrong universe, after a little prodding to his ego.

Back in Shockwave’s Super Saiyan Energy Bubble of Pure Unadulterated Logic, Shockwave says that’s he’s fucking ripped, and Optimus couldn’t beat him in a fight. Clearly, this means we’ll have to use our words to resolve this, like adults. Optimus isn’t too sure about that option, however.

I mean, do I even have to- Optimus, that’s GAY.

I have the sneaking suspicion that Roberts wrote this portion of the script. Y’know, just given his track record.

Then Megatron blasts Shockwave with his fusion cannon, and makes fun of Optimus for being a sentimental fool.

The fact that “Dark Cybertron” is telling me this makes me so mad. Like, you don’t get to talk, Exposition Central.

It’s at this point that Megatron drops a bomb on everyone present- he’s done with being a Decepticon. He’s gonna be an Autobot now.

See, ol’ Megsy here has seen the error of his ways- that by fighting the Senate, he allowed them to change him into a murderous warlord. To prove how much of a nice guy he is, he’s ripped the Autobrand off of Bumblebee’s lifeless body and duct-taped it to his chest.

Which seems a tad disrespectful, but okay.

…Megatron, you do realize that, as the leader of the Decepticons, you could just tell everyone that they need to be nice, and that would more or less be the end of it, right? You could just say “not evil anymore, I want to be loved now”, and everyone would be all “sir yes sir.” This is going to be a PR nightmare, I can already tell. Shockwave certainly seems to agree with me.

I really like this panel structure. Want to say this is the only place it happens, too. It’s just too bad it lives in “Dark Cybertron”.

Shockwave’s not having a good time right now, and he’s convinced that Optimus and Megatron have teamed up just to make him upset so he loses control of the time drive. The two spout off a little Autobot propaganda, and then Shockwave Remembers™.

Shockwave, having had his shadowplay reverse violently and abruptly, is horrified to find what he’s become. Alas, it’s too late for him- the only way to stop the time drive is for Optimus to kill him. Optimus promises to remember who Shockwave was- a callback to the line Shockwave gave him back before his empurata- and then shoots the everloving fuck out of the guy. Megatron helps.

And that’s a series wrap on Shoc-

-holy fucking shit.

The gang high-tails it outta there, IDW Optimus once again proving to be the shittiest version of everyone’s space-dad, as he leaves Bumblebee’s body to be consumed by the Shockwave Singularity. It’s looking pretty hopeless, but luckily none of these bastards can die without fucking up Season 2 of MTMTE, so the Lost Light swoops in to save the day.

Down below, Soundwave and his gaggle of small children and animals watch as the Lost Light fucks off into the distance. Soundwave’s having a time and a half, as he realizes with his balls-to-the-wall senses that Megatron’s joined the Autobots. Galvatron shows up to try to work out a deal. We won’t be seeing where this goes, because that’ll be covered later on.

The Lost Light lands in front of Metroplex, and over to the left of that are Rattrap and Starscream, climbing over the wreckage of the city. Rattrap tries to warn Starscream that things are gonna be tough, now that the Dark Cybertron prophecy has come to pass, but Starscream isn’t really having it. He’s gotten very paranoid, likely due to stress, and tells Rattrap to not play this game, because he’s the best player who’s ever lived. Then the Lost Light gang shows up and we get this face:

Sure.

Later on, Megatron and Optimus are hanging out in the Sky Roller, not-talking, until Megatron tells Optimus to get on with it, since the issue’s about to end. Megatron was totally serious about becoming an Autobot. Optimus isn’t really sure what to do with that. I don’t think anyone’s really sure what to do with that, to be honest.

Megatron, in turn, asks Optimus if he really could look past all the bullshit Shockwave pulled in the last several million years, and he gets a non-answer, because addressing your feelings is for losers, clearly. The two exit the ship, and I guess everyone else was just… standing outside waiting for them to talk it out. Weird.

...And with THAT, I am finally released from Comic Event Hell!

If you hear any distant, triumphant screeching right now, that’s likely me.

[ganondoodle]

I'm so so curious abt ur idea of the Zelda canon pertaining to demise n Hylia?? Who is the ""tiny" man that looks kinda like you" crawling up out of a crack in the ground I'm so CURIOUS. Also I WILL spam tf out of ur notes and I'm only kinda sorry bc I'm just discovering your art now and I'm in love;;; I wanna gush abt ur Hylia design bc FDJDJFJDMS but alas an ask can only be so long;;;; pls talk abt ur hc though I really wanna know!! (AH if you would that is;; thank u for reading gjsjrkg)

ill make it short but even that is gonna be a long read, so strap in:

alright SO; i have not read any zelda mangas, my knowledge of the lore is based on the games for the most part, the “tiny dude” is demise, since as far as i remember its said in skyward sword that he showed up from a crack in the earth. so that was just a silly reference at this point BUT to what my actual PERSONAL rewriting of the whole thing is :

hylia is a servant of the three golden goddesses, she was told what would happen and was prepared to follow her orders, (like lifting skyloft into the sky already before demise even shows up). once he does show up and you know, does his thing of destroying stuff hes stopped by hylia, kind of surprised since he didnt expect any resistence, especially not from another deity, and overconfident as he is gets his ass kicked pretty quickly xD   now, her orders where to seal him away immediately, however, while hes even taunting her to kill him, she decides to neither seal nor kill him, and thus spares him, and the only reason why is that shes intrigued. she has never seen any creature that was even remotely like her, demise seems to be not just a deity, but also somewhat of a mirror to herself. of course demise takes every opportunity to try and attack/ambush hylia, since she ALWAYS shows up whenever he goes off destroying things again, and well, she always wins. so at some point she suggest a deal of some sort, she wont seal/kill him, and he gets to roam the lands freely as long as he doesnt destroy or attack anyone that is. demise accepts but only because he cant seem to get her out of his way at the moment. now then, demise starts to stop by hylias temple (sealed grounds), where she usually resides when shes not needed elsewhere, at first its just an attempt to get her to spill out her secrets or some sort of weakness he could exploit to FINALLY get rid of her, but as times goes on they sorta start to bond even though they tend to fight (literaly sword fight) alot, its more sparring than fighting really, just the more brutal version i suppose, you know, them being deities and not really having a fear of death- all while hylia sort of ignores the reminders the three goddesses give her, she hasnt completed her duty yet fast forward through a lot (i still want to do lil short comics of their interactions) but the patience of the three goddesses starts to run out, so they give hylia on last chance to finally furfill the order she was given so long ago. she has never talked back to them, or outright refused to follow an order, but for the first time, she does, arguing that there is no need to seal demise, since he has since gotten far tamer than he used to be, and hes not fully "evil" theres some good in everyone, even him ... but naturally, the goddesses arent too happy about that ."she cannot escape destiny". they force their will onto hylia, using her like a puppet that shes always been, but now, without any will or thought left, she goes and mercilessly attacks demise, who of course notices that she doesnt seem to be herself, but all he can do is try to defend himself, while not wanting to hurt her either (after all he doesnt REALLY know whats going on after all) its also in this confrontation that fi loses her arms actually trying to stop "not-hylia", but in the end, "not-hylia" seals demise away, however, she herself succumbs to being possessed by three higher deities at once for so long.

and thus, the events of skyward sword make mostly sense still, i am well aware that this is my personal brain fart, and tbh i never planned to even write it out like this, im not very confident in my dumb fan writing and takes on characters, i just hate the "pure good and pure evil with no real explanation given for anything" trope, sorry for the wall of text of bad writing, but im glad you seem to like my design of hylia, i also hate the "pure good maiden looks basically like a human" trope, but all in all, i wouldnt put this much thought and effort into rewriting/redesigning parts of this series if i didnt care, i care alot, maybe too much .. especially about the villains, ........................i put the blame on windwakers end :)

[riversofmars]

Chapter 10: The Lesser Evil

Tranzelore

“Don’t go, please my love, it’s too dangerous.“ River pleaded, grabbing her husband’s arm as he headed for his time stream that pulsed and flared in the middle of his supposed tomb.“You can’t cross into your own time stream.“ It was done, Vastra, Jenny and Strax where back, so were Amy and Rory. Clara had done it, jumping into his time stream, she had stopped the Great Intelligence at every turn, keeping the timeline intact. There was nothing left to do.

“I’ve got to get her out.“ He insisted stepping closer to his time stream.

“You could die, you could cease to exist.“ River argued trying to stop him.

“She’s always there, all over my time stream, that is why she is important.“ The pieces were falling into place. This was why they had been encountering Clara over and over again. He had been so intrigued and finally, he had figured it out. “Run you clever boy and remember.“ He echoed the words she had said to him many times over.

“Darling.“ River could sense she wasn’t getting anywhere, her husband was in a world of his own thoughts.

“Finally I’ve worked her out.“ He grinned, pleased with the accomplishment. Initially he’d only kept her close out of curiosity, trying to work out how she could be appearing and dying again and again but what a nice surprise that she was actually a loyal friend all along. Sacrificing herself by jumping into his time stream, he could hardly think of a greater proof of loyalty.

“Then leave it at that.“ River tried to reason with him. “We’re safe, the timeline is intact, don’t risk it now, making her sacrifice pointless.“

“I won’t fail.“ He reassured her, a confident smile on his handsome features.

“But what if you do.“ River exclaimed. “You can’t risk your life for hers!“

“Why not?“ He looked back at her confused.

“Why not?!“ River echoed his words in disbelief.

“There are only very few people we can truly trust River, we need to keep them close. She’s just proven her loyalty.“ He looked back to the pulsing energy as if he could see Clara within it. “I owe her to get her out of there.“

“Is that all? Loyalty?“ River’s words were sharper than she had intended, revealing more than she meant to.

“River.“ He groaned in annoyance. Jealousy was not an attractive quality.

“I think it’s a fair question, you’d make me a widow of me in a pointless attempt at saving her?“ River retorted accusingly. Surely he had to know how this would make her feel.

“River, I love you, you must know that.“ He started reaching for her hand, trying to reassure her.

“Then listen to me!“ River insisted, her expression one of both anger and fear. What if he did, in fact, lose himself in there? She couldn’t bare the idea of losing him.

“I always listen.“ He told her and pulled her into his arms. “You’re the one that always here by my side, you’re the first thing I see when I wake and the last when I go to sleep. And I always listen.“ He pressed a kiss to her hair. “But sometimes, you have to listen to me too when I tell that this is what I have to do.“ He took her face in his hands and kissed her, hoping to convey his love and devotion. “Trust me?“ He asked softly as they parted.

“Always.“ River smiled. That impossible, infuriating man.

“See you in a minute, Professor Song.“ He gave her a wink, straightened his bowtie and jumped into his time stream.

——

“Now isn’t that a bit forward, seeing as you’re still fully dressed, Doctor?“ River smirked as she grabbed the Doctor by the collar and ripped her shirt open, buttons flying everywhere. The Doctor jolted back, colour draining from her face. She was too shocked to respond and River took advantage of her stupor. She pulled her around, knocking her into the wall face first. The Doctor tried to pull away but River pinned her against the wall with her own weight. “What? Should I not have said anything? Would you like to keep going and we pretend I don’t know who you really are?“ River hummed against the shell of her ear as she pressed herself against her. She brushed her hair aside and pushed her other hand around her, fumbling with the button of her trousers.

“You knew.“ The Doctor groaned as River trailed kisses up the side of her neck. She tried to pull away from her touch. This had been a terrible idea. She was already regretting her moment of weakness. “When did you realise?“

“About five seconds in.“ The amusement was audible in River’s sultry voice.

“Then why did you…“ The Doctor tried to throw her off, anxiety building as River succeeded in unbuttoning her trousers. She should have realised this was a trap, she should have questioned why River had fallen for her act so completely. She should have known she wouldn’t be able to imitate the Emperor well enough to fool her own wife.

“It got you here, didn’t it? Also… I was curious to see how far you’d go…“ River chuckled as she buried her hand in the Doctor’s hair and pulled her head back. “Maybe I should have let you carry on, now we will never know.“ She ran her hand along the waistband of her Doctor’s pants, clearly enjoying the Doctor’s near-panic as she fought against her. “But alas, I couldn’t do that to my wife.“ Unexpectedly, she let go of her and took a step back, tying up her nightgown. “I didn’t think that I would have to be the one to stop.“ She tilted her head in amusement as she watched the Doctor turn around quickly doing up her trousers, she tried to pull the shirt shut to cover herself up but the buttons were all but two ripped off. Her eyes darted around the room for a way out as River regarded her like a lioness her prey. “Don’t even think about it. I triggered a silent alarm ages ago when I went to get changed.“ River smirked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Of course you did.“ The Doctor groaned, annoyed by her own stupidity, she really should have known.

“Well, I didn’t know how much time I would have. How was I to know you were that easily to keep close.“ River chuckled. “The guards are outside the door and my wife should be home any minute. You think you had a hard time last time? Just wait till she finds out what you’ve been up to.“

——

“Fine, no more games.“ Clara chuckled, there was no need for theatrics now that she had got River out of sight of anyone else. “I think that’s quite enough of that.“ Somewhere in the other room the squark of a raven sounded making River look around for a second. As she looked back to Clara, her tattoos began to blur, rising up into the air.

“A quantum shade.“ River jerked back, immediately realising what she was dealing with.

“Aren’t you the perceptive one.“ Clara replied patronisingly as she pushed River’s hand with the knife away. “Now, I suggest you stop this.“ She tried to shove her off and River obliged, she got to her feet and stepped back, keeping the swirling darkness in her sights. She knew when something could be fought and when it was better to take a step back and reevaluate her options. “There’s a good girl.“ Clara got to her feet as River tried to formulate an escape plan.

“You’re trying to use me to get to the Doctor. Is she even here?“ River tried her best to control her anger, as she realised what was going on. She wanted answers. She didn’t do well at the mercy of others. She threw the butter knife across the room in anger.

“Oh she’s here alright.“ Clara said softly. “And yes, I am going to use you to get her help.“

“Her help? If you need help, you just ask for it! You don’t have to blackmail the Doctor, the Doctor always helps if…“ River exclaimed but Clara started laughing, interrupting her.

“The Doctor always helps.“ She mimicked her. “I bet she does as well… You’re so naive. Both of you are. It’s laughable. Just between us girls, River, I don’t think it’s the sort of help she’ll want to give.“

The Raven burst out of the other room making River take a step back. It landed on Clara’s shoulder as she held out the note she’d written earlier.

——

“Alright, fine, shouldn’t have done this, I get it.“ The Doctor tried her best to steady her voice. “Brain short-circuited, physically you could be my wife after all.“

“Yes yes and since she’s dead, it’s not really cheating, is it? You tell yourself that. I thought you were someone who would be kept up at night by this sort of thing but maybe I underestimated you after all. Or I overestimated your devotion to your wife.“ River hummed with no small measure of gratification in her voice. “Do you still want my hand between your legs, Doctor?“

“That’s quite alright, I can sort that out for myself later.“ The Doctor bit back, trying to give as good as she got and gloss over how much her words stung.

“I very much doubt you’ll get the opportunity.“ River grinned briefly glancing to the door. The Doctor couldn’t be sure if she actually expected her wife to return any moment now or if she was only trying to intimidate her by acting like she would. Either way, she needed to get out of here now.

“You really are remarkably like my River, witty, determined, strong… but there’s just one thing, one mistake my River never would have made.“ The Doctor said as River returned her attention to her.

“Yeah? And what’s that?“ River laughed.

“My River never let’s me keep my sonic when she doesn’t want me to get out of handcuffs.“ The Doctor grabbed her sonic screwdriver from her back pocket and blasted River with it. It wasn’t much, not harmful, not debilitating but for a moment, she blinded her, disoriented her, scrambling the signals from the nerves in her eyes to her brain. A moment was all the Doctor needed to bolt and rush to the TARDIS. River screamed, not in pain but in anger as she needed a moment to recover. The Doctor wasn’t even paying attention to her anymore, she didn’t look back, when she found the TARDIS wasn’t locked. She rushed inside and the lights came on. It wasn’t the warm golden light she knew, it was red and garish against the black walls.

“Really bloody cheerful.“ The Doctor mumbled to herself as she hurried to the console. She started pressing buttons and pulling levers but the TARDIS revolted. The humming and wheezing was loud, unhappy, the Doctor got an electric shock and she pulled her hand back. The TARDIS knew she wasn’t the Emperor and she was refusing to cooperate.

“She won’t let just anyone fly her.“ The Doctor whirled around to see River heading for her. The diversion had been even less effective than she had hoped. “You’re going to regret this, Doctor.“ River snarled.

“Emergency teleport then!“ The Doctor used her sonic to blast the TARDIS console. Sparks flew and River lunged forward but the TARDIS control room around her disappeared. It wasn’t ideal, she didn’t have the TARDIS like she had hoped, but it was a way out.

When the Doctor materialised she looked around panicked, trying to orient herself.

“Great, it worked!“ She exclaimed as she recognised Clara’s quarters. “Clara! We need to talk!“ She looked around for Clara but froze when she found a second person with her. “River…“ The Doctor’s eyes widened in shock. There was no way the Emperor’s wife would have been able to get here before her. She wouldn’t have known where the teleport went and this River was wearing the environmental suit she had worn in the Library. There was only one explanation. The Doctor’s head was spinning, she felt sick as her emotions overwhelmed her. The extraction chamber had worked, River was here.

River looked back at her in surprise. This woman had just appeared out of thin air and judging by the look on Clara’s face, she hadn’t expected her sudden appearance either. The blonde looked at her as if she was a ghost or perhaps a wish come true? There were all sorts of emotions painted on her soft features and tears were welling up in her big eyes that were so impossibly deep and old, not at all matching the youthfulness of her pretty face.

“Doctor?“ River asked slowly remember what Clara had told her. The Doctor was a woman now and this woman looked at her as if she was her sun and stars.

“River, you’re alive!“ The Doctor exclaimed and throwing caution to the wind she rushed to her, flinging herself around her neck. River was overwhelmed, she nearly knocked her off her feet but she pulled her close, held her, reflex more than anything else, as she tried to wrap her head around what she already knew to be true.

“Is it really you?“ She asked tentatively as she pulled back and looked the blonde up and down.

“Oh right, you haven’t seen this face before.“ The Doctor smiled as she took a step back and wiped away a few stray tears in embarrassment.

“Can’t say that I mind…“ River chuckled. “What have you been up to?“ She raised her eyebrows at her barely buttoned shirt.

“Ah… uhh…“ The Doctor blushed and a crushing wave of guilt came over her, overshadowing her joy for seeing her. What had she done? How could she? She struggled to breath as she was searching for the right words.

“Sorry to interrupt this touching moment, but you are in my quarters.“ Clara interrupted at last, fed up of being ignored. She scrunched up the note she had been about to give her Raven. There was no need for it now. This was even better than she could have imagined.

“Clara.“ The Doctor pulled River behind herself as she turned to face her.

“How nice of you to join us, Doctor.“ Clara smirked, observing her protective gesture with amusement. Yes, this would work very well indeed. “It seems as though you forgot something in the extraction chamber.“

“What’s going on here?“ The Doctor demanded to know.

“What’s going on is that I was just trying to work out what exactly happened when you came here, Doctor, and as I was having my look around the extraction chamber, your wife appeared.“ Clara explained with a smug smile.

“River, are you okay, are you…“ The Doctor glanced to her wife and grabbed her hand to assure herself she was here.

“Alive? I think so. As alive as one is coming out of an extraction chamber…“ River replied giving her hand a squeeze. “I know what it does Doctor, you sentimental idiot, you couldn’t just let me die, could you? I’ll have to go back eventually, you know, unless you want a paradox ripping time apart… again…“ She knew the sad truth behind what the Doctor had done. As much as she appreciated the sentiment, there was more heartbreak to come for them, it couldn’t be avoided. And yet, she was grateful for every moment she got to spend with her husband… wife.

“But not for a while. How about we deal with all that when we get out of here.“ The Doctor suggested, trying not to think about what she was implying.

“Sounds like a good idea.“ River nodded looking around for an escape route again.

“You are not going anywhere, Doctor, not just yet. Mind you, we probably haven’t got long to have this conversation. Your teleport, I’m sure they’ll be able to trace it.“ Clara pointed out.

“I don’t think there are any guards at the door.“ River said and the Doctor nodded, having come to the same conclusion.

“Run?“ The Doctor suggested as they inched away from Clara.

“Let’s.“ River agreed and they bolted to the door but Clara had other ideas. The Raven took off and sailed in front of them, barring the door.

“I don’t think so.“ Clara hummed and the tattoos dissolved, swirling into to air and jolted forward. The dark smoke struck the back of River’s neck forming a quantum lock.

“No!“ The Doctor shouted whipping back around to Clara.

“Do I have your attention now, Doctor? I said we need to have a conversation.“ Clara crossed her arms in front of her chest expectantly.

“Take it off her.“ The Doctor yelled taking a threatening step towards Clara who grinned:

“I will, eventually, if you agree to help me with a little something.“

“What?“ The Doctor asked and looked to River with great worry. River touched the back of her neck her expression darkening. Of course it wasn’t going to be that easy.

“I would like your help, Doctor. Your wife assures me one only needs to ask for your help? Well, I thought it would be more convincing if I had your wife as collateral.“ Clara revealed and the Doctor squared her jaw.

“What do you want?“

“You’ve been here long enough now to know, Doctor, that this is not a nice place. You’ve been to the streets, you’ve seen the poverty, the state of the Empire? Perhaps you will reconsider what we talked about before?“ Clara smiled.

“You want to topple the Emperor.“ The Doctor concluded with a sigh.

“I’d never be able to do it by myself as you know and it’s unlikely I’ll ever be able to convince her that I am a far more suitable match for her… so I’m left with few options.“ Clara confirmed with a shrug.

“I won’t kill anyone, not even her…“ The Doctor retorted firmly.

“I realise that and I don’t expect you to. What I do need you to do is play a role. It looks like you have been having a practice run already. There is a ceremony tomorrow, celebrating the Emperor’s return to Gallifrey, it’s the most important holiday. That is why the Emperor has been so eager to get information out of you so quickly, I presume she was trying to announce the next big chapter for the Empire tomorrow.“ Clara explained crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“That’s never going to happen, I would sooner die than tell you how…“ The Doctor shook her head. River looked on in confusion. Who was this mysterious Emperor they were referring to? It sounded like the Doctor had been here a while already and was one step ahead of her.

“Oh I know and I’ve accepted that. I want you to announce the next big chapter in the history of the Empire in her stead tomorrow.“ Clara clarified and the Doctor understood:

“Transfer power to you.“

“Exactly. Not so difficult, is it? Small price to pay for your wife’s life isn’t it?“ Clara glanced to River who still had confusion painted all over her face.

“And how are you going get rid of the Emperor?“ The Doctor asked which seemed to be the one big catch.  

“You leave that to me. You just be back here tomorrow at noon. I would keep you here but you’ve ruined it now with your teleport trick. It they find you here we’re both done for, they need to see you fleeing the palace so the don’t suspect me.“ Clara sighed, what an inconvenience. Likelihood was they had traced the teleport by now and were on their way here. She had to wrap this up.

“And what if I don’t agree?“ The Doctor huffed.

“You will do this for me, Doctor, or your wife, who was so very fortunate to get a second lease on life, will die.“ Clara shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s really a very easy decision to make. I will contact you with the details, my Raven will find you.“

“Take off the lock.“ The Doctor demanded, her voice firm.

“Once I can be sure of your cooperation.“ Clara smiled giving River a wink.

“Fine, alright, I’ll do it, but you leave her alone.“ The Doctor threatened.

“I’ll take the mark off her once it’s done.“ Clara clapped her hands together in excitement.

“No! You take it off her and you take it off her NOW!“ The Doctor yelled jabbing her finger at her.

“Alright, fine. Just remember I can put it back whenever I please.“ Clara huffed and with a wave of her hand, the chrono lock disappeared from River’s neck. River gave a sigh of relief.

“And you take it off the Monk.“ The Doctor went on, remembering why she had come here in the first place.

“The Monk?“ Clara frowned confused.

“Sign of good faith. If you want my help, do it.“ The Doctor insisted.

“Alright, fine, don’t care about him either way.“ Clara gave another wave of her hand. It wasn’t like the Emperor had any way of finding out about this.

“Doctor, you can’t help her…“ River spoke up. She wasn’t sure what exactly was going on but the Doctor was being blackmailed into doing something she didn’t want to do, and that in itself was enough information for her to protest.

“It’s a matter of the lesser evil, River. You haven’t met the Emperor yet… and her wife.“ The Doctor replied, hoping she never would come across them. “They deserve it.“

“Yes they do, Doctor. I’m glad you have come to your senses.“ Clara agreed.

“When it’s done, I’m taking the TARDIS. You can’t fly it anyway. I will need it to find a way home.“ The Doctor realised this was the right moment to bargain. If she wanted to find a way back to her own universe, the TARDIS would be her best bet.

“Fine.“ Clara smiled at her graciously. She had no use for the TARDIS anyway. The Emperor and her wife were the only ones that could fly her. She couldn’t imagine the Doctor would even find a way of using it. “See, the things we can accomplish when we work together.“

“Then you have yourself a deal.“ The Doctor nodded. Her best and only cause of action right now was to agree. She could reevaluate her options later when her and River had got to relative safety.

“Now, I suggest you go, before the guards turn up.“ Clara engaged a screen on the wall, surveillance of the corridor outside.

“River…“ The Doctor grabbed her wife’s hand again but Clara cut in:

“…will be my honoured guest until tomorrow. No harm will come to her, I need her as assurance and you know I wouldn’t harm her, else I would have nothing to pressure you with.“ The Raven squawked for emphasis. “You know I’m right.“ She extended her hand to River. “Unless you’d like that chrono lock back?“

“I’ll be fine, Sweetie.“ River gave her wife’s hand a squeeze before letting go and joining Clara though ignoring her hand. “I’m sure Clara and I have a lot to talk about.“ Perhaps she could find out more about this place.

“We’ll braid each other’s hair and drink champagne, nothing for you to worry about, Doctor.“ Clara smirked at the Doctor who balled her fists, feeling anxious. She didn’t like the idea of leaving River here but under the circumstances she might not have another choice. She glanced to the screen and spotted guards heading their way. They were running out of time. “Now be a dear and make sure they see you as you bolt down the corridor so they leave us alone in here.“ Clara said going her a little wave.

“Everything will be fine, River, I promise, I will come back for you.“ The Doctor looked to her wife who gave her a little smile.

“Well, you better, what good was all that business with the extraction chamber if you don’t.“ River winked. “Go before they catch up with you.“

“I will be back.“ The Doctor insisted. There was so much she wanted to say, she had played it out so many times in her mind of what she would say if she ever got to see River again, but now there was no time. And very little hope. But she took what she could from the little smile and nod River gave her. There was time for words later.

The Doctor had hardly pulled the door shut behind her, when she heard voices. She hurried towards the hidden passage way but hung on by the corner where she could still see the door to Clara’s rooms. She couldn’t allow for River to get caught. If they had in fact traced her teleport signal, they would be searching for her there. When she realised the guards indeed headed straight for the door, she knocked over a nearby bust that crashed to the ground and drew their attention. Calling “Oi! Over here.“ would have been too obvious, they couldn’t realise she was drawing their attention on purpose. When she was sure they’d seen her, she bolted down the corridor. Luckily, she knew more than one secret shortcut to the city below.

——

Clara knocked over a table and some vases, creating traces of a struggle. She picked up a shard from the broken vase and cut her own arm, barely flinching. River raised her eyebrows, concluding that she had to be very scared of the Emperor to go to such lengths to not be found out.

“I don’t think I have to explain to you what will happen if anyone finds you in here.“ Clara caught the questioning expression on River’s face and ushered her to a small room further into her quarters.

“No, you don’t but there is something you do need to explain to me: the Emperor, who is she? And why do you need the Doctor?“ River asked.

“Miss Oswald, please open up.“ There was knocking on the door.

“We haven’t got time for this, get in here and not a sound.“ Clara pushed her into the room and locked the door. River didn’t struggle, she didn’t trust Clara but she trusted the Doctor and if she was concerned for her safety should anyone find her, she know she should try her best to hide. She looked around the room, a small spare bedroom by the looks of it. Nothing much to it, nothing that she could fashion a weapon out of if needed. The vase on the dresser appeared to be her best bet so she grabbed it and stood against the door, pressing her ear to it. She had to find out more about what was going on here.

“Emperor…“ Clara’s voice was distant but clear.

“Don’t even start, Clara! We know she was here. Using my own TARDIS, she’s going to pay for that!“

River froze when she recognised a voice that sounded exactly like the Doctor’s, only with an icy edge to it. Suddenly, Clara’s demands were making a lot more sense. The puzzle pieces were falling into place and River didn’t care for the picture they were revealing.

[luthorao3]

I forgot I sent in the Selkie!MC thought! But thank you for reminding me and also thanks for the Nadia thought because now all that's in my head is this following idea of how she finds out about MC (if you have your own idea please share, I'm just chucking mine out because I'm a mess for these characters and the myth and folklore genres).

Also forgive the length of it, I started typing and the idea grew much, much further than intended. I should not be as invested in mythical and folklore creatures as I am, but once I start thinking it does. not. stop.

Anyway, here's the initial idea I had:

Nadia's not a fan of hypocritical behaviour because, fine, some people have moral codes but at least have the strength of character to stick to them. So she's annoyed about the Poppy having a pet seal, so maybe she decides to be petty about it and give them the metaphorical finger.

How does she decide to do this?

By kidnapping the seal and releasing it back into the wild of course!

She figures out quite quickly that the seal in question isn't always in the pool, but for the life of her she can't find out where they keep it indoors. Is there a hidden water tank inside she doesn't know about? If there is she can't find it, which leaves the pool as the only viable option to take the "poor, trapped animal" from.

And sure, MC loves being (as you perfectly put it) a menace in the pool when others are around, but sometimes she just likes to swim yk? So she goes swimming on her own sometimes.

And during one of Nadia's checkups on the spot, she sees the seal splashing around unsupervised and sees her chance.

MC does not expect the net.

She thrashes, of course, but at first thinks it's an ill-advissd, not very sensitive prank and is just like "I'm gonna kill them" until she realises exactly who has just pulled her out of the water.

The plan for Nadia had been to use a seal-carrier bag usually used by rescuers after getting the seal out of the net.

The plan absolutely had not included the thrashing seal to almost immediately shift into an infuriated MC because she recognises the bag Nadia's holding and it might not exactly be a cage but it's pretty close and she doesn't know what the hell Nadia wants with a seal so she's at least going to get into a form where she can defend herself.

Nadia's of course frozen in shock and barely avoids getting her nose broken again.

The Poppy hear MC shouting and come running, and Vivienne nearly kills Nadia the moment she sees the net, the bag and MC clinging to her sealskin. The rest of the Poppy are fully ready to throw down but it's Nadia's shock that saves her because she just blurts out "You're a SEAL?" And the Poppy pauses because they're like "...you aren't trying to take her coat?"

"Wtf would I do that? You think I need sealskin?"

And they really don't like this situation, they don’t want to be in a position where they have to trust Nadia because, yk, it's Nadia, but they can't kill her either (Vivienne does ask again if they can reconsider their no killing rule, but this time she's only half joking) so they don't really have a choice. They chuck her out as fast as possible because they are not explaining anything that could give her leverage and also they don't want her around MC, and Nadia's more than happy to book it out of there because she needs more information but her mind is still reeling (MC, seal, MC, seal, MC is the seal, what the-). The Poppy move to another penthouse and are gearing up to dispell any rumours that might "crop up" about MC in the Underworld, practicing scoffing in people's faces like "Selkies? You mean like magic? That doesn't exist!"

But Nadia doesn't spread any rumours, there's just total silence, nothing to indicate that anyone's heard anything about Selkies or seals.

And nobody's going to, because once Nadia's done her research and worked out that, yes, MC is an apparently not-so-mythical Selkie, she knows she isn't going to tell anyone (aside from looking insane if she did so, she also does want to win the Poppy over and stealing a pet seal is one thing but this is on an entirely different level).

Of course her research of Selkies inevitably raises the point of how important MC's sealskin coat actually is, and it clicks in her brain exactly what the Poppy thought she was doing by attempting to kidnap MC, and Nadia's a terrible human being, okay? Absolutely terrible, she would kill a man without hesitation, she would wreck someone's life in all kinds of ways, but she wouldn't do that. She gets the implications of what taking the coat would mean immediately, what it looked like to the Poppy by the pool before they realised she didn't know, hadn't worked it out.

And the Poppy don't hear anything, not for a while, as Nadia tries to work out how to approach the situation, until she gets wind of Vivienne punching a man who hadn't known that MC was a Selkie, but had thought that the sealskin coat looked very nice and tried to steal it.

He ends up dead in a couple days.

please never never apologise holy shit also please tell me you write??? please tell me you have fic somewhere that i can read because oh my gos your mind???? i’m about to go zombie weird on you and your beautiful brain lmaoooo this had me laughing out loud!! nadia ‘releasing the poor, captive seal back into the wild’ ajdjdjfkfkfk.

all i could imagine when i read that, though, was— you know that one scene in the parent trap? where the twins take meredith (??) camping, and as she’s sleeping they drag her blow up mattress out into the middle of the lake? like either THAT or the fucking aristocats, with MC waking up in the middle of the wilds hearing a toad croak directly beside her ear like ‘MAMA? D:’

but oh my GOSH!!!!! at nadia understanding the implications of her rescue attempt looking like she’s trying to steal MC’s coat. oh god. i can’t tell you how much of a sucker i am when it comes to ‘yes, i will do unquestionably evil acts, but i don’t fuck with kids/animals/vulnerable people’ villains. you sexy piece of shit. 😔👌

also can we just for a second appreciate after everything calms down nadia rocking up to mc with like a bucket of fish or smth equally awful because she is still, alas, a rat bastard. <3

[tellywoodtrash]

immj2 09.10.20 lb

lol, lemme preface this by telling you what i know about the show from my out-of-context insta-viewing:

kabir sends his gf riddhima in to spy on vansh RAISINGHANIA (naam ka wazan check karein ji. kaafi hi bhaari-bharkam, just like the fake baritone the actor playing the character is being forced to put on.) vansh is some kinda shady, but idk WHAT SPECIFIC KIND of shady..... like is he just your garden-variety-evil-capitalist-ala-ambani-bezos, or is he into shit like drug smuggling and human/organ trafficking???? no one knows. maybe a little bit of both. but kabir’s a COP, and we all know that those fuckers are the shadiest shits around (#ACAB) so yeah, true to type, kabir shadyyyyyyyy. he’s actually the secret illegitimate son of vansh’s stepmom and together they wanna ruin vansh and take all his monies. so anyway, kabir sends in riddhima, who’s just a whole special brand of dumbass, but also extraordinarily determined in the way only tellywood heroines are. so she’s basically sticking her nose everywhere that doesn’t belong and being a pain in the ass of literally everyone in the show, including her own (coz she seems to get injured in novel and entertaining ways in every second episode.) kabir ultimately manipulates her into marrying vansh, while vansh has apparently married her KNOWING that she’s a spy and is probably playing the long game to see who her puppet-master is. long story short, heterosexuality is too potent a force and the Stupid Spy Girl and Gangsta Guy are currently slowly giving in to the Feelz™, despite missing that one-little-teensy-weensy-who-even-needs-it-in-a-real-relationship thing. y’know, that little thing called, idk, i think it’s called “TRUST” or some such strange unheard-of concept.

oh, in between all this there’s also some bizarre plot about some ex of vansh’s called ragini, who’s dead??? missing? idk. kabir is real interested in that and wants to jail vansh for it, but we’ve long forgotten about ragini by this point #RIPSis anyway, there’s some kinda statue of her’s in the attic or some shit, coz vansh is some kinda modern day gender-reversed medusa who turns women who cross him into statues??? idk man, idk. so riddhima is pretty much in constant danger of being statue-d.

also vansh has a requisite irritating famiy in tow, that he’s burdened with being in charge of (coz no rest for the unfortunate eldest son who lives in this godforksaken mansion, be that an oberoi or a raisinghania) feat: a dadi who is well-meaning, but as annoying as the one in IB was, constantly spouting platitudes about how vansh and Spy Girl trooooooly lurrrrrrrrrrve each other *kissy noises*; some chachi/chacha who are all “HEY WHY DOES HE GET TO BE THE BOSS, WE WANT CONTROL OF THE CRORE-ON KA BIJNESS TOO”, some very fake kanji-eyed siblings/cousins who are supreme bitches, and ofc one (1) normal sibling who is sweet but really does nothing around here. oh and there’s his right hand man/bff too, who seems to be not 100% (maybe just 83%?) incompetent like everyone else. that poor sod just got suckered into marrying Kanji Aankhon Waali Bitch Sister, who is pregnant with some total rando’s baby, and is just an all-round asshole to Riddhima/Right Hand Man, because “ugh, yeh do kaudi ke middle class naukar log, cheeeeee.”

ok now that the sasta, not-at-all-useful recap has been done, LET’S GET INTO THISSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.

———————————————————————

the chachi is screaming her goddamn headdddd off coz her room is on fire. ofc it is. when has anything good ever happened in this manhoos house of horrors.

lmao the kanji eyed cousin has like 3% concern that his mom will be fried like a taaza jalebi. he's literally sauntering luxuriously towards his mom's room jaise park mein tehel raha ho.

chachi's screaming is getting on my nerves. aunty you're wasting valuable oxygen this way.  

riddhima is behind some secret box that aryan and chachi stashed in the room.

THESE PPL ARE SO CHILL ABOUT A WHOLE ROOM ON FIRE (note: it’s shivaay's room in IB) and they're just hanging out in the living room (which if you’ll remember, IS ATTACHED TO THE ROOM THAT WAS SHIVAAY’S) as if fire doesnt have a tendency to y'know..........  SPREAD RAPIDLY.

riddhima is fighting with the bloody fireman saying ki i need to save the box. #priorities

aaaaaaand the fireman is kabir, who has come to haath maarofy on Box of Secrets.

and we know this coz he did a DRAMAAAAAAAAATIC reveal by taking off his mask. in a room FULLY ON FIRE. idhar non-flaming rooms mein bhi ab mask nikaalna danger ho gaya hai, and this guy justtttttttttt dgaf. tum jaison ki wajaah se hi we can't bloody stop the spread.

my god this house has been decorated soooooooo fucking tackily. never thought the oberois would be the classy ones.

shady saasumaa and riddhima stinkeye-ing each other over a bowl of shehed. lol, what even. truly some "rasode mein kaun tha" lvl of politics.

oh ho, saasumaa and kabir lagaaofied the aag.

saasumaa gloating over the fact that riddhima will now never get her hands on Box of Secrets.

flashback time: hahahahaha KABIR LITERALLY LOBBED A MOLOTOV COCKTAIL INTO THE ROOM AND CHACHI DIDN'T EVEN FUCKING HEAR IT OR ANYTHING. lmao everyone in this show is a dumbass. how blissful life must be with just one (1) working brain cell.

riddhima runs into flaming room. ofc now we will have a prolonged sequence where kabir tries to keep his identity and riddhima being the dheent that she is, will give chase.

please note, that not even 48 hours ago, this woman walked barefoot on a bed of coals AND a hallway full of broken glass. AND NOW SHE'S RUNNING FULL SPEED BEHIND KABIR AS IF SHE’S PT USHA. SIS, TUMHARE PAIR HAIN KI KYA HAIN? YOU'RE LONG OVERDUE FOR AN INTENSE PEDICURE AFTER THIS WEEK.

and ofc, he got into a getaway car and made it away.

yeh lo, iss beech mein dadi behosh. ouff.

whooooooooops, dadi has some weird blue nishaan on her neck.

LMAO KABIR SHOT AT RIDDHIMA WITH A POISON BULLET OR SYRINGE OR SOME SHIT, WHICH HIT DADI INSTEAD. LMAO MAN THIS SHOW. IT'S SO FUCKING DUMB, I LOVE IT.

some more stinkeye politics between saas bahu.

bahu is passive-aggressively giving saasumaa roses to congratulate her on winning this round.

riddhima is dheent!max. she's like kuch bhi ho, i'll find the secret anyway and your victory will witherrrrrrr awayyyyyyyy like these flowerssssss and you will be left with the thorns that will prick youuuuuuuu!!!!!!!

LMAO SAAS IS FULLY ROLLING HER EYES AT RIDDHIMA'S DRAMATIC ASS #SAME

just looking at helly's ears is making my ears hurt like a bitch. 

hey riddhima, have you ever thought that maybe this secret child of hers is NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS?????? like honestly, the entitlement desis have to know the workings of other ppl’s wombs.

lol dumbass mummyji crumpled the flowers in her hand and played right into riddhima's stupid kaante waala metaphor. #ramMilayiJodi

hero ko covid hai toh ainvayi ke phone calls se kaam chalaana pad raha hai.

the dude left his house for literally the first time in months and the place is on fire and dadi got shot in the neck with poison. and the wife doesn't think she should tell him so that he doesn't become "pareshaan". sure, this seems like a dude who'll take this kinda thing real light when he finds out later.

(hint: he’s not. he’s a crazed, overprotective weirdo about his family. sound familiar?????)

this guy's dialogue delivery is so dodgy. idk what it is, it just seems so affected.

that plus the ainvayi ka editing just showing him in some random car (clearly from the earlier eps)  is just adding to the jankiness of the scene.

husband dude seems to know wifey's quirks quite well. kinda cute, kinda creepy. 

lol kal tak toh yeh banda itna romantic nahi tha. like he had a smooth moment here and there, but he was mostly real awkward and robotic and unsure how to handle These Strange New Feelings™. now he’s spouting cheesyass lines about being able to see the one who is special to you with dil ki aankhein and idk what.

who are these people who like SHARING their room with another person? #unrealistic

but i also i get you, riddhima. he was pretty much the only thing worth looking at in this room, coz the rest of it is so damn fugggggg. this room should be the one set on fire.

dang, some steamy scenes between them in the flashbacks. ouff abhi jaake episodes dhundne padenge. coz #tharkiTTisTharki

riddhima doing dadi seva. boooooooooring.

ofc dadi ki sui is always atkofied on playing cupid for pota, taaki she can score some par-pota/potis.

riddhima ki best friend ka happy birthday hai.

riddhima is like a lottttt has happened in my life, can't really tell you over a call. yup, that’s for sure. 

ok apparently sejal who said she’s in dubai now is NOT in dubai?? she's just up and flew to mumbai to "surprise" riddhima...... on HER OWN birthday? #doesNotCompute

lmao kabir's annoyance with mummy's useless glass of water. WHY DO MOMS THINK EVERYTHING CAN BE SOLVED WITH DRINKING MORE WATER?!?!?!!

now he's yelling at mom about how she's ruined everything. sure. blame the only one who's actually doing shit around here, while you sit on your ass in this room, glaring and growling like a hangry bear.

some menacing dialogue about how he needs to thikaane lagaaofy riddhima's hosh.

which has been overheard by bff sejal, who went and dropped a showpiece from shock. cool. so she gonna die. bye sejal, hardly got to know ya!

sejal being here doesn’t even make sense. she thought he was a PT teacher. then why did she show up here at his police waala office? also how did she connect the dots about the whole damn story with like 0.04% context that she got from what she overheard? kuchhhhhhh bhi.

[charlieism]

The Horror Of Staying Alive

AU where Owen murders Curt in their final confrontation on that staircase.

Read on AO3!

Excerpt: This is the end result of all Owen's suffering, plotting and patience; this is the ideal outcome; this is the plan gone right. Owen should be celebrating, or fizzing with joy, or at the very least feeling vaguely relieved or successful.

So why does he feel numb, staring at the mess of splayed limbs and the steadily increasing puddle of blood on the floor at the bottom of the stairs?

It's an awfully familiar sight.

--

"Taking your advice," Curt says, and takes a step closer, the barrel of his gun lining up perfectly with the centre of Owen's forehead exactly the way Owen knows he was trained to do. Owen... Owen didn't expect that, actually. For a second he suddenly thinks that perhaps Curt has changed, in those four long, painful, bitter years apart. Owen, it appears, is no longer one step ahead. Curt has taken the lead; his grip is steady on the gun even as his hand trembles, his eyes are staring directly into Owen's as if he's trying to burn their exact shape into his memory (Owen never forgot what Curt's eyes looked like; they haven't changed at all, they're just shining with some unfamiliar emotion now) and Owen barely has time to tense as Curt's fingers tighten on the gun until his knuckles fade to white. Owen prepares himself for the pull of the trigger—for a scarlet flash of blood and brain he won't be alive long enough to see—and keeps his eyes open. He can't bring himself to look away from the American agent. He hates him so much, rage burns like molten rock behind his ribs just at the sight of the man, of the bastard who is responsible for all Owen's pain and suffering and agony these last four years. The scars of old injuries burn and the phantom ache of long-broken bones resurface, just from looking at the person who broke Owen's heart by leaving him equally as broken under that fucking staircase.

Owen thinks there's probably poetry in the fact that their final confrontation is also on a set of stairs. He's probably meant to see it as some grand metaphor, or whatever. Mostly he just hates it. Hates everything. Hates this entire shitty situation. Hates the fact that Curt's about to kill him—is this really how his story ends? He just hates Curt. Hates him more than he's ever hated anything in his soon-to-be-over life. Hates the fact that he can't tear his eyes away from Curt's gaze, even as he hears his shaky inhale, even as the gun trigger practically creaks. Hates the waiting, why the fuck is it taking so long? Owen doesn't want to die, but his brain should've been blown out seconds ago. Curt is hesitating, taking too long to act. Owen knows the other man is four years out of practice, but this is just sloppy.

His eyes flicker down to Curt's grip on the gun of their own accord. It's... shakier, than it was before. Less sure. He looks back up, and Curt's eyes are suddenly brimming with unshed tears.

"Damn it," the American grits out through clenched teeth, and... huh.

It seems that personal history truly does have its benefits.

 Owen's always been the better spy. He sees an opportunity, he snatches it without even having to think about it; that's what MI6 and Chimera have trained him to do. Moments before Curt's resolve can return and his handle on the gun can strengthen, before he can shoot the killing bullet, Owen darts forward. He grapples with the gun, twisting it from Curt's fingers with a cry of pain and shock from the other spy and yanking it towards himself, effortlessly spinning it and levelling it at Curt's head (not his heart, this time. If there was poetry in that one, Owen wants it ripped up, shredded, burned, and never ever read). Owen takes another step back, rising to a higher level than the other spy. There's probably also something metaphorically important there; he couldn't give less of a shit right now. He's too focused on Curt's reaction.

Curt's hand is still outstretched, but he pulls it back to cradle his fingers. He's still staring at Owen, those infuriatingly familiar eyes wide and swirling with emotion. Even after all these years Owen can read him like a book. Curt's surprised, angry, intensely sad (heartbroken, pipes up a little voice in Owen's head that he always ignores), and... something else. Something flat, and tired, and aching.

Acceptance, Owen realises.

Resignation.

"You almost got me, old boy," Owen automatically forces a cocky laugh, trying to recover the situation with blustery bravado and his confident persona. "But, alas, I'm still the better spy."

"You always were," Curt whispers softly, sadly, and— Owen's almost confused. The Curt Mega he knows would never have admitted that.

"Glad to see you finally realise it, at the end of your life," Owen spits. Curt just watches him. Owen frowns, shifts, tightens his grip on the gun. "What, no fancy last words? No last witty retort from the great Agent Curt Mega?" he sneers. He's not— unsettled, he's just... well, the plan is back on track, but the situation was derailed for a moment there and he just needs to get back to grips.

"I kind of already gave my heartfelt speech back there," Curt says, "and it did nothing. And you already got my gun back, so really, what else can I do? How can I convince you to stop?" he asks, and his tone turns pleading, begging. It's satisfying to hear. It's not enough.

"I'll never stop. I'm going to fix this corrupt shithole of a world, and I'm going to start with you." Owen hisses. Curt opens his mouth as if he's about to argue (typical, predictable), but then he just... stops. Closes his mouth. And then closes his eyes.

 Owen doesn't like that at all. It's the first time Curt's broken eye contact since he batted the British man's gun away. Owen doesn't know why but it irks him, tugs something sharp and vicious loose in his chest.

"Don't you get it, you idiot? I'm going to kill you!" he rampages, fury bracing his voice with steel. It works, though, as Curt's eyes flutter open.

Hazel. Tired, gleaming, grieving. Familiar. Owen knows the exact shade, hue, and shape of those old eyes.

"Better you than anybody else," Curt says quietly. Owen is too well-trained to let his grip loosen on the gun; not again. But...

"What?"

"With everything we've been through with one another, with how our history is weaved together... if anyone is going to kill me, Owen, it makes sense that it's you. You're the only person I can see doing it. And I... I don't win here. And it's not okay, but it's. It's how this ends. And it's my fault. And for what it's worth... I'm sorry," Curt says simply, and Owen—

Owen rages. His chest burns with fury, gut roils with disbelief, hand trembles with the amount of pure hatred rushing through his veins. How dare he. How fucking dare he! He's apologising?! After all this time, all this pain, all this— after every 'evil' thing Owen's done, Agent Curt Mega is apologising to him?! Curt Mega is a brash, self-centred brute and he never apologises, because he's never wrong even when he is, so what the hell is this?! Owen can't— Owen hates him.

He hates him, he hates him, he hates him.

Curt is staring at him, but it's not a hopeful look. He doesn't look like he's attempting one last-ditch effort to convince Owen to leave Chimera or, trying to lure him back to Curt's side. No, his gaze is just... wide-eyed and taking Owen in.

Owen is shaking.

This was not a part of the plan.

 Owen has been planning to kill Curt for so long now. He has the final words he'll say to Curt planned out, flowing scripts written in his head, a million options for a million different situations with a million different outcomes. He's learned all his lines over and over, has righteous speeches scratched into his very bones, vicious parting words scorched into what's left of his heart.

And yet, in this moment, he can remember none of them. Points and feelings and words he'd thought had become an essential part of his very being have disappeared, chased out of his head by the man they were planned for himself.

Owen doesn't know what to say, so he pulls the trigger instead.

It means he's watching as Curt's glittering eyes, still staring into his own, lose the vibrancy of life. He sees the spray of crimson blood, white bone, and grey matter explode outwards, watches Curt's corpse tumble backwards and down, rolling and knocking against each step until he's lying at the bottom of the staircase, crumpled and broken and very much dead.

Owen's been waiting four years for this moment. The picture of Curt's death was what he had lived for. His traitor ex-love, his mortal enemy, his arch nemesis, finally beaten and gone. This is the end result of all Owen's suffering, plotting and patience; this is the ideal outcome; this is the plan gone . Owen should be celebrating, or fizzing with joy, or at the very least feeling vaguely relieved or successful.

So why does he feel numb, staring at the mess of splayed limbs and the steadily increasing puddle of blood on the floor below him?

It's an awfully familiar sight.

He rips himself away from the scene and holsters his gun as he stumbles away. He doesn't vomit, but it's a shockingly near thing.

He should finally be happy.

So why does he feel as dead inside as Curt Mega finally truly is?

Chimera wins. They topple the spy agencies, and Owen feels nothing when he should feel elated. He thinks, deep down, that maybe if he gave himself the chance he would feel something, but he's afraid to linger on what those feelings might be. (They'd be the wrong ones.)

Everything is going according to plan, except for Owen.

Curt Mega haunts him, his presence lingering on just as strongly in death as it did in life. Owen can't stop thinking about their final encounter: about how Curt had acted; the things he'd said; the way he'd managed to surprise Owen again and again. There's a horrible, ever-present thought hovering in the furthest back corners of Owen's mind. Had Curt changed? If so, how? What was he truly like, after those four terrible years apart? Owen had thought he was still predictable, and in a way he was, but he'd also seemed... different, somehow.

Owen doesn't like to think too hard about it. He's afraid of the consequences of doing so.

He sees Curt's eyes in his final moments every time his own eyelids slide shut. The way they'd shone and stared and swirled with emotion was imprinted onto Owen's retinas. He tortured himself trying to decipher exactly what Curt had been thinking and feeling in those last moments; he could pick out most of Curt's emotions in those final few minutes, but there had been something strong in his eyes that eluded him, that Owen wasn't able to place. It was frustratingly, painfully, horribly familiar.

(Love, the tiny part of his brain screamed, and Owen screamed hoarsely back at it before boxing it up and forgetting it completely. He refused to think about... he refused.)

Owen followed Curt's lead and began to drink. He drank too much, too often, just because it meant he could forget. Forget that he'd seen Curt Mega die, watched the culmination of all his dreams for four long years come true and have it bring him no joy; forget the way that, despite the numbness, he was still feeling too much. He could forget how he was still hurting. He could forget everything.

In some sick, twisted way, he understands Curt better now.

He wonders what would've happened if Curt had done what he'd been about to and killed Owen right then and there. Wonders what might have happened if neither of them had stuck to the plan, and Curt had arrested Owen instead. He asks Cynthia Houston about it, once they've broken down the United States Secret Service. She spits at him and screams at him and cusses him out; her outrage almost manages to make him feel sad, surprisingly enough. He'd liked her, once.

She names him a traitor and evil and the scum of the earth, and right before he kills her she calls him out for what he did to Curt. Her whip-like tongue cuts into him for all the pain he caused, for how dirty and low-down what he did was, for how long her best agent mourned and ruined himself with grief. That punches through the nothingness encompassing Owen and hurts. It shouldn't, but it does.

Her death brings no satisfaction either.

He shouldn't care about what she says, anyway; she was the head of the United States’ Secret Service, was in control of the entire American spy agency, and Owen knows that the spy agencies are the real enemy.

That makes him wonder, though, on rare occasions, how much of the blame he pinned on the single American spy should've instead been thrown at the spy agencies. If his hate was directed to the wrong target the whole time, if that's why he feels like this. If what he felt had even been hatred.

He drinks so he doesn't have to think like that anymore.

It doesn't work.

Owen Carvour hates Curt Mega. That hatred was his entire existence for four long years, except it wasn't just hatred. Curt had made Owen feel so many different things, bad and good and somewhere in between, for so long that Owen doesn't think the words to describe those experiences even exist.

He hated Curt so violently. He did. But did he really? He was so angry and hurt and betrayed, what else could he have possibly felt towards the other man, after all that had happened?

(Love, the voice cries, and Owen cries with it.)

Owen watches the world burn in a fire his own hands helped spark, and feels tired. He's exhausted, and sad, and can't even dredge up the will to be angry anymore. That anger died with the other spy. After all this time, all this pain, he's been broken.

The realisation that it was Curt goddamn Mega's death that finally broke him is a hideous twist of cosmic irony that makes Owen laugh until he's crying and staring at the bottom of a bottle.

Owen looks at the new, open world; thinks about Curt Mega and their personal history; finally lets himself feel all the conflicted and complicated and strong feelings he has towards the other man; and wonders if Curt would've ever forgiven him.

Then he thinks about the look in Curt's eyes right before Owen shot him and knows, deep in his heart, that the other man already had.

Owen will never see those eyes again, and it's his own fault. He shouldn't crave forgiveness from a man he murdered. He shouldn't hate the world that is the result of his own plans coming to fruition. He shouldn't miss Curt. He should feel good.

But in the end, he just feels heartbroken.

There's probably something symbolic in that; Owen mainly just thinks it's cruel.