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#and how to handle it if your parent said your word are nonsense and pretending not to hear you
dalnim96 · 3 years
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have you ever feel that your siblings received more love than you that it is so obvious even your neighbours could tell but your parents said "no, they love all of you (siblings) the same" but you still get the same (less) treatment even after being pointed out ?
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koushou · 3 years
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i love it smmmm omg. the megumi fix is amazing it’s more than i asked for ❤️❤️ bro 6,9k is a blessing you don’t understand how glad it made me it’s so worth the wait. tumblr is so dry when it comes to anime fics and especially w megumi thank you for feeding me something other than the crumbs this website gives me. i don’t want to be too annoying but whenever you’re free if you could do a pt 2 cause that ending omg. i love it sm and i can’t thank you enough ❤️
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pairing : megumi x f!reader [fluff]
warnings : slight makeout scene idk HAHA nothing too intense though (also not proofread because i wanted to get this posted as soon as i finished it)
wc : 3.5k
a/n : ur too sweet omg and im FINALLY back from procrastinating your request again anon… (i really apologize i don’t mean to take so long pls forgive me D: ) i hope this is what you wanted!!
pt. 1 (you don’t really have to read pt 1 to understand this part but i do recommend it)
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loud chatter echoes through the large modern dining hall located on the second floor of the hotel.
“i’m… so full…” a certain pink haired male burps for the nth time as he still continues to stuff food into his mouth. gojo laughs at itadori’s passion for the hotel food, while doing the same as he takes a large bite of a pancake.
you chuckle, taking a sip of your drink and leaning back in your cushioned chair, already finished with your 3rd plate of breakfast. i mean, who could blame you? hotel breakfast food just hits a different type of way.
“so, spill all the juicy events that happened last night, i wanna know!” nobara nudges you excitedly, her eyes twinkling as she pulls her chair closer to yours.
rolling your eyes, you look away from the ginger female and pretend to not have heard her. accidentally, you were now faced towards megumi, sitting on the opposite side of you. your eyes met for a brief moment before you quickly turned away, breaking the awkward interaction.
“aww— c’mon, y/n! please—“
“nothing happened at all! and don’t think i forgot the way you ignored my knocks on your door yesterday,” you shot her a glare, earning a sheepish laugh in return.
“but... in the same bed..?”
you were about to retort back when gojo stands up and claps his hand over his stomach, which now seemed just… a few sizes bigger.
“alright! have we all finished our food? god, when did hotel food get so good— anyway, it’s time to pack our things and head back home!” your constantly enthusiastic teacher exclaims, as a waiter comes to collect your plates.
after thanking the waiter and paying the bill (poor gojo-sensei’s wallet), you all head back upstairs to drive back home.
a thick silence hangs over your room as you and megumi collect your items, not wanting to bring up any events from last night. finally ready to head out, you walk towards the door to open it until another hand reaches the handle at the same time.
you retract your hand quickly, while the other hand lingers in the air above the knob.
“oh— sorry, you can go first!” you gulp, backing up a bit so megumi can exit first.
he pauses for a second, twisting the knob until the door pulls open. you expected him to walk out, but he makes his way to the other side of you instead, still holding the door open.
you look over at him with a questioning look, receiving a slight shrug and a hint of a smirk.
“ladies first.”
why was his stupid face so handsome?
you shook your head at his teasing expression, making your way out the door to the carpeted hallway, him following close behind.
the others were already at the lobby waiting, their conversation becoming clearer as you reach them.
“what’s taking them both so long? you don’t think they’re too busy… y’know…” nobara’s usual cheerful voice carries her words to your ears, making you roll your eyes and spook her from being.
“boo.”
“i’m just sayin- oh my go—“ she frantically turns around, breathing a sigh of relief upon seeing it was just you.
“you scared me!”
“what were we talking about?”
“nothing important! come on, we should get going!” nobara nudges gojo and itadori ahead, escaping you as she scurries out of the lobby.
you hear a yawn from behind you, a tuft of black hair moving past you as you suppress the urge to laugh at megumi’s already messy hairstyle, amplified by his morning bed hair.
finally, you were all seated back in gojo’s car, ready to drive back to the school so you all can head back to your own homes.
the ride back was full of gojo’s irritating voice singing along to songs playing from the car radio, itadori laughing along, and the rest of you too excited to leave the car.
“alright kids! we’re here, make sure to be safe on the way back home!”
gojo waves to all of you as you hop out of his car one by one, basking in the cool summer air for a few seconds.
“see you guys!”
itadori jogs away, heading in the direction of his own home, followed by megumi, then nobara, and lastly, you.
upon reaching your house, your mother welcomes you, asking about your day, if you had fun, and other typical mother questions.
you were telling her about your day when you suddenly recalled the hotel night events, and scurried away embarrassed upstairs to your room, leaving a very confused mom behind.
you flop down onto the bed, face down, wanting to get a good few minutes of quiet nap time in before your phone dings with a notification.
grunting, you pull your phone out from your pocket, swiping across the screen to check the message.
surprisingly, it was from megumi, eyebrows suspiciously raising as you open the text message from him. you two rarely texted unless it was about school or business-related, so you couldn’t think of anything he would need from you right now.
megumi : Hey.
megumi : I have your hair tie with me. You probably left it in my bag or something.
megumi : I’m coming over in 5 minutes.
you sat up abruptly, rereading his messages to make sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.
you had been so caught up with his prior messages that you failed to register that he said he was going to be at your house in… 5 minutes.
hurriedly, you swiped to see what time he had sent that last message. 12:34 AM.
your eyes moved to the top of your phone screen, reading the current time. 12:37 AM.
almost falling out of bed scrambling to your room mirror, you checked your appearance to make sure you looked fine and your hair wasn’t messy and-
you paused.
“why am i so concerned about how i look? why do i care about this?”
you slapped your face with both hands, bringing yourself back to reality when you were interrupted again, but this time by your doorbell ringing from downstairs.
making your way out of your room, you saw that your mom had already opened the door with a familiar tall figure standing in the doorway.
“oh! megumi, it’s been a while!” your mom lets megumi in with a smile, already going to the kitchen to make him some tea.
he bows politely, sitting down on the couch, now changed into a loose white t-shirt with black shorts.
“uh- theres no need to make me tea, i won’t be here for too long—“
“nonsense! you can even stay for lunch, dear megumi! i just have to prepare the last dish and—“
you finally clear your throat, standing at the middle of the stairs, catching both of their attention.
“oh, y/n! i have to go out to the grocery store for some ingredients, take care of our guest megumi, alright?” she places two cups of tea on the table in front of megumi, grabbing her keys to head out.
“wait, mom—“
she sends you a wink by the door, already outside before you can finish your sentence.
you sigh in defeat, sitting across from megumi on the other couch.
“here.”
megumi pulls out a black hair tie from his pocket, almost identical to the one currently around your wrist.
you raise your eyebrows in suspicion at the hair tie. “but i only have one? and i didn’t bring any extra yesterday..?” you motion to your own arm.
he looks back and forth between your wrist and the one he had in his hand, scratching his head in confusion.
“it was in our hotel room, so i assumed it was yours.” he shrugs, placing it on the table. “but if it isn’t, i can just throw it away.”
you hum, taking a sip of the tea your mom prepared as he does the same, cringing as the still hot tea burns his tongue.
“pfft…”
he glares at you, placing the cup down as his eyes scan around your living room, taking in the decorations.
“i’ll just keep it then, it seems new.” you take the forgotten hair tie on the table, and wear it around your wrist, now decorated with two black hair ties.
he nods, sitting back against the couch, silence falling between you both.
a question suddenly popped up in your mind, your mouth moving faster than your brain.
“you came all the way here… just to give me a hair tie?”
the question seems to set him a little nervous, clearing his throat and avoiding eye contact as he fidgets in his seat.
“well— i figured i’d return it to you before i forgot,” he shrugs, reaching out to take another sip of his tea before pulling back quickly again at the heat.
you nod slowly, still unconvinced with his answer. who goes all the way to someone’s house to return a hair tie?
“okay then, see you on monday?” you get up, ready to send him back off.
his head snaps up, still not moving in his seat as he opens his mouth slowly, as if unsure of how to respond.
“um- i thought your mom said i could stay…for lunch…?”
he averts his eyes, pink dusting his pale cheeks as he looks away. your mouth forms into an ‘o’ shape as you recall your mom’s words and those were - in fact what she had said.
it wasn’t that you were against him staying for lunch, but you two weren’t even friends or remotely close at that. rivals would even suit you both better than friends.
“but if you want i can, uh, leave now,” he starts to stand, looking uncomfortable in his position across from you.
it was then that you remembered megumi’s background, that his mother had left early at birth, plus his father wasn’t exactly present.
you couldn’t imagine living without your parents, and how lonely he must be without true family.
“no! i mean, that’s not what i meant, you can stay.” you sputter out before he gets the wrong idea.
his eyes seem to light up at your words, nodding before sitting back down on his previous spot on the couch.
you glance over at the time on your phone, it had been around 7 minutes after your mom had left.
the tension was thick in the room, and just when you thought you were about to explode from the awkwardness, he finally breaks the silence.
“do you… play that?”
you turn to where his eyes are placed on, seeing your black xbox console laying on top of a cabinet, having been untouched for a while.
“oh that? yeah, occasionally, why?”
you hear a snicker from beside you, snapping your head to find his lips curled into a teasing grin.
“oh, i just didn’t think a nerd like you would play games.”
you raise your eyebrows at his words. “you sure about that? it doesn’t seem like you’re very good at games either, megumi.” you make sure to stretch out each three syllables of his name to tease him further.
he huffs while leaning back, still maintaining intense eye contact with you, almost challenging each other to say something back.
“how about this, whoever wins against the other gets to make them do whatever they want. no matter what it is.” he nods over to the console, tilting his head as he waits for your response.
you chuckle, standing up to take the console, fiddling with it for a moment before turning back to him.
“alright, just don’t cry when you lose too much, okay?”
he shrugs, smirking as he looks around the living room for the other console, making you remember something.
“oh, the other console plus a TV is in my room, wanna just play there?”
he stiffens suddenly, before nodding slowly and following you upstairs to your room.
reaching the door, you suddenly stop, making megumi grunt and come to a stop, almost crashing into you.
“uh - wait here.”
you open the door just enough to slip inside, quickly gathering some of your belongings and cleaning as much as you could, to at least make your room seem presentable.
“okay!” you open the door for megumi, who makes no move to enter at first.
“...”
“you can come in.”
“... is this okay?”
you cock your head, not understanding his question.
“your mom isn’t home.”
“...so?”
“we’re alone.”
“and?”
“i’m… going into your room.”
“what is your point?” you began to grow frustrated at this conversation. then, it hit you all of a sudden.
“ahh, megumi? have you never been in a girl’s room alone before?” you snicker, shaking your head from laughter.
he starts to protest, before quickly closing his mouth and finally entering your room.
you connect the two consoles into your TV in your room, sitting down on the edge of your bed as you load up the games on the screen.
“you can sit here if you want,” you pat the empty spot next to you, to which he carefully sits down on, taking one console from your hand.
“ready?”
he nods, as you start the game.
-- --
“what--?!”
you throw your hands up in frustration, groaning as you flop backwards on the bed.
“i told you, you can’t beat me.” megumi chuckles, dodging a stuffed bear you threw in his direction.
you huffed, sitting back up, determined to beat him at least once.
“one last rematch!”
he lets out a laugh, a rare one that you think you might just never forget, and starts the game again.
after a few minutes of intense clicking, yelling and laughing, you let out a proud shout, the word victory flashing across your screen.
you pick up another stuffed animal from your bed and toss it straight at megumi’s face, celebrating as he lets out an ‘oof’ and glare back at you.
“but i still won around, 7 times, so i get to make you do something- oof-” he stumbles back again from another stuffed animal to the face.
“hmm? i don’t know what you’re talking about--” you pretend to not have heard him before your vision goes momentarily black from a soft object hitting your face, a pink bear landing in your lap.
“hey!”
“what, you keep throwing them at me!”
“fine…”
“hey, why are you getting so close--!”
you tackle megumi backwards onto the bed, throwing your pillows at his face -- not very gently -- as he tries to shield his arms in vain.
“ahh—! okay, okay, i’m sorry, stop it—“ he huffs as you finally stops your attack, his dark blue orbs looking up into yours.
you only now noticed your close proximity, quickly sitting back up to create some distance between the both of you. he clears his throat, fiddling with one of your pillows.
“well, a loss is a loss, what do i have to do?” you sigh, admitting your defeat.
“hmm…” he seems to be lost in deep thought, probably trying to find the worst thing he can make you do.
after a few silent, intense seconds, he finally speaks.
“are you… free tomorrow?”
you turn to him, giving him a questioning look at his strange question. he only stares back at you in response, awaiting your answer.
“um… yeah, i’m free the whole day, why do you as-“
“come watch a movie with me tomorrow.” he blurts out quickly, not even letting you finish your sentence.
you gape at him, still processing his words, unsure if you had heard wrong.
“... sorry?”
his face was reddenning by the second, yet his eyes remained firmly on yours the whole time.
“let’s go watch the new movie in the theater. i heard it’s quite popular already despite releasing only last week.”
“oh… okay, i can ask nobara if she wants to com-“
“don’t!” he says a little too loudly, clearing his throat after as he regains his composure.
“i mean, i- just, you.”
“just.. us?”
he nods.
silence fell again between the two of you, unsure if he was asking you what you thought he was asking you. you decide to test the waters cautiously.
“man.. it’s almost like you’re asking me out on a date, megumi?” you tease lightly, expecting a ‘tch’ or an, ‘as if’.
“so what if i am?”
now that was an answer you weren’t expecting.
“you’re.. joking, right?”
megumi sighs, moving closer until his body was mere centimeters away from yours.
“i’m serious.”
“do you... like me or something?”
he stares at you blankly. “would i ask you on a date if i didn’t have feelings for you, idiot?”
you only just realize how stupid your question sounded, trying to find a response until he reaches up to cup your cheek with one hand.
they felt soft, yet slightly gruff from constant training and fighting, large enough to cover one half of your face. they were warm, slightly trembling probably from nervousness, yet made you wish he’d never take it off.
“it’s okay if you don’t want to. we can forget this ever happened.” his own cheeks turning slightly pink, yours probably even worse as the space between your faces closed in slowly.
“but i don't think i can do this anymore, so just let me be a little selfish this once, okay?”
barely registering his words before he moves in to kiss you, soft lips moving against the other as his hand tightens against the side of your cheek. you barely register your own actions anymore, hands reaching up to tangle themselves in his hair, moving down to his neck, and finally finding home cupped around his face.
he groans against your lips, pressing you down until he was now hovering above you, never breaking the kiss even once in the process. you lost track of how long you both had been making out in your bed before you hear the front door open from downstairs.
frantically, the both of you separated in fear of your mom catching you in the act, catching your breaths while still processing what just happened.
you hear shuffling from downstairs, standing up to escape megumi before you were pulled back into a warm chest.
“wait—“ his arms wrap around you to trap you from leaving his grasp, your eyes looking everywhere but his, and suddenly your wall was the most interesting thing in sight.
“are we… really going to pretend that didn’t happen?” you finally gather the courage to look him in the face, almost melting at the soft pout set on his (now slightly redder than before) lips.
“ilikeyoutoo.” you get out quickly before you lose the chance to say it again.
he stiffens against you, eyes lighting up almost like an excited puppy receiving treats. “you like me? i didn’t hear you, so can you say it again?”
you huff, trying to wriggle your way out of his arms, only resulting in him pulling you closer to sit on his lap. he presses his forehead to yours, chuckling at your futile attempt to escape.
“i said— i like you—!” you ram your head into his, making him groan in pain, loosening his hold on you. the perfect chance for escape.
you saw the opportunity, dashing to the door, twisting the knob, almost getting it open until—
“nope,” megumi’s hand stops the door in time, instead twisting you around until your back was now flat against the wood, both of his palms placed beside your head.
“y/n? megumi?” your mom’s voice calls from downstairs, but all you could hear was your heartbeat thumping loudly in your chest.
“megumi! move, my mom’s home,” you place your hands on his chest, trying to push him away to no avail.
he grabs your pushing hand and places it on the left side of his chest, letting you feel the soft but fast thumping of his heart, almost matching the pace of your own.
“this is all your fault. you’re not gonna take responsibility for it?” he inches closer to your burning face, making you huff and grab his face.
you press your lips to his, feeling him immediately return the kiss, but you pull away after a few seconds, leaving him still trying to kiss you again.
“nope, my mom’s home, and i’m hungry.”
you open the door, seeing your mom begin to set the table with plates of food downstairs. you look back at megumi, who still looked sad after getting his kiss cut short.
sighing, you take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers together before pulling him down the stairs.
“come on, it’s time for lunch. you’ll get more later.”
you feel him perk up, giving your hand a squeeze as he follows close behind.
you steal a glance at your wrist, still wearing both the hair ties. good thing he hadn’t noticed you stuffing one into his bag this morning.
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inkandpen22 · 3 years
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Dazed and Confused (S1: 2/?)
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female!Reader
Warnings: mild langage 
Word Count: 2k
Part Summary: After Steve spends the night at Y/N Jonathan Byers accuses Y/N of getting too close to her best friend’s boyfriend
Masterlist
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I wake up to a banging on my door. It sounds like an uncontrollable jackhammer. 
“Y/N! Oh Princess Y/N!” My mom screeches on the other side. “Wake up! You have to pick up Dustin in thirty minutes!” 
The last bit grabs my attention. My eyes fly open and I attempt to sit up but I’m pinned down. My head whips to the side and Steve is sound asleep next to me. His arm is draped across my stomach keeping me pinned. In a rush, I shove him off of me and fly out of bed. Steve wakes up abruptly and falls off the mattress onto the floor with a thud. 
“Shit!” He blurts out. 
“What was that?” My mom asks worriedly. 
Wide-eyed, I stare down Steve who peers up at me from the floor. 
“I’m just getting ready! I’ll be out in five!” I shout to my little brother. 
Thankfully, I hear him patter off as he grumbles various curse words under his breath. 
I must look like a crazy lady as I run around my room getting ready. My hair is going in a ponytail today because there’s no way I have time to style it. Steve moves about me, collecting his things. It’s Friday so that makes picking out an outfit rather easy. It’s game day, so cheer uniform. I start changing from my pajamas into my cheer uniform. I hop on one leg as I remove my shorts and rush to grab my skirt off my dresser. As I slip off my t-shirt and change into my vest, I check my appearance in the mirror on my dresser. 
Behind me, Steve eyes me curiously. He appears in some sort of wide-eyed daze. 
I whip my head around to check on him. “You okay?” 
He hums absentmindedly. Then, he shakes his head repeatedly to snap how of it. “Yeah! Uh… it’s just… um… you…” he stammers, “uh…. Nevermind! I’ll see you in a little bit,” he says as he goes to climb out of my window. 
“Okay? Catch ya later.” I laugh, wondering why he’s acting so odd. 
He’s such a goofball. I wonder if it’s because I freaked him out when I woke him up. Oh well, he scared me last night so karma. 
________________________________________
Once we arrive at school, Dustin runs off to join the boys who have all agreed to dress as the Ghostbusters for school. Since the Demogorgon incident, Dustin and I have grown closer. We live on the same block and being only children help. 
Nancy isn’t at her locker when I arrive at my own, odd. What’s even weirder is Jonathan is waiting for me. 
“Hey,” I greet him with a raised brow. 
It’s not that I dislike Jonathan, we’re simply not close friends. Sure, we had a bonding experience last year but he and I are very different people. 
“Hey,” he stuffs his hands into his back pockets nervously. “Have you… uh… have you seen Nancy?” 
Interesting, Byers looking for Nancy. If this were any other day she would be here beside me and I wouldn’t be standing here with Jonathan but apparently, today isn’t going to be average. 
“Nope, I haven’t. I was wondering where she is myself. Usually, she’d be here by now,” I fill him in on the lastest as I put the combination into my locker. 
“Well if you see here will you tell her I have something for her?” He requests. 
“Is it your love confession?” I tease. 
“Huh?” He acts oblivious to what I mean. 
“Oh please, it’s clear as day you have a thing for Nance," I snicker as I pull out my books. "I’ve known since Steve and I showed up at your house last year.” I glance over my shoulder at him and it’s evident I’ve spooked him. My bluntness tends to have that effect on people. "Look,” I say gently and quietly between us. “I won’t say anything. I understand that she’s with Steve. So, you feel like there’s no point but it’s important to say how you feel and be honest.” 
"Just like how you’re honest with Steve about having a thing for him?” He boldly fires back. 
I scoff, he’s delusional! Me and Steve, really? There’s no way! I laugh, “I don’t have a-” 
“Really? Yesterday in the gym?” He challenges.
His question, more like a threat, takes me by surprise. What, so Jonathan is watching me now? He’s eavesdropping on my conversations? 
 “How about over the summer?” He presses further, stepping closer until he towers over me. “You two were together more than he and Nancy ever were! How about this morning when I was on my way to school and saw him climbing out of your window? Hm? How about that?” 
Okay, now I’m just getting pissed. “I can assure you, Steve loves Nancy!” I growl. “There’s is nothing, and I mean nothing, between us! Now I suggest you stop acting like a tough guy before I remind you who really holds all the power here,” I threaten him. 
He forgets that I’m the captain of the cheer squad. I’m adored around here. He’s some punk who hangs out all day in the photography classroom. If he really wishes to test me, I can promise I will win. I always win. 
“Fine then…” he mutters, mere inches from my face. “But remember, I could easily tell Nancy about last summer.” 
He steps back with narrowed eyes locked on me until he turns around to slip away. I watch, stunned, as he disappears into the cluster of students traveling about the hall. A bit disturbed, to say the least, I lean back against the lockers to catch my breath. 
I don’t like Steve, that’s crazy! Steve… Steve and I… we’re just friends, really good friends, best of friends! Jonathan is psychotic and tossing out random ideas to get a rise out of me. All we did was hang out over the summer! He was already dating Nancy, my oldest friend! I would never ever betray her like that! Screw Byers. 
________________________
After last period, I return to my locker to pack up my homework. As I’m packing up my stuff, Nancy pops up next to me all distraught. She’s shaky and appears frightened, the same way she did when fighting the Demogorgon. 
“Nance? Nancy, what’s wrong? What happened?”  I ask her repeatedly, already worried.
She scans the area, making sure no one is watching us. Swiftly, she pulls into the girls bathroom. 
I stumble inside, immediately checking the stalls to make sure we’re alone. Once I determine the coast is clear, I spin around to face her. 
Her arms are wrapped around her tightly like a blanket. She swallows hard, her glazed eyes meet mine in fear. “I saw Barb!” She whispers as though she’ll be struck for doing so. 
That’s impossible. We left Barb in the Upside Down. She’s gone. She’s dead. 
“You what?” I shake my head in disbelief, pacing away from her. 
“In the library!” She explains, "I saw her! She called out for us! She said this wasn’t me! She said you were hiding! Pretending!” 
Now frightened, I whip my head around to face her directly. I note the hint of hope in her eyes that’s overpowered by guilt. I mourned Barb. We all did. I’m sorry for her parents, I am truly, but everyone is right! There’s nothing we can do! What’s done is done! All we can do is move on and live our lives! 
I refuse to relive the endless guilt, depression, and anxiety that consumed me for months on end. I felt like a shell of a human for almost a year after what happened. I can’t do this. 
“I have to go to drive Dustin home,” I announce. 
Quickly, I cross the room toward the door. I have to get out of here. This is nonsense. 
Nancy grabs my wrist before I pass her, “But Y/N-”
I yank my arm free from her grip, “goodbye Nancy!” 
Shaken for the second time today, I storm out of the bathroom and hurry toward the exit. I grip the handle of my purse, unable to control my shaky hands. Tears coat my eyes and threaten to slip down my cheeks. 
Flashbacks of that horrid night take over my train of thought. I see it clear as day. All of the blood, the sting from my arm, the pressure of that monster pinning me down. Everything I’ve been suppressing demands to be felt again. I’m living in my own personal Hell. 
As I push through the doors to the parking lot, the bright sunlight blinds me for a second. People cluster outside the school in their cliques. I weave between them, eager to get to my car and fly home. I can’t allow anyone to see me like this. I’m the strong one. I have my life together. I can’t break. 
In the distance, Dustin leans against the passenger door waiting for me. I keep telling myself that I’m almost there, just a couple of steps more. 
“Y/N-” Someone grabs my shoulder to stop me. 
Caught off guard and already distraught, I gasp and my bag slips from my shoulder to the pavement. 
I peer up to see Steve eyeing me with such compassion that I nearly slip and start sobbing. I wish I could tell him everything zooming through my mind but I can’t, it’s not his burden to bear. 
Urgently, he gathers my bag off the ground and places it on my shoulder. His hand lingers on my forearm, rubbing up and down comfortingly. I attempt to hide my shakiness by crossing my arms tightly. 
“You’re upset,” he states the obvious but I know he means well. “Are you alright?” 
I hum, nodding my head repeatedly. If I attempt to speak my voice may crack and then he’ll never let me go. Please Steve, I understand that you’re checking on me and I know you truly care but please let me go. 
“What is it?” He scrunches his eyebrows as he shifts on his heels. “Is it about Nancy? She was speaking about Barb earlier. Did she confront you about it? If it is I-” 
“Y/N!” Dustin shouts over to us impatiently. 
For once, I won’t argue with him about interrupting me. “I have to go,” I mumble under my breath and rush off before Steve has the chance to object. 
Once I’m a few feet away from Dustin, he notices my state and instantly climbs into the car without any questions. 
After I toss my bag into the backseat and move up front, I take a moment to gather myself and blast some music before I start driving. 
“Shitty day?” Dustin finally breaks the silence. 
Rubbing my temples, I snicker, “to put it simply.” 
He sighs, “Yeah, me too. First, all of the little assholes at school decide not to dress up this year. My guess is they all formed a pact and kept us out of it. It was all pretty embarrassing. Then, there’s this new girl, Max, smoking’ hot, but thinks she’s cooler than everyone else. Lucas likes her too… We followed her around for a little bit but then… well shit… she was onto us. Do you wanna talk about your day?” He offers to listen. 
I shake my head and open my eyes. Exhaling deeply, I grip the wheel and prepare to go. “No, because if I do then it will lead down a dark road that I don’t wish to travel ever again.” 
Dustin respects my silence and he talks most of the way home. I appreciate him not forcing me to speak about the horrors of today. Right now, I much rather listen and be distracted. Today was one of the worst days I’ve had in a while. At least tonight is the party. I could really use some mindless fun, risky shenanigans, and most importantly, booze. 
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bakatenshii · 4 years
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Dabi x Reader (BNHA)
word count: 5.1k
TW: 18+, smut, dub/noncon, drug use/abuse, corruption, virginity, (mild) blood
A/N: I am 12 days late for Sunny’s birthday, but my heart beats for one person and one person only— the light of my life, my wife @blahkugo​, who wrote me two (2!!) Shig fics for my bday Charity & Sludge, that I reread on the daily like the morning news. Cheeky shoutout to @thisisthehardestthing​ for writing one iconic sentence in here that I would have framed if I could. 
flushed
/fləSHt/
(of a person's skin) red and hot, typically as the result of illness or strong emotion.
cleanse (something) by causing large quantities of water to pass through it. 
Dabi doesn’t prowl for prey, he’s not on the lookout for fowl to take home for dinner. No, they come to him. It’s easy, always so obvious, he plucks them out like chicken in a hen house, ripe for breeding. 
It wasn’t hard to spot a desperate girl burning out, Hell, the campus’ full of them. But you had something more, something fun, something that made his lips quirk up and his dick twitch— you were uncorrupted. 
He can just tell, despite the airs you try to give, the aura of a virgin’s akin to an omega in heat to a starving alpha. Sweet, honeysuckle, the tiny flinches when a man gets too close, the breathy lilt in your voice when they propose something too risque; he inhales it all, commits it all to memory like you were desperately trying to do as you chewed on the tip of your pen and scratched out lines on the book in front of you. 
He didn’t need to push, you were already teetering the line, but he did it anyways— because it was fun. 
It was elating to watch you stumble into class the next day, eyes dark with sleepless anxiety, misery painted into every crevice of your features while your notes were tucked neatly into the drawer in his room. Really, you shouldn’t have left them so open on the lecture hall table, it’s like inviting a robber home and cooking him a three course meal. 
Finals season marked the end of your social life, and the beginning of Dabi’s career. It was almost boring, the repetitive nature of his job; too easy, too simple, a mockery of the entitled bookworms who look down on scummy repeaters like him. But the entitlement is what fuels him, over-achievers fearing for two simple digits on a crumpled sheet of paper as if it’s worse than death itself.
He thrives off of their stubbornness to accept anything below perfect; the hilarity of it all, the irony that their insurance to achieve higher standards than that of a scum like him only fuels his lifestyle, bringing him deeper down the depths of degeneracy. 
He sat behind you closer than usual, spoke a lil louder than usual, dropped in the most nonchalant comment about a study drug kids are crazing over these days. He watched as you flinched, hands stopped moving to listen in to the spiel he was spewing, the fishing hook he was dangling in front of you. 
A magic pill, one that’ll help you concentrate, kill any sleepiness, get you buzzed for hours on end— best of all, it’s totally legal, he gets it from a pharmacist, scout’s honour. 
That’s what he told you when you turned around to him at the end of class, whispering in hushed fear, nerves bouncing off your skin in goosebumps on your exposed arms.
Why he’s selling it? Because he needs some extra cash, he said. He knew you didn’t believe him, but he knew you were desperate enough not to care. 
When you met him in the dead of night at the empty carpark of his building, he knew he’s got you; hook, line, and sinker. No self-respecting girl would meet bottom-barrel trash like him in a deserted location at half three in the morning, no, you were untainted, but you weren’t pure.
He didn’t need to know it worked, doesn’t matter what your test results reflected, all that mattered was that you came back to him a few weeks later, met him at the same dingy carpark, hands trembling slightly less this time. 
He pretended to scold you, reveled in the way your lips curled into a soft pout, and warned you that tolerance builds fast. Do it in moderation, he had said— he’s the world’s biggest hypocrite. 
You came to him only a week later this time, and Dabi had pretended to be shocked. He wasn’t, he gave you a lower dosage the last time, there was no way you’d have been satisfied. Microdosing leads the unsuspecting to addiction, the one fact he learned from school. He lectured you, asked you if you’d built up tolerance too fast, if you wanted to try something different?
He watched as your eyes lit up, pupils dilating in excitement at the promise of something different, something better. It really was too easy. You were too easy. 
That night he invited himself over to yours, said he’d wanted to make sure you didn’t have any side effects. It was new, after all, and it was stronger. He’d sit there and be quiet, he promised; it was all out of the kindness of his own heart. 
It was almost embarrassing how eagerly you’d lie to yourself in hopes of a better grade.
Dabi wasn’t gonna do anything to you that night, trust takes time to build up after all. Besides, it’s no fun to pounce on the prey before they started running. You studied the nonsensical scribbling on annotated novels, he studied your tiny movements, twitches, nervous habits; etched them into his brain for future use. 
A too-long breath, a gasp, a clench of the fist signaled your come-up. He timed it, approximately thirty-five minutes for the initial peak, then smaller spikes at half hour intervals, totaling in four hours before you came down. Impressive, still, considering he’d given you the same dosage as the first time. 
He stuck to his words, staying quiet only until prompted, offered you water every once in a while, really, he deserved an Oscar for playing the best supporting dealer. It only took two more sessions before your tolerance peaked again, calculated and timed to perfection right before the next assignment.
The beauty of seeking out an English major was that they’re always searching, reaching into the void for any type of inspiration to translate into eloquently formed words. The beauty of seeking out you, was that you were already in too deep, hooked by the lil pills and plunged into the bottom of the ocean. 
Your grades rose while your inhibitions sank, a dramatic irony, isn’t that what they called it?
It’s cute, really, he only had to give you a nudge this time. Asked you how your assignment was going, played the sympathetic friend, and offered you something completely new, completely different. ‘Have you ever tried 2CB?’
Silly question, rhetorical, almost; of course you hadn’t. Innocent sweet girl like you never would’ve even touched weed, much less a hallucinogen. But he poses it to you in an eager tone like he’s genuinely waiting on an answer, like this isn’t just one big game to him. He laughed when you said no, asked him what it was— do you want him to show you?
You trust him, don’t you? He’s helped you through your exams, supported you through your assignments, honestly, he deserved a pat on the back. Don’t tell him you didn’t trust him, come on now, that’d break his heart. 
He didn’t expect you to put up a fight, but you gave in almost too easily, guess those lil pills really did migrate and nest in your bloodstream. 
The safety of your own dorm room was always granted to you, a faux-sense of security to veil you in, shield you from the true depth of depravity you’ve sunken to. He held you underwater in a net, ensuring you that he’d pull you up whenever— ‘just say the word.’
The net had long been cut, he’d admired the way you’d comforted down there, paddling aimlessly in hopeful conviction. 
It’s become routine, almost. Dabi lets himself in easily, settles into the couch across your desk, pulls out a baggy and passes it to you. “A psychedelic,” he explains, “you’ll see colours you’d never seen, find beauty in everything, an artist’s best friend,” if he does say so himself. 
He watches you pop the lil pill in your mouth, follow the stream of water pour down your throat, traveling the rips and divots of your tongue, before it drops down your throat into your bloodstream with a bob of your larynx. You’re so pliant, so obedient, he reminds himself to thank your parents for grooming such a cute lil doll.
You let out a loud gasp an hour and a half later, and he watches your fingers curl into themselves; and for the first time he speaks unprompted. 
“You good?” It’s almost genuine; the curiosity, at least. He wants to know how articulate you are, needs to know how deeply submerged your consciousness has become. 
He watches as you meet his gaze, little tongue dashing out to wet your lips, and nods once, twice, slowly. You shake your head almost immediately after, croaking out an, “I feel ill,” before pushing meekly at your desk to stand your body up. Cute, weak.
Just how he likes them.
He reaches an arm out to you, pulling you into his chest easily and nests your head into the crook of his neck. “Nauseous, aren’t you?” You nod, and he smirks. “Don’t worry princess, it’s just a rough come-up. I’ll make you feel better, I promise.” 
It’s almost believable, how sickly sweet he sounds. Too many sitcoms accumulated in recycled dialogues to woo girls in any situation; mix and match, simple yet effective. 
He can feel the restless rise and fall of your chest pressing against his, short quick pants as if gasping for air, a small hand scraping at his arm; yeah, you’re definitely coming up. 
He picks you up and nestles you into your own couch, so easily as if handling a ragdoll, then walks to the kitchen and pours you some water. The perfect friend, the perfect support, the perfect dealer. You’re so vulnerable, so exposed, you don’t even know it; it makes his brain fog over with carnal desire to pounce— but he doesn’t. Not yet.  
He lays back on the couch with you, arm snaking around your shoulder to coax you into a subdued euphoria. All the words he’s garnered throughout the years of fishing for his next meal come bubbling out so naturally in practiced scripts, “It’s okay princess, it’s a stronger pill. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.” He’s promising a whole lot, tonight. 
“Hey,” he tips your face to meet his with all the tenderness of a lion stalking its prey, “I’m here, right? You trust me, don’t you? I’ve never let you down. I’ll never let anything happen to you.” 
It’s hard to force down the gagging noise on cue with his disgustingly fake, rom-com lines, but the way he can feel your body loosen, relax, and mold into his tells him he’s close. So close. 
This is the best part, this is what he’s good at; the last stretch of patience while stalking his prey, with footsteps so light, treading so carefully, until the air slows down around him and he can taste your scent wafting through the air.
It happens in an instant, a whole-body jolt as you tense up, euphoria announced with a sharp gasp. The smile that crawls up his face is nothing short of sinister, predatory, but he knows you don’t notice. You can’t. Your eyes are strewn shut, basking in the high, and he takes the moment to swallow the pill he’s held under his tongue. 
It’s no fun to tripsit, he doesn’t get anything out of that, and Dabi doesn’t do things for free. He feels your head fall back onto his shoulder, short breaths warming a ripple of goosebumps up his neck, and watches as you push your heavy lids open to gaze at the ceiling.  
He can feel your giggles reverberating through his chest before he hears them, innocent, pure, unsuspecting. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, because virtuous girls like you like to be treasured, made to feel special, safe— he can make you feel safe; no one’s told him not to play with his food before he eats it. 
He watches as you flutter your eyelids at him, sigh into his touch, really, you’re the textbook prototype, he doesn’t even need to adjust his tactics. “You feelin’ good?” A hot breath into your ear, and he revels in the way your lips pout to let out a soft sigh. 
Funny how differently you react when you’re high out of your mind, maybe it’s the drug, or maybe it’s just Dabi? You’ve always wanted a bad boy like him, didn’t you? Good girls like bad guys; it’s textbook cliché, and you’re the blueprint. 
He doesn’t wait on an answer, he knows it: you’re feeling good, great— divine. He’ll be right there with you soon, he promises.
“Tell me what you see, princess,” Dabi’s not listening when a cascade of nonsensical descriptions come bubbling out, he doesn’t care. It’s all to get you to keep talking, shift your attention elsewhere while his hand slithers down your arm to play with the hem of your shirt.
At the first brush of his finger on the bare skin of your waist, he feels you purr into him, eyes rolling back in bliss. It’s his cue to give you more, invitation for him to snake his other hand up your naked thigh and knead the flesh gently. 
Gentle does it, he’ll bring you higher as you go. 
He ghosts a breath just under your ear, nipping at your lobe, and admires the full body shiver tumbling through. Moans, loud and needy, come panting out past your lips and echoes off the walls before bouncing back to him. He lets you symphonize short breaths and whiney pleas with each lick and suck traveling down your neck, painting blooms of purple and red as his hand travels dangerously high. 
A firm grip is all the warning he gives you before he tucks his fingers into the crease of your thigh, laughing almost at how obediently you spread your legs. What happened to that pure, innocent girl? Guess under all that laid a dirty whore, just like the rest of ‘em. 
It was slick, so wet, pussy dripping past the delicate lace and drooling over his fingers. Lace, befitting of a slut who lured him in with the fake charms of a virgin. He slides a finger down your slit, gathering up all the juices before presenting it to you. 
“What do you see?” He holds up his finger, slick dripping down like syrup, and watches your pupils dilate in effort to focus. He can see the way your lips part, string of saliva connecting the two soft molds, before gasping out, “melting ice cream.” 
“Want a taste?” 
You clamp over his finger before he even asks you to, sucks on the digit like it’s a melting ice lolly, before your eyes shoot open and mouth twists in disgust. Of course it doesn’t taste nice, normal food isn’t even edible when you’re rolling like this. You’re sticking your tongue out, in an attempt to air out the taste, or maybe you’re just a dumb dog, a dumb bitch, he’s not sure. He doesn’t really care. 
The same hand, now slick with saliva, grips your chin and crashes your lips into his. His tongue finds yours first, tip licking up the crevice of yours lolling out, and he sucks it into his mouth like it’s a crime for it to be kissing the air. 
There’s no modesty, no gentleness, his tongue pries your lips open, and he feels the weakest form of resistance before he’s thrusting the muscle down your throat. He lapping over the back of your teeth, traces over each bump and rugae on the gummy sides, and snickers at your shit attempt to kiss him back with your slack mouth drooling out the corners. 
He feels a pawing at his arm— your hand meekly grabbing at the sleeve of his shirt to bring him in closer, press his chest into your soft tits, crowd him into you more, more, more. 
It’s cute; it’s stupidly desperate. 
He gets it though, it’s no worries. Human nature is all it is; the desire to climb higher and higher— he wonders if he can get one out of you before the pill hits him. 
There’s no gentleness in the way his hand slots between your legs and cups your dripping cunt this time. He wishes he has more time to admire the way your legs quiver and twitch with every firm pat against your clit, but he’s on a time crunch. There’s so much time to spare, he can play with it all he wants later.
He can feel your needy moan vibrate through his lips and reverberate straight into his brain, sloppy mouths working simultaneously together and against each other as he rips your panties and shorts off in one go. Any self respecting girl would shut their legs in shame, in embarrassment, any attempt to protect their dignity, but you don’t. He doesn’t let you, anyways. 
A hand moves under your shirt to roughly grip at your tits in the same breath he sinks a finger into your sopping hole. Inhale; squeeze, thrust, exhale— you moan. It’s tight, as tight as a virgin pussy should be, but not too tight that it fights against the foreign digit ramming into it at a relentless pace too rough and quick to befit an unexplored hole. 
He can feel the pulsing around him, gummy walls milking his finger for all its worth, and he digs his palm into your swollen bud; it’s all he needed for you to come undone. You don’t squeal, you don’t scream, the 2CB in your system rendering you incapable of anything except long breathy sobs of his name. 
His finger pops out with a wet squelch, and he brings it to his mouth to taste it; tarty, thick— he’s still sober. You’re blubbering out drivel about the stars you saw, the colours swirling around at the peak of your euphoria, you think you saw God— is Dabi God? 
Dabi had to laugh, pat you on the head with his hand covered in syrupy slick, watch it leak and clump your strands of hair. He picks you up with your shorts and panties drenched through dangling at your ankles, and walks you to your bed.
You don’t notice, still basking in the afterglow; he knows this. Not that you’d push him off, tell him to stop. Not in your state anyways. You couldn’t even if you wanted to. 
He drops you once the bed’s in frame at the same time he feels his pulse rise, heart palpitate, and a wave of nausea threatens to bubble over. It doesn’t; he doesn’t let it. An experienced veteran would never. It’s a welcomed sensation, one he’s all too familiar with, and he gives himself a brief minute to breathe it in, savour it, before glancing back down at your limp body on the bed. 
Is it your body? He can trace your silhouette from the dip of your waist, the full of your hips, something glistening, gleaming in the light— your pretty little virgin cunt. His eyes roll back at the next inhale before he finds himself landing on the bed on top of you, forearms digging into the soft mattress of your bed. 
He hears your voice singing into his brain, soft lulls of his name stringing out in DabiDabiDabi— the desperation and need shooting straight to his cock, he doesn’t even need to look down at your soft pliant body, welcoming him, inviting him in. 
“Feels good, yeah?” His voice comes out rougher than usual, low and strained, and laughs at how eagerly you nod, watches your chin catch the air and paint strokes of colour following the route it takes, “Who makes you feel this good?” 
He knows, he knows because it’s all you’ve been able to say the past while, the only word on your mind that you can even blubber out— 
“You, Dabi,” your pants grow heavier; his pants grow tighter, “it’s you Dabi, please—“
A hand reaches up to cradle his cheek, your soft, uncalloused, hand, and he grips it by the wrist before bringing it up to his face. He traces every line that curves and meets on your palm with his tongue, letting it be covered entirely with drool before wrenching it down under his joggers and into his boxers to cup his aching erection. 
His hips rut into your palm almost immediately as a knee-jerk reaction, every hump into your tiny hand has him panting into your face, sweat beading at his temples. His tongue drops down to lick at your lips, asking for entrance, begging for access. Your lips might’ve parted just a fraction, maybe just to let out a breathe, but Dabi takes it as permission to thrust his tongue in and prod at your dormant one.
He can feel you gag at the sudden intrusion, throat convulsing to push back the unfamiliar slimy muscle, and he briefly considers yanking your hand out and shoving his cock down that pretty little mouth of yours. 
But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t have the patience. He needs it urgently, needs your tight virgin cunny stretching and agonizing over his overbearing size, needs to feel the flutter of the gummy walls with each thrust; he needs it bad, he needs it now—
Your hand is wrenched away as he yanks both waistbands down to his thighs. He looks at you, eyes blurring through kaleidoscopic vision, and makes out your disoriented gaze staring back at him. Disoriented with toxins, disoriented with need, lust, desperation— a hand reaches behind Dabi’s neck and pulls him back down to crash bruised lips together. 
It’s all the invitation he needs, not that he needs it, no, what he needs is to sink his painfully hard cock into that sweet, sweet cunt of yours. There’s a faint squealing coming from underneath him, and he thinks he can feel nails digging crescents into his nape, but all he can feel is your warm, wet walls clenching around him. 
There was no need to prepare you for any longer, there’s no point if he doesn’t stretch your virgin pussy out with his own cock; it’s wasted on fingers, his fingers don’t deserve to feel the way you walls quiver and contract around it. The pitched cries stop eventually as he feels your body go pliant and soft, and he has half a mind to realize you’re probably starting to come down soon.
He doesn’t wanna deal with that, you won’t be sober for another few hours, but you’ve peaked already, and not with him; that’s not fair, that’s no fun. His cock stills inside you with half still unsheathed and he reaches down into his pocket to take out a baggy of powder. There’s a spoon in, thank fuck, and he feeds a small bump right up to your nose. 
“Inhale,” he slots it right up your nostril, “it’ll make you feel good, didn’t you feel good?” Your head lowers to nod, bumps the edge of the spoon right into the cartilage of your nose, and inhale. Good girl. 
The baggy is tossed haphazardly before he’s working his dick into you again, cockhead pushing through the doughy walls in search of that pocket at the end of your pussy.
You don’t struggle anymore, instead clinging onto his shoulders and carving half-moons into the flesh. It hurts a lil, and Dabi doesn’t like it when it hurts, not when he’s the one hurting.
He snatches your hands off him and pushes them above your head, into the plush forgiving mattress. His teeth are back on your neck, biting over the ripples of purple and green and red and blue, reveling in your cries and moans that come out in symphonies. 
It feels good, great— divine, it’s what he deserves for bringing you to Nirvana. He’s basically your muse, after all, how can you truly describe rapture without experiencing it first? 
He can hear your moans ringing out from underneath, can see them traveling in the air in hues of reds and pinks and reds and reds— there’s red on your bedsheets, of course there is. He forgot that’s what comes with a virgin cunt; blood, mixing with the translucent coating his cock, dripping down and painting the crisp white sheet red, drifting into the air and congesting the whole room with red. 
He inhales the colour, sucks it into his lungs, and uses it to fuel the pistoning of his hips. Your breaths turn to pants, turns to sobs of his name leaving your lips again, and he thinks you look good, so good, taking his cock like this. You should thank him for bringing you to your second orgasm. 
Just look at you, crazy isn’t it? Crazy what a lil pill can do. But he’s got something better, something so much better, something that’ll bring you to a new dimension. You want that, don’t you? C’mon don’t be shy, Dabi will bring you right there, don’t you worry.
There’s still the faint cries from your orgasm when he flips you over and pushes your face into the untainted sheets. He watches as your hands sprawl up to grip and grasp at something, anything, and his hands ease up on the hold on your skull for a second to let you wheeze and greedily gasp for air.
He flickers a trail of blue down your back, watches the flames dance and rage in a mirage, every bouquet indented by the ligament of each tender rib, and there’s a faint scream. The pitch rises with the flames, taunting it to go higher, faster, paint murals in every swell of your back until he can’t see anything except ash coal char. 
Dabi blinks, squints his eyes as he throws his head back to focus on the paint chipping on the ceiling. It cracks and crinkles, shying away from his pointed glare, before he sucks in a deep breath and looks back down at you. 
There’s no ash, no char, only warm tanned flesh, pressed flush against the pristine white sheets underneath. It burns against the pads of his long fingers splayed out across your back, and he winces in annoyance at the irony.
You don’t seem to notice his pause, too fucked out or fucked up to register what’s going around you probably. A mixture of both; Dabi can’t really remember what he’s given you or how long he’s been there. 
He can’t decide if he wants to stay there anymore,  can’t make out the pros and cons of either. He counts them off with each painful yank of your hair, each harsh thrust into your abused virgin cunt— it was that, wasn’t it? 
He was there because he sniffed out a cute lil virgin, one so untainted and untouched, one begging for him to corrupt. He’s not known to be very generous, but sometimes he gets into one of those moods; it can’t be helped when there’s a desperate doll waiting to be torn apart. 
He knows what you want, can read you with his eyes closed— you don’t need eyes to feel the pulse of a greedy cunny; it clenches with every slap of the face, damn near clamps down entirely as his slender fingers slither around to the front of your throat.
Two fingers shove past your lolling tongue and yanks your head back by the digits hooked on the corner of your mouth. There’s drool, and spit, and so many fluids coming and entering all at once— and then you’re coming, again, probably, for the third time that night. Fourth? 
It’s methodical, straightforward, he reads the instruction manual once, maybe twice if the first one’s a bit faulty, and he’s got it down to muscle memory.
At the sound of heaving he looks back down again, admires the feel of two of his fingertips fucked straight into the back of your throat, and pushes down on the rugged gummy wall. You gag, and he laughs. It’s cute, so cute, you’re real cute, you know?
“Such a good lil whore aren’t you?” He digs his nails into the flesh of your hip and rams his cockhead until he can feel the kiss from your puckered cervix. “All fucked out of your mind, bet you can’t even hear me, can you?” 
He watches as you gurgle out words past his fingers wedged down your slack mouth, and choke on the pools of saliva drooling out. It’s the funniest sight, fascinates him to death, really. 
A slap to the face might bring you out of your daze, so he slips his hand back out of your sloppy mouth and revels at your body propelling forward straight into the headboard. He grasps at the tips of your hair and wrench your body back towards him before any satisfying impact could sound out. It’s a shame, but concussions are not in his agenda. 
“Been fucked so loose, filthy slut can’t even keep your body up,” he rolls your hair around his hands and yanks back until your skull meets his chin; it’s excruciatingly painful, probably, and that’s why it’s the best. 
It’s the perfect way for your mouth to fall open naturally, to scream, squeal, fluster around in attempt to be freed from the position— it creates the perfect hole for him to spit in. He watches as your face contorts in disgust, tongue pushed out to let his spit drool out the sides, but that’s no fun, not very nice of you, is it?
“Swallow,” he assists you with an extra hard thrust, and you choke on the moan coming out. His hand comes forward from your hip to rest under your chin before pushing it up so it clamps shut, “I said, swallow.”
Your eyes flood with tears that waterfall down your face, and God, he thinks you look the best like this— wrecked on his cock, body littered in purple and red, covered in sweat and blood and cum; his perfect lil cocksleeve, just for him. 
It’s emotional, almost— religious, even, he can feel the palpitations in his heart thumping against his chest echoing off the headboard banging against the wall, and lets the euphoria consume him, wash over him as he coats your walls with hot ropes of cream and white, hips stuttering with your greedy cunny fluttering and clenching around it, milking and sucking in his cock in deeper, deeper, more.
He thinks you might’ve cum, might still be cumming, but all he can hear is the Messiah calling for him, choir singing lulling him into an infinite jubilation; he closes his eyes to bathe in it, let himself be cleansed and washed over with ecstasy. 
When he pulls out, your body flops onto the mattress, and he watches as white dribbles out your quivering hole, mixing with the red on the sheets, creating a puddle of pink and magenta, before passing out in the fuschia.
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enough to drive a man mad
~7k geraskier fake dating, because that is what this fandom needs. read on ao3 here!
Jaskier smells anxious. He reeked of apprehension all of yesterday, not to mention the fact that he hasn’t been able to sit still or stop tapping his foot on the wooden floorboards this morning. 
It’s grating on Geralt’s last nerve. 
“What, Jaskier?” he finally growls. 
Jaskier jumps, almost falling out of his chair from where he sits tapping his quill idly in his notebook. 
“What?”
“What has you so worked up?”
Jaskier looks Geralt in the eyes before glancing away again. He clears his throat. “Nothing.”
Geralt grunts. 
“Oh, don’t sound so unconvinced,” Jaskier complains. 
Geralt rolls his eyes, turning his back to Jaskier to finish settling all of his things into his pack. He wraps the glass jars carefully and tucks them between Jaskier’s shirts, so they don’t break. “If nothing is wrong, you’re ready to go then, right?”
Jaskier grumbles, but he tucks his notebook away and gets to his feet. 
They make it about three hours before Jaskier finally broaches the subject. 
“So, Geralt,” he starts. “Dear friend of mine.”
Geralt doesn’t even bother to look back at him. Nothing good can come with this as a conversation starter. 
“Have I ever told you about my parents?”
“No.”
Jaskier sighs. “I suppose not. Well, they’ve written to me. They want me to visit.”
Geralt thinks back to the letter an innkeeper had handed to Jaskier a few weeks ago, the one that made him eerily quiet the rest of the night and that he had clammed up about when Geralt questioned him. Jaskier was perky and practically completely back to normal the next morning, so Geralt had almost forgotten about it. Apparently, Jaskier had not done the same. 
“Hmm.”
“Yes, yes, I know. Dreadfully inconvenient for you. What will you do without your loyal companion?”
Geralt frowns. He hadn’t even thought about that, just registered the smell of unhappiness coming off of Jaskier at the thought of his parents. Jaskier  is  rather helpful, though. He’s never afraid to step in the middle of pay negotiations, inevitably getting Geralt more coin, and he’s certain Jaskier has stopped them from getting kicked out of at least three towns after Geralt had stumbled back to the inn covered in viscera. 
“Do you want to visit them?”
Jaskier trips over his feet, and Geralt dutifully looks away, pretending not to have noticed. “Not particularly. But I have to.”
Geralt won’t pretend to understand how a typical human family works, so he just accepts Jaskier’s words at face value. He’s never felt  obliged  to return to Kaer Morhen every winter; it’s something he looks forward to—to seeing his patchwork family. But Jaskier deliberately never speaks of his family, and gets twitchy every time anyone brings them up, so Geralt had accepted it as one of Jaskier’s many quirks and moved on. 
“Hmm. Well, I can travel with you there, at least. I’m sure there will be contracts in the area somewhere.”
Jaskier flushes red. “I was...I was actually hoping you would come with me.”
“What? I’m sure that’s not what your parents had in mind when they wanted you to visit. They wouldn’t want to meet  me .”
“Well, they said it’s unbecoming for someone of my age to be a bachelor. And, so I. I, um.” Jaskier scratches the back of his neck. “I told them I wasn’t. And I maybe sort of perhaps insinuated we were together.”
Geralt can feel a stress headache brewing.
-
Marilla looks down at the letter in shock. 
Dear Mother,
I fear I am not quite as much of a bachelor as you suppose. Have you heard any of my songs? I have gone and fallen head first into my muse. Typical, foolish me, but I’ve never been happier. We’ll visit soon. 
Julian
She doesn’t like to think about Julian’s songs, about how he couldn’t even keep the name she had given him. She thrusts the letter to her husband. “He’s coming to visit,” she says in disbelief. “When’s the last time we saw him?”
Ethbert considers this as he reads the letter. “At least five years.”
“And I can’t believe he hasn’t spoken of this ‘muse’ any sooner. I’m not sure I believe him.”
Ethbert gave Marilla a placating smile. “He’s probably just ashamed he hasn’t found himself a wife yet. We’ll find out when he comes, doubtless with an excuse about where his beloved is.”
Marilla sniffs. “You’re right.”
Nell looks down at the scene in the kitchen with wide eyes from her spot crouched down between the banisters at the top of the stairs. Her brother? With a wife? She could scarcely imagine it. She thinks back to the last time Julian was here, the way he had boasted to her about his conquests for hours, away from the prying ears of their parents. 
Well, surely if he had someone, he’d have talked about her in his songs. She resolves to get her hands on some of his music. She’ll solve this mystery before Julian even gets here.
-
“The first thing to know is that they’re awful,” Jaskier says, ticking down one of his fingers as he walks along beside Roach, seemingly uncaring of the dust that’s drifting up from her hooves and onto his doublet. “Well, except for my sister. Be nice to my sister, please, Geralt.”
“I’m nice to everyone.”
Jaskier stifles a laugh. “Mm. Be extra nice to her, then.”          
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“You need to loosen up, too. They’re never going to think we’re together when you look all...constipated like that.”
Geralt huffs. 
“You’re lucky opposites attract,” Jaskier says, before dragging a hand down his face. “This is never going to work, is it?” 
-
Nell squints at the lyrics spread out before her. This doesn’t sound very romantic to her at all. Maybe a breakup song?  She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss , Nell hums. She can’t help but notice there’s three different people the song is talking about, though. Odd. She shakes her head and moves onto the next song. 
This one is just a ditty, so Nell turns the page to see a song about the witcher Jaskier travels with. And then another, and another. Is he all Julian writes about? She expected to see love songs, not this nonsense. She goes through more of his catalogue, briefly regretting spending her allowance on the songbook, but she supposes it supports her brother, after all. 
She’ll just have to see what she can wheedle out of him while he’s here. 
Finally, after flipping through no less than four more songs about the witcher, she lands on one titled “The Eternal Flame.” 
Interesting. 
Around your house, now white from frost
Sparkles ice on pond and marsh
Your longing eyes grieve what is lost
But naught can change this parting harsh
  Spring will return, on the road the rain will fall
Hearts will be warmed by the heat of the sun
It must be thus, for fire still smolders in us all
An eternal fire, hope for each one
There, Nell can read some romance in. She rubs the ends of her hair together in thought. This one song certainly isn’t enough proof that Julian has actually found a wife. More like he’s still pining over some old flame. It doesn’t seem like he’s written very many good love songs at all. 
Nell rolls her eyes, thinking back to all the raunchy songs in his catalogue. Typical. 
There’s the squeak of the door opening downstairs, and Nell hastily slams the book shut and hides it under her mattress. She doesn’t want Julian seeing and getting a bigger head, after all. 
She straightens her dress and runs down the steps, eager to see if Julian’s by himself, which is her guess. She comes to a skidding halt when she sees who is with him. 
Oh.
She supposes he does write love songs, after all. 
-
Geralt shifts uncomfortably from the scrutiny Jaskier’s family is giving him. He wraps an arm around Jaskier’s shoulder, hoping he doesn’t look as awkward as he feels. He looks over to Jaskier for help, and Jaskier shrugs off his arm and takes Geralt by the hand, leading him forward to meet them. 
“Mother, Father, this is Geralt. Nell, this is a very large, scary witcher who will eat you up if you don’t behave.”
Geralt frowns. He thought Jaskier told him to be extra nice to his sister?
Nell laughs, a delightful, tinkling thing that reminds him of Jaskier’s. “He’s going to like me better than you by the time he leaves.”
Geralt looks back to Jaskier, only to see him sticking his tongue out at her. Right. Their relationship is definitely more antagonistic than Jaskier had prepared him for, so Geralt is glad he had Lambert to prepare him for these things. 
He’s not sure his interactions with Lambert would be appropriate to apply to Jaskier’s sister, though, so Geralt will let Jaskier handle the ribbing. 
“Nice to meet you,” Geralt finally says. “Jaskier’s told me a lot about you.”
Which, of course, is a lie, but Geralt knows that’s the polite thing to say. 
“He’s never even mentioned me, has he?” 
When Geralt waffles, Nell sniffs dramatically and casts Jaskier a betrayed look. 
Jaskier shoots that look right back to Geralt, and Geralt is so impossibly out of his depth right now. “Hmm.”
“Now look what you’ve done, you’ve made him regret agreeing to meet you in the first place!” Jaskier cries. 
“That’s quite enough, Julian,” Jaskier’s mother cuts in, and—Julian? 
He shoots Jaskier a puzzled look. Obviously, there was a little more he should have told Geralt before they came here. 
“Well, I’m afraid we are absolutely knackered; we’ve been riding all day. I’m going to head upstairs…” 
Geralt shoots him a look. 
“I mean,  we are going to head out to the stables and make sure that Geralt’s very polite mare is taken care of.”
“We have someone—”
“No, no, Geralt is very picky about who cares for his horse.”
With that, Jaskier drags Geralt out of the house and to the barn. “I thought the goal was for them to like me?” Geralt asks. 
Jaskier snorts. “Gods, no. The goal is to have them believe that we’re in a relationship, and they would never believe I would choose anyone they actually  liked .”
“Hmm.” 
Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Geralt. It’ll be fine. Just stop acting like you’re terrified of me every time I touch you. Maybe we should practice.”
Jaskier gets a gleam in his eye as he darts a glance back to the house, and then his very warm mouth is on Geralt’s. Geralt’s surprised for a second before he relaxes and kisses Jaskier back. He’ll show Jaskier he’s not  terrified of him. Geralt would scoff if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied. 
Geralt brings one hand up to rest on Jaskier’s jaw and one to wind through his soft hair. Geralt strokes his thumb over Jaskier’s cheekbone, and Jaskier melts against him, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist and tugging him closer. 
“What was that for?” Geralt says, trying to keep his breathing even after they pull away. 
Jaskier peers around him and looks back up at the house. “Well, they  were  watching through the window. Figured we’d give them a show. Alas.”
Jaskier turns and heads to the stables. Geralt trails behind him, surreptitiously bringing a hand up to his medallion to make sure it’s not vibrating. 
He is in way over his head. 
-
Nell stares at them with wide eyes from her bedroom window. She had...not exactly doubted them when Julian showed up with his witcher in tow, but she hadn’t exactly believed them, either. Who could let Julian trail around after them for years and not get sick of him? 
If she hadn’t witnessed them kissing with her own two eyes, she never would have believed it. She pulls the book out from under the mattress and looks at the songs again, this time with a more critical eye. She can’t believe she didn’t see it before. Especially “Her Sweet Kiss.” She’d never admit it to Julian, but she’s glad he won over whoever this  her  is. He looks happy, in a way that he never did while he was here. 
Her mother calls for her, so Nell sighs and puts away the book. She runs down the stairs. “Yes?”
“I need help with supper.”
Nell sets the table, noting they’re using the fancy silverware, which is a surprise, because her mother has never taken a particular interest of what Julian thinks of her before this, so this is an interesting time to start. She’s sure their meal is going to be a very uncomfortable affair. Well, not for her, unless it starts to become painful to hold her laughter in. 
She can’t wait. 
She’s just finishing arranging the cutlery when her mother turns back to her. “Can you believe Julian? I knew witchers were for hire, but I didn’t think their services extended to...this.”
Nell barely holds back a snort. 
-
Jaskier looks over to Geralt and suppresses a sigh. He had just planted a hand on Geralt’s thigh, and he’s sure his parents think that he just stabbed Geralt, from his reaction. He scoots his chair closer over to Geralt and drapes an arm over his shoulders. “Relax,” he whispers into Geralt’s ear. 
Geralt does, marginally, but Jaskier can still see the doubt on his parent’s faces. 
Jaskier’s father clears his throat. “So, Geralt, um. I suppose we know what you do, but, um. Um.”
“Honestly, haven’t you heard any of my songs? They are all the very true accounts of what Geralt gets up to,” Jaskier butts in. 
Geralt takes a gulp of wine from his goblet to avoid commenting. 
Jaskier notices, and elbows him in the ribs. “Geralt loves my songs, right?”
Jaskier’s parents are staring right at him, and it’s more than a little unnerving. “Right. They’re...very romantic.”
Jaskier’s grip around Geralt’s shoulders tightens. “Thank you, darling.”
Geralt is sure Vesemir once told him witchers can’t blush, but his face feels hot all of a sudden, and everyone is looking at him expectantly. 
Geralt takes another drink. 
Jaskier shakes his head. “Geralt’s been so nervous about meeting all of you. The poor dear is overwhelmed.”
Geralt shoots him a glare, before softening the look into something more akin to convincing Jaskier’s parents that they’re very happily together. Jaskier hastily bolts down the rest of his dinner before he drags Geralt up the stairs and to his room. 
He shuts the door behind them, leaning against and tugging at his hair. “There’s no way they’re buying this,” he moans. 
“I thought I was being rather convincing.”
The corner of Geralt’s lips twitch, so Jaskier hits him with a pillow. “You did not, you brute! Geralt if you’re doing this on purpose—”
“Hey, hey,” Geralt soothes. “I’m not. It’s just. Acting is not exactly on my list of talents.”
Jaskier crosses his arms and huffs. Geralt tugs him over to the bed and makes him sit down, plopping beside him. “What can I do?”
Jaskier throws his arm over his eyes and lays back, rather over dramatically, if you ask Geralt. “Nothi—Well, actually.”
Geralt does not like the sound of that. He was offering more to be nice than anything. 
“We have to have sex.”
Geralt’s mouth goes dry. “What?”
Jaskier scoffs. “This is no time to act the blushing virgin, Geralt,” he says, before his hands are on Geralt’s clothes, tugging them and unbuttoning. 
Geralt jerks back, but Jaskier is already done. “There. Nice and dishevelled.”
Geralt gapes at him for a moment, giving Jaskier the opportunity to muss his hair. Geralt growls.
“I know, I know. That took you hours to accomplish.”
Geralt catches his wrist. “Just, hold on a second. What are we doing?”
“We have to consummate my childhood bed, Geralt,” Jaskier says, completely seriously. “Or at least make my parents think we did.”
Jaskier starts moving his hips on the bed, making the headboard brush up against the wall with every gyration. “Mmm, fuck, Geralt, right there!” he cries.
“ Jaskier!”  Geralt hisses, but Jaskier pays him no mind. 
“You feel so good, darling!” He throws Geralt a wink, and Geralt tries not to combust. 
Jaskier undoes three of the buttons of his doublet, revealing a thicket of chest hair. Geralt casts his eyes to the ceiling. Gods help him. “You know, you don’t have to be so stoic all the time, dear heart. You can let me hear you,” Jaskier says, pointedly prodding at Geralt. 
Geralt shakes his head furiously. This is  not  what he agreed to. 
Jaskier gives Geralt a put on sigh before clearing his throat quietly. “Oh, Jaskier,” he says in a deep voice. 
“That doesn’t even sound like me,” Geralt whispers furiously. 
Jaskier just arches an eyebrow, and Geralt knows that’s a challenge. He swings his leg over Jaskier, straddling him and trying to ignore both of their pounding hearts. It’s the heat of carrying out their plan, Geralt is sure, and not at all Jaskier’s proximity. 
Geralt rocks the bed back and forth, making the headboard  slam against the wall now. 
Gearlt gives a half hearted moan, and Jaskier gives him a glare. “You’re making me sound like a terrible lover who’s left you horribly unfulfilled!” he hisses. 
Geralt rolls his eyes and gives a more enthusiastic moan this time. Geralt begrudgingly keeps this up for a few more minutes before he grunts and clambers off of Jaskier. “A little quick to the finish line?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt shoots him a rude hand gesture. 
Jaskier gasps in mock offense. “Why don’t you go get me a wash rag?” he suggests. 
Geralt glares at him; this is taking the charade much too far, if you ask Geralt, but he follows Jaskier’s direction to the bathroom—where Jaskier’s mother is standing. Geralt suddenly becomes conscious of what a mess he must look like right now, thanks to Jaskier. “Hello again,” Marilla says. 
Geralt grunts and nods to her, before remembering he should probably say something, anything. “Hi.”
Geralt grabs a washcloth and flees. 
When he gets back to Jaskier, Jaskier is sitting on the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest, scribbling away in his notebook, the inkwell balancing precariously on the mattress. He still has his buttons undone, and Geralt curses himself for even noticing. 
“Did you run into anyone?” Jaskier asks. 
Geralt’s disgruntled expression must be answer enough, because Jaskier rubs his hands together in delight. “Excellent.”
-
Marilla scurries back to her room, completely scandalized. She can’t believe they would...defile her home like this. It’s bad enough that Julian couldn’t choose anyone they suggested for himself, and now he brings home a  witcher ? He’s trying to make her gray even faster. 
She shuts the bedroom door behind her and looks to Ethbert. Her expression must linger on her face, because he asks her, “What?”
“They—” She makes a floppy hand gesture. 
“Are you sure? What would a witcher want with Julian? There’s something not right about this.”
Marilla fans herself. “I know. They’re not even wed. It’s impropriety, is what it is.”
Ethbert squints doubtfully. 
-
Geralt is not a morning person. When Jaskier first discovered this, he was puzzled. Geralt is the only person who dictates his schedule, so no one would yell at  him  if he chose to sleep until midday. 
The more Jaskier thinks about it, though, the more it makes sense. Of course Geralt would wake up at the asscrack of dawn; he probably thinks of it as a punishment or some other such self loathing nonsense. 
It’s certainly more of a punishment for Jaskier, because he’s the one that has to put up with Geralt’s bearish attitude every morning. 
Geralt blinks awake and squints at the rising sun like it’s personally offended him, and Jaskier closes his eyes, not wanting to be caught staring. 
“Morning,” Geralt grates out. 
Jaskier’s lips twist into a wry smile. “Good morning.”
“I know you weren’t asleep,” Geralt says, sounding annoyed. “You could have woken me up.”
“Mm. And deal with a grumpy witcher first thing in the morning? I don’t think so.”
Geralt scoffs. “I’m not grumpy.”
“Right.”
Geralt swings his legs out of the bed and begins getting dressed. Jaskier stretches into the warmth Geralt left behind, tugging the blankets up over him. 
What? He never said  he was a morning person, either. “Where are you going?”
“Into town.”
“For what? Do you need things for potions? I’ll go with you.”
“No, no, I’m just going to see if there’s any contracts; you stay here.”
Jaskier gives a sly grin. “Does my family make you nervous?”
“ No .”
“Hmm,” Jaskier says. 
“Shut up.”
“Well, don’t go gallivanting off without telling me where. You know I worry.”
Geralt rolls his eyes. “No need.”
Jaskier adopts a high pitched voice. “Why, thank you, Jaskier, my dearest friend. I’m so touched to know someone is looking out for me.”
“It’s pretty sad if you have to imagine someone to be your friend.”
Jaskier splutters as Geralt walks out of the room, a smile tugging at his lips. 
Jaskier sighs as the door shuts behind him, wanting to bundle himself back in the blankets and Geralt’s scent, but he resists the urge and stumbles out of bed to pull on his clothes. 
He makes it down the stairs and to the kitchen, picking up a bowl of eggs and whisking them, the need to be helpful overriding his desire to collapse in a chair and go back to sleep. 
“Good morning, Julian,” his mother says stiffly. “Where’s your beau?”
Jaskier lets himself smile at the image of Geralt’s reaction to being heard of himself referred to as Jaskier’s  beau . 
“He’s out looking for a contract. He’ll be back for lunch, I’m sure.” 
He gives his mother a bright grin. He thinks he should have made Geralt suck a hickey on his neck, but, to be honest, he’s not sure if he could have beared that. Geralt had already been so unbearably close to Jaskier when he  straddled  him. Jaskier’s not sure what had possessed Geralt to do that, all the while expecting Jaskier to keep his hands to himself. 
He’s not sure Geralt’s looked in a mirror anytime in the past fifty years because of the whole monster-staring-back-at-him thing (complete horse shit, in Jaskier’s humble opinion, not that Geralt cares to listen to it), but Jaskier is forced to look at him every day, and he suffers. 
He suffers every time he trails behind Geralt atop Roach, watching the subtle shift of his back muscles as he rides, and he’s devastated when Geralt deems Roach too tired to carry him and leads her in his tight leather pants. If Geralt hadn’t been wearing just such a thing when Jaskier met him, Jaskier would be convinced Geralt does it just to personally spite Jaskier. 
To doom him to look but not touch for the rest of his life. As such, he had never expected Geralt to actually agree to this whole charade. But, he did, and now here they are. Here they are, with Jaskier knowing exactly what Geralt tastes like (less onion than one would expect), but still having to not just kiss the blank looks Geralt likes to give him right off his face. 
It’s enough to drive a man mad. 
-
Geralt looks at the pitiful notice board and sighs. He tugs down the one prospect to examine it more closely. Something is stealing a farmer’s sheep. There’s a few possibilities for what it could be, ranging from minor nuisances to things that he shouldn’t even mention to Jaskier because he’ll nag at Geralt until he lets him tag along, and those are always the kind of jobs that Jaskier should be nowhere near. 
Geralt’s not sure how someone with the survival instinct of a fly larva is still alive, especially when he insists on following Geralt around, but Geralt’s not going to let Jaskier get hurt on his watch. 
Geralt pockets the notice and goes to talk to the farmer who set the contract, but he has very little useful information to tell Geralt. All he offers is that the sheep have been disappearing without a trace. Geralt walks the edges of the property and a bit into the woods, doing a cursory inspection for the carcasses, but he doesn’t find them, either. 
Hmm. 
Geralt turns and heads back to Jaskier. 
-
Geralt’s acting out of sorts when he returns from town, so Jaskier tugs him aside. “What’s wrong?”
Geralt just grunts and shakes his head. 
Jaskier sighs. Typical. “Weren’t there any contracts?”
“There were, just—I don’t know what it is. But I’m sure it will be fine.”
Geralt even tries to give him a bracing smile, and even though it looks more like a grimace, Jaskier knows it’s not good if Geralt has stooped to trying to comfort him. 
Jaskier hums at him and leads him to the table where his family are waiting on them for lunch. Jaskier keeps a hand on Geralt’s knee, because he’s allowed to, at the moment. 
He delights in watching Geralt make awkward conversation with Nell, but it seems like they’re quickly warming up to each other. Jaskier’s mouth goes dry at the thought of them teaming up on him. They would truly be a menace. 
Jaskier’s mood is quickly soured when they finish eating and Geralt insists on heading back out. 
“Shouldn’t you wait until the morning? You know, be well rested?”
Geralt shrugs. “It’s been taking the animals at night. Better chance of finding it if I go now.”
“Geralt, we’re not exactly short on coin right now. Why even go?”
“If I don’t take care of this, who will?” Geralt huffs. “This farmer’s livelihood is at risk.”
Jaskier grins. “Geralt, you unbearable softie. You make me look callous.”
Jaskier darts a glance over to his family, who are pretending not to watch them. He takes that as license to tug Geralt in for a chaste kiss. Geralt stiffens against him, and Jaskier is just about ready to pull away, before Geralt starts kissing him back. He makes it  decidedly  less chaste, and Jaskier puts a hand on his chest. He lets himself savor it for one, two, three seconds before he takes a step back. 
“Geralt, there are children present!” he says in a scandalized tone, grinning at Nell. 
She glares, and he shoots her a wink. 
Geralt clears his throat, and Jaskier jerks his attention back to him. “Right. Well, if I’m not going to talk you out of it, be safe.”
“I always am.”
-
Ethbert watches as Julian paces back and forth as he waits for the witcher to return. “Sit down,” he says gruffly. 
Julian looks at the clock, then out the window, completely ignoring him. Ethbert snorts. Good to know nothing’s changed, then. 
“Surely it can’t take this long to murder one measly little thing,” Julian mutters. 
“He’s fine,” Ethbert says. “It’d take a lot to overpower a witcher, right?”
Jaskier sits down in a huff, and Ethbert starts to wonder if maybe their relationship is less of a farce than he thought. It’s certainly an odd one, and he’s still clueless as to what they could possibly have in common, but Julian is painting a convincing picture right now, especially as he tugs his cloak off the hook and settles it around his shoulders. 
“Where are you going?”
“To find him!”
Ethbert jerks out of his seat with a splutter. “You can’t be serious. You think you’re going to be able to handle whatever a witcher couldn’t?”
Julian pauses. “Well, no. He’s probably lying in a ditch somewhere, slowly bleeding to death. Oh gods, what if he’s out there bleeding to death?”
Julian becomes even more frantic and rushes out the door and to the stables. 
Ethbert resigns himself to a long night. 
-
Jaskier clambers onto one of the smaller mares. He doesn’t have the patience to go through the whole process of putting all the tack on, so he clings to the horse’s neck and prays he doesn’t fall off. He digs into her with his knees, and away they go. 
Jaskier has no idea which way Geralt went, but there’s some fairly fresh hoof tracks in the wet dirt of the road, so he follows them and hopes they’re Roach’s. Eventually, they go off the road, and Jaskier is left to squint at trampled grass. He wonders if Geralt would be proud of his tracking abilities, and he smiles thinking about the inevitable jab. Jaskier would respond with something about how Geralt was no better than a dog sniffing the air, and all would be well.
But first, he has to find him. Jaskier slows the horse to a walk as the trail becomes fainter, squinting as he looks at the ground. He comes to an outcrop of rocks with an opening just big enough to go inside, and he dismounts his horse cautiously. He certainly doesn’t want to deal with whatever calls this place its home. 
Jaskier notices blood, and his heart kicks up a notch. It’s a rust red color, so it’s not very recent. Jaskier follows the splatters, and as he goes, they get brighter and brighter, until Jaskier’s heart threatens to burst out of his chest with the panicked tap dance it’s doing. 
It certainly doesn’t help matters when he finds Roach wandering through the woods by herself. “Where’s Geralt?” he asks, and she snorts at him helpfully. 
Jaskier casts a look at the blood glistening under the leaves underfoot and knows Geralt has to be close. Roach gives an agitated whinny before she turns and trots off, and Jaskier rushes after her. 
In the end, Geralt’s not all that far away. Jaskier sees his hair before he sees anything else, and then he’s sprinting over to him with little thought for anything else. Jaskier drops to his knees beside Geralt. He looks paler than normal, even though Jaskier hadn’t known that was possible 
There’s so much blood, and he’s not moving. Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Geralt? Geralt?” he asks, his voice getting louder and more panicked. “Geralt?”
Jaskier resists the urge to shake him and jostle whatever injuries he has, but there’s bile rising in his throat, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do—
His eyes latch on to the infinitesimal rise of Geralt’s chest, and the pressure on his own suddenly lifts. He shuts his eyes for a moment. Geralt isn’t dead, and he can work with that. 
Jaskier takes a closer look at Geralt and finds there’s a chunk missing from his side. It’s still bleeding freely, and Jaskier tries to resist the urge to be sick. He works Geralt free of his armor with shaky hands, so he can take a closer look. 
Geralt moans and starts to stir, and Jaskier plants his hands on Geralt’s chest. “Just stay still; you’re going to be fine.”
“Jask?” Geralt slurs. 
“Yes, yes, it’s me, and you know I’m far too stubborn to let you die.”
“My pack—”
Jaskier could slap himself for not thinking of that. “Right. Um, your potions.” 
He whistles for Roach, and she approaches skittishly. Jaskier glances back down at Geralt, and his eyes are slipping shut. Jaskier tightens his grip on Geralt’s shoulder. “Geralt! You have to stay awake. Do you hear me?”
Geralt murmurs something Jaskier doesn’t quite catch, but his eyes open wider. Geralt’s pupils are so dilated, there’s barely a ring of yellow left around the outsides. Jaskier clambers up to look through Roach’s saddlebags, and his heart clenches when Geralt’s hand comes up to clutch at him as he moves away. “I’m not going anywhere,” he soothes. 
He rustles through the saddlebag. “Fuck, Geralt, do you really need so many tiny bottles?”
Geralt gives him a weak chuckle before he hisses in pain. 
“Which one do you need?” Jaskier asks, hoping Geralt is coherent enough that he’s not about to poison himself. 
Jaskier pulls the pouch out of the saddle bag to show him the options. Geralt points to a few, and Jaskier eyes them doubtfully. He uncorks them anyway, sitting back down and settling Geralt’s head into his lap, helping him get the elixirs down, even when Geralt tries to bat his hands away. 
“Save your energy for something useful, would you?” Jaskier tuts. 
Jaskier prods at the wound in Geralt’s side, jerking his hand back when Geralt winces. “I forgot just how delicate you were, my apologies.”
Geralt barely manages a huff at that, and Jaskier furrows his brows in worry. He pulls Geralt’s shirt away from the wound, biting his lip as it pulls skin away. The wound looks a sickly green underneath all the blood, and Jaskier gasps a little. This is much worse than he thought. 
“Geralt, it’s—Geralt?”
Geralt’s eyes have slipped shut, and Jaskier scrabbles at him, trying to make him wake up again, but he stays stubbornly still. The only thing giving Jaskier even a tiny glimmer of peace is that his chest is still rising and falling. 
Tears are threatening to burst to Jaskier’s eyes, but he pushes them down and takes a deep breath. Somehow, he manages to heave Geralt across Roach. Roach snorts, disgruntled, and Jaskier runs a hand over her flank, trying to soothe her. 
He looks around, but he has no idea where the mare he rode out here went. Oops. Hopefully it will wander back to his parent’s estate, but if not, well, will they even miss it?
Jaskier gathers Roach’s reins in his hand and leads her back towards town at a steady trot. 
-
When Geralt comes to, he’s sweltering. He seems to be in a tomb of blankets, and the fire is roaring in the corner of the room. The room? He’s not quite sure how he got here; he would have expected to be lying on the cold ground instead of a soft and yielding bed. There’s even less lumps than he’s accustomed to.
He groans when he tries to move, and there’s a rustling from beside him. Geralt looks over to see Jaskier jerking from his chair to fuss over him. Jaskier’s eyes are red when he finally looks up.
“You promised me you were going to be safe, you terror,” Jaskier sniffs. 
Geralt doesn’t have his wits about him enough yet to be dealing with crying bards. “Hmm.”
“Geralt, you—What was it?”
“A cockatrice. It got me with its tail; spit a little poison at me just for fun.”
Jaskier shakes his head. “You wouldn’t know fun if it bit you in the ass.”
This makes Geralt look even grumpier, if possible. Jaskier’s glad; he much prefers that to the slack expression Geralt had had while he was sleeping, and Jaskier was terrified he wouldn’t wake up. 
Jaskier looks back at him, and Geralt can’t help himself when he reaches out to swipe away Jaskier’s tears with his thumb. “I’m fine,” he murmurs. 
Geralt tosses the covers off himself so he can see his wound. It’s wrapped rather nicely, and when Geralt pokes at it, it feels like there’s some kind of poultice under the bandages. He raises his eyebrows at Jaskier, waiting for an explanation. 
“A healer.”
Geralt’s surprised Jaskier found someone who would treat him; most people aren’t too keen on helping witchers. 
“I yelled at him until he helped you,” Jaskier admits. 
Geralt huffs a laugh. “I’m sure he was terrified.”
Jaskier finally cracks a grin. “Hey, you’re not the only scary one around here.”
Jaskier’s eyes drop to his hand, the one that was just on his face, and fuck, what was Geralt even thinking, but Jaskier reaches out and puts his hand over Geralt’s. 
“I was worried,” he says softly. And then, sharper, “Don’t you dare say  hmm .”
“Hmm.”
Geralt laughs, and there’s a warmth that settles in his chest when Jaskier does the same. 
“You’re incorrigible,” Jaskier finally says. 
There’s a lengthy silence, and when Geralt looks up, Jaskier is staring back at him.  
“You got the trophy, right?” 
“Geralt, my ears must be deceiving me. You cannot possibly be worried about that right now.”
“How else am I going to get paid? Last time I checked, you liked to eat. It needs done before something else drags the carcass away.”
Jaskier sighs and huffs and does everything short of stomping his feet before he gathers his cloak from the back of his chair. He glares at Geralt before he slams the door shut behind him. 
Geralt rubs a shaky hand down his face. 
He’s an idiot. 
-
Jaskier grumbles to himself as he makes his way back out into the chilly night. His advances are obviously unwelcome, if this is the kind of punishment Geralt is doling out to him. Well, that’s fine. Jaskier will just let him bleed out next time. 
Okay, he won’t, but that doesn’t mean he won’t consider it for a few seconds. 
Stupid emotionally repressed witchers. He can’t say he wasn’t hoping something would happen with Geralt while they were here, but he should have known better. 
Jaskier trudges all the way back to near where he found Geralt, pointedly not looking at the blood stain on the grass.  He’s fine , he reminds himself. Jaskier pokes around for a little bit until he remembers the cave he had seen earlier and some vague knowledge that cockatrices prefer them. 
He’s half expecting another to show up as he plucks some feathers and cuts off the head, for good measure. He almost gags as his knife goes roughly through the bone and sinew, but he manages to keep his supper. He looks around for any last creatures that are just waiting to murder him, but none appear. 
He sighs and makes the trek back. 
When he arrives, Geralt is sitting at the table, talking to his family, and Jaskier wonders for a moment if he should be concerned about a doppler. Nell is eating up every word Geralt says, and Jaskier hopes she has pried some good stories out of him that Jaskier can repurpose as songs later. 
For now, he swings the cockatrice head up onto the table, and silence falls. “There you go, love,” he says cheerfully. 
Geralt is looking back at him with a peculiar expression, and he rises from his chair stiffly. Jaskier rushes over to him to help, and Geralt reluctantly drapes an arm over his shoulder. Geralt leads him to the bathroom, and Jaskier makes sure to say loudly enough for the rest of his family to hear, “Well, if you needed help holding it you only had to ask.”
Geralt huffs in exasperation and shuts the door behind him. Jaskier raises his eyebrows in question. “Did you actually need help, or…” Jaskier trails off, and then Geralt’s lips are on his, warm and hungry, and anymore of Jaskier’s thoughts fly out of his brain. 
His arms automatically come up to wrap around Geralt’s waist, until he registers that this is  Geralt , and he puts a hand on his chest. “Um. Do you need your head checked out, as well? I thought it was your side, but I can go get the healer again.”
“I’m fine,” Geralt growls. 
Jaskier’s not convinced Geralt hasn’t sustained a lasting brain injury, but then Geralt is saying, “I should have done this a long time ago,” and kissing him again. 
What is Jaskier to do but kiss him back? It’d be terribly impolite not to, after all. When Geralt finally pulls away, Jaskier asks breathlessly, “What was that for?”
Geralt shrugs, considering. “You looked kind of hot carrying that cockatrice head. The trachea hanging down really got me going.”
Jaskier stares at him in disbelief for a beat before they both dissolve into laughter. 
“You’re an idiot,” Jaskier says. “You’re  my idiot.”
-
Ethbert looks across the table, where what his son is doing can only be called  terrorizing  his witcher, and harrumphs to himself. This is not exactly who he pictured Julian ending up with, to say the least. 
He wonders the etiquette for having a son in law older than he is. He supposes he’s going to have to find out. 
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awanderingdeal · 3 years
Note
How about Nado meeting Kuny’s parents
Do with that as you please
Happy
Sad
I don’t mind
Love, Trash Monster :)
Hello Trash Monster! Thank you for your prompt. This one kind of got away with me and loved writing it. It’s actually rather angsty for me, but there is a happy ending. 
CW: coming out, homophobia (mentions of potential harm to queer people), food mentions, very minor sexual content 
Please let me know if you feel I need to add any warnings
Rating: T+ (sexual content is very minor, but the subject content is a bit heavy at points)
Credit for the sweater weather universe goes to @lumosinlove
"You know you don't have to tell them if you don't want to," Jackson grazed his thumb reassuringly over his boyfriend's hand where they were clenched together. They had been sat stiffly on the sofa for the last 20 minutes, waiting for the knock on the door that would announce the arrival of Evgeni's parents.
"I'm want," Evgeni sighed, his words barely a whisper. "I'm just scared. I don't know what they think. What if they hate me?"
Jackson clutched Evgeni's hand tighter, lifting it to his mouth to press his lips gently against his skin. "Zhenya, I mean it. I love you and I will still love you even if you decide you don't want to do this."
Evgeni shuffled impossibly closer, "I love you too, I'm sorry, I'm coward."
"Stop," Jackson frowned. "You are not a coward. This could get you arrested back home. Killed even. You are allowed to be scared." He let out a frustrated sigh, not aimed at his boyfriend, but at the world around him. "Look, how about we just see how things go. I'll follow your lead and there is absolutely no pressure to say anything to them. As far as they know, I'm just your housemate."
"Very good housemate," Evgeni chuckled, although his laugh seemed strained. "Okay, we play by ear."
"Where'd you learn that one?" Jackson teased gently. Evgeni was always dropping new words and phrases he'd learned, his smile quietly proud, and Jackson loved it. 
"I learn from Finn. We both complain about silly boyfriends speaking French and he teach me English," Evgeni explained.
"Hmm, I'm not sure this is a friendship I should be encouraging," Jackson gave a mock glare. 
"Too late," Evgeni smiled. It was a real smile this time, and Jackson felt like his next breath came a little easier than the last. "We go shopping together next weekend. He give good advice unlike you."
"I changed my mind, this is an excellent friendship," Jackson grinned. Evgeni opened his mouth, likely a clever reply on his tongue, but anything he had to say was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. 
Jackson couldn't understand the string of Russian that Evgeni muttered, but he'd have wagered a large amount of money that it wasn't positive. "Hey, relax. It's just your parents. You love them, they love you," he reassured, despite the growing bubble of anxiety in his own stomach. He'd met his Evgeni's parents a few times before, but it felt different now, even though they weren't aware that anything about their son's relationship with his 'housemate' had changed.
"I go now," Evgeni said as he stood, but the words seemed to be aimed more at himself than Jackson. He left the room muttering to himself and running his hands nervously through his curls. 
A minute later, there was a burst of noise. Jackson smiled, letting his breath out with a sigh of relief. Some part of him had decided the world was going to implode the moment the front door opened, but all he heard was the happy sounds of a child and parents being reunited.
"Jackson," Evgeni pushed through the door a moment later. "You remember my Mother and Father?" he asked.
Smiling, Jackson stood. This part was easy. He could be polite. He was Canadian, polite was in his blood. "Of course," Jackson nodded. "It's lovely to see you again, Mr and Mrs Kuznetsov. Evgeni has been looking forward to your stay." He offered his hand out for his boyfriend's mother to shake. 
"I tell you to call me, Yelena," the tall woman said, batting away his hand softly and pulling Jackson into a hug. "Evgeni only wants to see me for Syrinki," she pretended to whisper. Jackson opened his mouth to mention that he had in fact been learning to make the Russian dish so that Evgeni would feel a little less homesick, but reconsidered. The idea felt too intimate, too suspicious. Looking up briefly, he met Evgeni’s eyes, finding a sadness in them. Maybe he had been thinking the same. 
“Nonsense, even big boys like us need a hug from our mom’s from time to time,” Jackson finally settled on a reply. 
Yelena gave him one last squeeze, patting his cheek. “You’re a good boy, Jackson.”
He wasn’t sure if he was making it up, but the moment seemed significant. He looked at Evgeni again, but just received a shrug, so Jackson turned his attention to Mr Kuznetsov. The man really did not speak much English, so Jackson just waved and said, “hello.” The smile he got in return was almost identical to Evgeni’s. 
                                                           ***
It was now day 3 of the Kuznetsov’s week long visit, and Jackson was really starting to think something was up, he just couldn’t quite place what. They sat on the sofa, looking at some photography Mr Kuznetsov had taken. Jackson had been told repeatedly to call him Lev, but he still couldn’t do it in his head. It seemed like a perfectly ordinary thing to do, Mr Kuznetsov was very passionate about his hobby, but Mrs Kuznetsov kept making little comments that Jackson found quite strange. 
“This is church we get married in,” Mrs Kuznetsov explained, pointing to an unassuming, old looking building nestled between some trees. “Would you like to get married, Jackson?”
The question didn’t even throw him this time, just another example of the odd little elements that kept cropping up. The reasonable part of him wanted to chalk it up to an over curiosity, however he was not entirely convinced. “Yeah, one day,” he nodded, training his eyes on the photo so they didn’t wander to look at his boyfriend. 
“No have to be in church though,” Mrs Kuznetsov patted his hand, “not these days.”
Jackson wasn’t sure how to respond to that and thankfully, Evgeni came to his rescue muttering to his mother in Russian. Her reply was terse, but she slid her finger over the tablet screen to reveal the next photo. 
Things moved on smoothly, and soon Jackson was leaving the three of them. As nice as it was to get to know the family, he realised it was a bit awkward for Mr. Kuznetsov and Jackson liked to allow them to spend time together without feeling guilty about leaving him out. He had almost forgotten about the incident, until lunch time the next day. 
Jackson and Mrs Kuznetsov had made lunch together, which had been strange and yet oddly comfortable. He had realised midway through slicing carrots for the soup that it felt as if they had done this many times before. 
“Oh! I forget,” Mrs Kuznetsov clapped her hands together excitably, getting up from the chair she had just sat on. “I see a photograph in the newspaper,” she said, rooting around in her purse, making a small triumphant noise when she found what she was looking for.  
She placed the clipping down on the table proudly. The photo was of Remus and Sirius. “I think it funny that it in news all the way in Russia,” Mrs Kuznetsov chuckled. “The article was not so nice, so I just cut out photo. Make me think of you. Such nice boys they are.”
Jackson didn’t know what to say, so he just looked at Evgeni. However, his boyfriend was not looking in his direction, staring at his mother instead. Mrs Kuznetsov went about ladling soup into the bowls, humming softly under her breath. 
                                                           ***
It was the final evening of Evgeni’s parent’s stay, and Jackson couldn’t wait to truly release the breath he had been holding. The two older Kuznetsov’s were wonderful, but Jackson wanted to be able to touch his boyfriend, to use the affectionate endearments they had given one another and quite frankly, he was horny. 
That thought was ripped from his mind, by the commotion of Mrs Kuznetsov tripping and throwing her glass of iced tea all over Evgeni. Jackson didn’t know much Russian, but he recognised the swear word that fell from his boyfriend’s lips and the scolding he received from his mother didn’t need translating. Then she began gesturing towards the wet clothing, saying something that made Evgeni’s eyes widen. Jackson would forever maintain that the sound that came out of Evgeni’s mouth was a squeak. 
“Off, off,” Mrs Kuznetsov ordered, her voice firm.
Jackson sympathised with Evgeni’s reaction now. He cleared his throat, mumbling a comment about getting a mop and hurried from the room. On his return, he realised he hadn’t been long enough, finding Evgeni standing in just his underwear. He swore softly to himself, going about mopping the floor, trying his level best to look anywhere but Evgeni. It felt like forever before his mother took his clothing, muttering something about the washing machine. 
“Mama,” Evgeni called, just as she was leaving the room. She looked back, smiling softly and Evgeni took a deep breath. “Jackson is my boyfriend.” He looked at his father and repeated the sentence in his native tongue. Jackson couldn’t recall loosening his grip on the wooden handle, but the sound of the mop clattering on the floor pulled him from his shocked pause. 
“Zhenya,” he breathed. And in that moment, the monumentality of his words seemed to hit Evgeni. Jackson saw the panic cross his boyfriend’s features, tensing his muscles to go and offer comfort, but somehow Mrs. Kuznetsov got there first. There were tears in her eyes, and a thousand thoughts ran through Jackson’s mind. He wanted to console Evgeni. He wanted to assure Mrs Kuznetsov they were good people, that Evgeni was the same son he had been thirty seconds ago. 
“I am so proud of you,” she reached out to grasp Evgeni’s hand. “I wait all week for you to tell me.” 
“What?” The word came from Evgeni and Jackson simultaneously. 
“Evgeni talk you, like I talk Alyonushka,” Mr Kuznetsov smiled. The words were stilted and the accent heavy, but Jackson understood well enough. Evgeni’s cheek took a pink tint to them. 
“I know love when I see,” Mrs Kuznetsov wagged her finger at Jackson as if he was a naughty child. She gave a small sigh, looking between the two of them, “Russia not so nice. But you safe here in USA, and Russia get better. One day, you hold hands there too.” 
Jackson felt tears in his own eyes now. Not even the fact Evgeni was standing in only his underwear could ruin this moment.
“Go put clothes on. I tell story to grandkids one day,” Mrs Kuznetsov smiled. 
“Mama!” Evgeni reprimanded. His next words were Russian, but the embarrassed exchange between mother and son was universal. Jackson suddenly realised he could tell his own parents now, and that seemed both terrifying and magnificent. He wasn't at all worried about their reaction, but it still seemed big. Deciding those emotions could be left for another day, he let himself enjoy this moment.
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swimyghost · 3 years
Text
Uniforms
This is a Lupin III High School AU that no one asked for but me and some friends made anyway. This AU will include OCs they haven’t made an appearance just yet. Also this high school is a blend of American and Japanese high schools since I’m, unfortunately, more familiar with an American setting. I hope you enjoy.
---
The ICPO Academy’s name was a joke. Not to say the academy itself was a disgrace to the name of education seeing as the school produced several graduates that went on to become lawyers or doctors or more artistic jobs such as famous actors or architects. ICPO Academy was well known for its reputation as the hub for international learning and cultural acceptance, having the school built in Japan but accepting students from everywhere. Many would question why someone would call the academy’s name a joke with high test scores, amazingly well-funded athletic and arts programs, and a spotless background all being well-known facts.
ICPO: International Criminal Police Organization. The name was outdated and, as mentioned before, a joke, especially to the students who attended the school. The once militaristic educational institution was originally assembled by the Japanese government as a way to train the most elite future members of the police force; the international part only added later once other countries noticed how well the Alta maters excelled in their field. Time, however, was an ever-flowing river and soon more programs such as the arts were added to the school. The need for highly trained police officers was in little demand and the school’s talents for training the best were need elsewhere. The name never changed due to stubborn tradition, also due to the idea of the students needing to “remember their roots”.
Horrible naming aside, the school was strict with everything, from grades to clubs to sports, including school uniforms. That was how three students ended up in the principal’s office one early morning.
“Arsène Lupin, Daisuke Jigen, and Goemon Ishikawa,” the principal, a heavily balding middle-aged man, sighed. He looked like he hadn’t received any proper sleep in weeks. “You three realize the school year only started a month ago and yet you consistently end up here.”
“Sir, I think you are missing the point!” a tall dark-haired man shouted. He stepped forward, shoving aside the three students. The red armband on his left arm was labeled “Head Hall Monitor”. “These three have broken one of the school’s rules, one which is mentioned on the first page of the school handbook so they clearly know what they are doing!”
One of the students, a sophomore with a cocky grin and an even cockier look in his dark brown eyes, laughed. “Pops, you should know I never read any of those dumb manuals!”
“It’s paramount that you read the handbook! And quit referring to me by that ridiculous nickname!”
“Whatever you say, Pops.”
“Mr. Lupin, Mr. Zenigata, I order you to stop this nonsense!” the principal shouted over the arguing pair. “Mr. Lupin, despite you lacking in understanding the school’s policies, you are a sophomore, you should already know that wearing the school’s uniform is a requirement, that goes for you too Mr. Goemon, and especially you Mr. Daisuke, you’re a junior, for Pete’s sake!”
“Jigen.” a gruff-sounding teen muttered. Shaggy black hair covered the teen’s eyes. Unlike the well-dressed (although still against the rules) Lupin, Jigen chose to wear baggy clothes such as a worn hoodie and ripped jeans instead of his uniform. 
“Fine, Jigen,” the man said with an exasperated sigh. “Look, I’m going to cut to the chase since you already know what’s going to happen. I’m going to have the front desk call your parents so they can drop off your uniforms. Mr. Lupin, Mr. Jigen, you’ll be sent to detention for today and tomorrow and will have to use half of your lunch period cleaning the school along with the regular cleaning hours. Mr. Ishikawa, you will have the same punishment except you won’t have detention.”
“What!?” Zenigata cried.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Zenigata?”
“Sir, forgive me for my insolence, but I think this is highly unfair,” Zenigata turned his gaze to the last of the trio, a blue hakama-wearing boy with long but slightly uneven cut hair. “Goemon here is equally as guilty as the rest of them! Therefore, he deserves the same punishment!”
The principal let out a long groan. “I wish I could, Mr. Zenigata. Unfortunately, Mr. Ishikawa is a part of our Judo Team and we’re about to have a match against Cagliostro Academy so-”
“So it’s favoritism!” Zenigata bellowed, slamming his hands on the principal’s desk.
“It’s not favoritism, it’s about securing our school’s reputation! Besides, Mr. Ishikawa isn’t a criminal for refusing to wear the proper garb.” the principal nonchalantly waved his hand.
“We will become one if you don’t punish him accordingly!”
“Do not insult the Ishikawa name like you, you bumbling gorilla.” Goemon spat, keeping a cold expression on his face.
“What did you say!?”
“ENOUGH!”
The room went deathly quiet. The principal, who was suddenly standing tall with an enraged expression on his face. He glared at the four students with a newfound fire in his dark eyes. 
“Mr. Zenigata, this is not up for discussion. If you have a problem, take it up with someone else!”
Zenigata looked like he was going to blow up due to how red his face was. Lupin was frightened, but he kept a small grin on his face. The other two were suddenly extremely interested in the wall.
“Now, all of you, out of my office. I have important work to do.”
Zenigata took several deep breaths before replying. “Alright, sir. I shall take these troublemakers to the front desk to make sure they don’t try to run away.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr-”
It was too late as Zenigata swiftly herded the group outside of the office, slamming the door behind him. 
The trio shuffled down the hall with only Zenigata walking with a powerful stride. The halls were silent with only the muffled chatter of teacher’s going over their lessons breaking that silence. Posters advertising out of school and in school were taped on walls or pinned to one of the many corkboards that lined the walls. Freshly cleaned windows allowed light to enter in. Jigen grunted as a line of sunlight pierced through his thick locks and entered his eyes. Lupin leaned over Zenigata’s shoulder and smiled.
“The head really chewed you out, huh?”
“Quiet, you scum!” Zenigata snarled, glaring back at the shorter man.
“Wooooooow, is that how all upperclassmen speak to their juniors? I thought we were starting to become friends.”
Zenigata scoffed. “You are not one of my equals, neither as a student or a member of society.”
“Really?” Lupin said with fake surprise dripping from his words.
The senior stopped, leading the rest of the group to follow suit. “I know who you are, Lupin, and I know what your family is.”
“You do?” Lupin glanced over at his companions, who kept measured expressions on their faces, then back at the older student. “What is my family, Koichi Zenigata?”
“A bunch of liars and thieves,” Zenigata said with an icy chill.
The stillness held nothing but tension. Jigen and Goemon silently moved to Lupin’s side. One a slight glimmer of Jigen’s eyes could be seen through the curtain known as his hair; meanwhile, Goemon’s eyes were studying the situation, ready to strike if necessary. Zenigata stood tall with his dark blue and white suit barely hiding the muscles bulging through the cloth. Time ticked away until Lupin broke out into laughter.
“Never knew you hated me that much, Pops!” Lupin patted his shoulder, causing Zenigata to flinch. “C’mon, let’s not fight. Especially since it won’t be a fair fight since your little buddy isn’t here and your reputation would be hurt more than mine.”
“Little… Buddy?” Zenigata looked confused, both due to Lupin’s actions and at the nickname he gave to this unknown person.
“What was his name… Goro! Goro Yatagarasu! That poor boy follows you are like a puppy.” Lupin said.
“Do not insult him like that! Yata is a good student and a better person than you’ll ever be.”
“You’re starting to sound like his boyfriend, Pops,” Jigen spoke up, enunciating the word ‘Pops’.
“Wha- Yata is a freshman and a minor!” 
“That hasn’t stopped seniors before,” Jigen muttered.
Goemon stepped between them with his hands raised. “You wanna get in more trouble?”
Jigen grunted and turned his head away. Zenigata just glared at the trio before starting back on his quest to the front desk. Lupin just pretended to wipe the dust off his crisp white dress shirt and followed the upperclassman with his friends following close behind.
The rest of the walk was uneventful since Lupin stopped trying to press his senior’s buttons. Jigen was more interested in his old sneakers than a conversation with Goemon adopting a similar attitude. Once they reached the open front lobby, Zenigata turned his gaze to the lady who sat behind the circular front desk. Her hair was tied up in a lazy bun with her glasses hanging close to the end of her nose. She looked as interested in her computer work as the principal had looked. She lifted her gaze when Zenigata cleared his throat.
“Can I help you?” her tone was low and bored.
“Yes, these three have broken school rules by deciding to not wear their uniform! I assume the principal has alerted you about the situation?”
“He has.” the receptionist said.
“Then I believe you need to-”
“I’ve already contacted their parents, Mr. Zenigata.” the lady cut off Zenigata with a pointed stare.
“Um, uh, yes,” Zenigata cleared his throat, more awkwardly this time. “W-Well I assume you have the situation handled then?”
“I do.”
“Great! I need to return to class! Please make sure they don’t try anything suspicious.”
“I will, Mr. Zenigata.”
Zenigata bowed before turning to look back at the trio. Lupin stuck out his tongue with a goofy smile plastered on his face. The senior frowned deeply then took off towards an adjacent hallway. The group looked at the front desk lady who already went back to typing away at her computer.
“Wait by the benches over there.” she pointed at the set of benches that were poised by the front doors made entirely of glass. 
“Thank you, ma’am!” Lupin replied in a cheery tone with a wink. The woman just made a noncommittal hum of acknowledgment. Lupin, Jigen, and Goemon all sauntered over to the benches and sat with Lupin in the middle and Jigen and Goemon sitting at the far left and right respectfully. Goemon closed his eyes and lowered his head in mediation with Jigen scratched at his kangaroo pocket. Lupin noticed his not-so-subtle scratching.
“You need to smoke already?” the sophomore whispered.
“Nah,” Jigen replied in a matching soft voice. “Just need to know they’re there. Get anxious if they’re not.”
“That’s a sign of addiction, my scruffy friend.”
Jigen scowled. “Like you’re any better.”
“I can handle being away from cigarettes for a few days, you cannot,” Lupin pointed out. “I’ve even seen you smoke bent ones!”
“A smoke is a smoke.” the junior shrugged.
“Both of you have bad habits.” Goemon chipped in at the same time side-eyeing the pair.
“Like you’re any better. You even said that cigarette you had felt nice!” Lupin countered.
Goemon looked down. He enjoyed the feeling that one cigarette gave him but he’d never admit it, especially since it would most likely lead to his athletic career being cut short. 
Lupin turned his attention back to the older of the three. “Is your mom or dad gonna drop off your outfit.”
“Doubt it,” Jigen snorted. “Ma started taking double shifts to make up for all the new books I had to buy.”
The leader of the group stared at Jigen for a few moments before pulling out his cellphone. He tapped away before raising the phone to his ear.
“Hey, dad? Yeah, it’s me, did you leave already? No? Good!” Lupin said. “Listen, along with my uniform, can you get the bigger one that’s in the drawer next to all my other ones? Thank you!”
“No using any electronic distractions during class periods.” the front desk lady said, still not looking up from her computer. 
“Got it, ma’am!” Lupin replied, saying a quick goodbye to his father before preceding to smile at Jigen. Jigen knew something was up.
“What did you do?”
“Called my old man, of course,” Lupin said.
“No duh, but I know what your family… Does. I need to know if you didn’t just secretly hire a hit or something.” 
“Do you really think that lowly of me, Jigen?” Lupin pretended to look hurt.
“I think you can do some nasty shit if you felt like it,”
“He’s got you there, Lupin,” Goemon added.
“You both are so cruel!” Lupin dramatically placed a hand on his chest. “All I did was ask my father to bring a junior uniform and you’re accusing me of murder!”
“Junior uniform, why would you-” realization hit Jigen. “You bought one… For me?”
“You’re my best friend, you wheezy chimney,” Lupin let out his signature grin. “Someone’s gotta pick you up when you’re down.”
Jigen stared deeply at Lupin before making a tsk sound and whipping his head towards the window. Lupin just chuckled and leaned backward.
Suddenly, the bell rang throughout the school. Students immediately started to flood both the hallway and the front of the school. Couples were walking with their arms linked while others congregated in large groups, laughing about the latest episodes of their favorite shows or lamenting failing a test. Lupin watched them walk by as if he were looking for-
“Hey, Fujicakes!”
Jigen and Goemon both groaned as a long-haired brunette with highlights sashayed over towards them. She wore the standard dark blue, gray, and white uniform but it was clearly altered in some minor but still noticeable ways. The shirt was smaller than it needed to be and the skirt was shorter. Black tights completed the outfit. The freshman carried books and a binder in one hand and a phone with a fake diamond keychain in the other. She stopped only a foot away from the trio before glancing up and down.
“Was dressing like clowns really necessary?”
Jigen and Goemon’s preexisting frown deepened but Lupin gave her a hurt puppy-dog look. “That hurt Fujiko. The real clown outfits are those gaudy uniforms they make us wear. Not you, though. You look fantastic in anything you wear.”
Fujiko giggled, causing Jigen and Goemon to roll their eyes. Fujiko stopped with a sigh. “In any case, I’m guessing you three are in detention.”
“I actually got-”
“And I’m hoping you’ll be there with me,” Lupin said, interrupting Goemon.
“Are you kidding me?” Fujiko said with a snort. “I have cheer practice. I don’t have time to waste with someone like you.”
“Fujicakes,” Lupin said with false hurt.
“I gotta go, Lupin, maybe I’ll see you later when you’re done making a fool of yourself.”
Fujiko walked away with a purposeful stride, leaving Lupin wanting more of her and the other two wanting less. As the crowd began to grow smaller, Jigen glared at his friend.
“How can you stand that girl?”
“Perhaps Fujiko is right about one thing,” Goemon looked down at the still swooning Lupin, “you are a fool.”
“She may be made of ice, but like all ice, it can be melted.” Lupin poetically answered.
“Oh, please,” Jigen grumbled.
Just as all the people left for their class, two men entered the building. One was a wealthy-looking businessman with well-kept hair and a faint beard. He wore a freshly ironed suit that almost gleamed as much as his well-polished shoes. The other was an equally well-dressed man but this time in more traditional Japanese garbs and sandals. His hair was much longer and had a clean-shaven face. Goemon stood up and made his way to the more traditionally dressed man, bowing once he reached him.
“Father.”
“Goemon,” he replied, thrusting the pile of neatly folded clothes he had been carrying into his son’s arms. “Do not repeat this act.”
“I won’t, Father.”
While that exchange went down, the first man eagerly went over and hugged Lupin. He held a smile that was eerily similar to the boy’s. 
“Arsène! You causing micheaf again?”
“Of course, dad, why else would be here?” his son wheezed, trying to escape his bear hug.
He laughed and clasped Lupin on the back. “Aw, I don’t know, maybe you missed me that much you had the principal call me down.”
“Dad!”
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Lupin’s dad chuckled. He looked at the front desk lady, who was watching the whole scene and shrugged. “Kids these days, am I right?”
The lady blinked slowly. “You need to give them their uniforms, sir.”
“Right, right, right,” the man reached into his suit and handed two bags to Lupin and Jigen. “I believe these are for you.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Thanks, Mr. Lupin.”
“Now, I need to leave. Business never gives you a break, I swear.” Lupin’s dad winked at the receptionist before following Goemon’s dad out of the building. Lupin let out a long sigh once he left the building.
“Your dad is certainly a character, Lupin,” Goemon commented.
“Not a word, Goemon,”
“You three go change in the bathroom. I write you a pass to your next class.” the woman at the front desk called over to them. 
Lupin gave the group a smirk. “There’s still a full day ahead of us, gentlemen. Let’s not waste it.”
15 notes · View notes
wannawritefast · 3 years
Text
Whiplash: Ch. 4- Pretending
A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for all the love on the last part! I totally didnt realize there was no title or link to the previous part. I distinctly remember doing that... maybe Tumblr had a goof... Just a heads up that a fixed it and all that jazz. 
Pt. 3
Pairing: Gwilym Lee! Brian Lee x Reader
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Donna left the end of that weekend grateful to have spent time with her sister. And you felt equally as grateful to have gotten some bonding time before the holidays rolled around.
You and Brian continued your charade until before long it was time to leave for your family’s house. There was a plethora of Christmases where you didn’t want to go back home for the holidays or even want to celebrate the ‘happiest time of the year’ at all. But this Christmas… this one took the fruitcake.
The night before you left you didn’t get a wink of sleep. You often chalked it up to the fact that your cat was not present (having been put in a kennel earlier that day) and the subsequent lack of him in your bed. But you knew deep down that it was because, this time, you would be coming home with a boyfriend. A fake one.
That seemed to scare you more than you thought it should. If they didn’t believe you or if they found out, you would NEVER be able to live it down. And then there was Brian.
He was too kind and sweet and caring and goofy to you. He treated you better than you deserved. Sometimes you didn’t think it was real. Brian was your best friend and you knew that you could always depend on him. If anything ever happened to jeopardize that, you didn’t know what you’d do.
The two of you left in the mid-morning on the 21st, Brian picking you up and getting breakfast along the way. It took a few hours but you got to your parents’ house by mid-afternoon. Even though you jammed to cassettes the whole way there, your nerves still wracked your body.
7 days at your parents’ house in the English country and 7 days at his. Two weeks. You could do two weeks.
Finally the two of you arrived at your family’s big country house, pulling up in front of the large property. Brian put the car in park and turned off the engine. He reached to unbuckle his seatbelt in the now silent car but you grabbed his wrist to stop him.
“Brian, we don’t have to do this,” you looked him right in the eye.
He coughed out a chuckle. “What?”
“We can turn around right now. I can just say I got sick,” you reached to turn the ignition but he shooed your hands away.
“We’ve come this far and you want to turn around?” Brian questioned. You nodded emphatically. “Oh, come on now. I’m ready and you’re ready.”
“No, Brian,” you let out a panicked breath. This was such a bad idea. You should have just been honest with them from the beginning. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“We’re basically at the front door,” he turned in his seat. “We can’t go back now.”
“Watch me,” you reached for the ignition again.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Brian grabbed your hand and held it. “We’re here. It’s going to be alright.”
You looked out the windows nervously for any sign that your parents or siblings had seen you arrive. “How can you be so sure?”
“I’m not.” Brian fiddled with your fingers and kissed the back of your hand, stirring up butterflies again. “But there’s only one way to find out.”
And with that, he unbuckled his seatbelt, opened his car door and went straight to the trunk, making sure that his keys were in his pocket. You jumped out after him. He was smart. Leaving the vehicle before you could object further… 
He opened the latch and was beginning to take out the luggage. “Brian, I mean it. We can still leave. No one’s seen-”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” His green-eyed gaze was fixed on the front door.
“Y/N’S HOME!!”
“Y/N’S HOME!!” Donna exclaimed, throwing the door open. Her voice echoed down the driveway. She was clad in a Christmas jumper that your mum had made for you, your brother, and your sister a few years back. Mum always insisted that you wear it for at least one day when you visited. As per her request, it was folded neatly at the bottom of your luggage.
“It’s too late,” you whispered to yourself. “If we regret this, it’s not my fault.”
“We’ll be okay,” Brian put an arm around you and you leaned lazily into the hug.
“Y/n! My baby!” That was mum. Although your mum was loud at times, you loved her a lot. Your mother hustled from the front door clad in a loudly patterned apron, which itself was covered in flour and sugar. 
“This doesn’t seem too bad,” he mused to you.
You looked at him from the side of your eyes. “Oh, just you wait.”
You took Brian’s hand and moved to meet them in the middle. Your sister practically jumped on you and knocked you over when she gave you a hug; the two of you tumbled as you hit the ground in a burst of laughter. Brian and your mother both rushed to help the two of you up.
“Hey, Brian,” Donna gave him a friendly hug. “So did she drive you crazy on the way here?”
“Absolutely bonkers.” He teased. You scoffed and bumped him with your shoulder.
“Hi, mum.” You moved to embrace your mother and she pulled you into a bone crushing hug. She held you at arms length. 
“I missed you so much.” She gushed. Her fingers moved to hold your face. You couldn’t help your smile. 
“It’s only been like a month and a half.” You laughed at her emotions.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t miss my daughter!” Your mother exclaimed. “Of course your father misses you too! I tried to get him to take work off today to come greet you two but you know him!” Unfortunately, you did. She rubbed your arms soothingly, turning her attention to Brian. “Now... introduce me to this strapping young man!”
You rolled your eyes but, deep down, it was your stomach that was really rolling. “Mum, this is Brian, my boyfriend.” That word still felt weird.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Brian,” she said as he extended his hand for her to shake. Your mother brushed his hand aside and pulled him into a tight sweet hug. Brian took it with a chuckle. “You don’t need to be formal with me. If you’re good enough for Y/n, you’re more than good enough for me.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Y/l/n,” he replied politely. Brian put an arm around your shoulders for emphasis. You wrapped your arms around his waist.
“Please, call me ‘Y/m/n.’” She froze all of a sudden. “Wait a second… is this the Brian from university?!” Your mum turned to you.
“Yes,” you smiled at your mom, “that’s where we met.”
“Oh my heavens! I remember you talking about Brian!” Your mother excitedly recalled. Uh-oh… 
You laughed nervously and feigned forgetfulness. “What? I don’t think I remember-”
“I do!” She insisted. “You were her best friend.”
“I’d like to think I still am,” Brian replied. “I’m honestly surprised she didn’t run for the hills the moment I opened my mouth.”
Your mother chuckled, “Nonsense! I can see why she said you were so charming. And I remember one time she called me and said that she thought she fancied-”
“OKAY MUM!” Donna cut her off. Brian gave you and her a confused look. Thank God for Donna… “Don’t we have something in the oven?”
“Oh, good heavens! You’re right! Donna will show you to your room.” She turned and ran back inside. “JAMES!” She screeched. “HELP YOUR SISTERS AND BRIAN WITH THE LUGGAGE!”
There was grumbling from inside the house and you steeled yourself for the arrival of your brother. You turned to face Brian quickly as the two of you went back to the car to grab your bags. “I apologize in advance for anything that he says.”
“I can handle it.” He assured you. “I’ve already heard snippets of his typical vocabulary. I’ll be okay.”
As if on cue your brother materialized in the doorway looking classy as ever in an old pair of denim trousers and a stained t-shirt. He tiredly hobbled over, giving Brian a strange look as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“You must be Brian,” James grumbled out. He looked him up and down suspiciously. “I see my sisters weren’t lying about you.”
“I am very much real. Were you expecting a bloke that looked like me? Perhaps less poodle-ish,” Brian called out, trying to lighten the mood up a little bit as he pulled another suitcase from the trunk.
Your brother hummed, unsatisfied, and finally looked at you. “You brought him.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t lying,” you said, cocking your head up proudly.
James hummed again, eyeing your, unbeknownst to him, fake boyfriend. Brian leaned against the car, having unloaded the last of the luggage, nodding a greeting at your brother.
“We’re definitely dating,” you urged. You stood next to Brian and he kissed the side of your head, while you stared down James.
James hummed a third time, oddly quiet. He glanced between you and Brian as if trying to see through the ruse. You were getting nervous.
“Yeah,” your brother stared right through you, “we’ll see about that.”
You, Brian, and Donna fidgeted nervously, not quite sure how to respond to what he said.
You cleared your throat and attempted to diffuse the tension. “Is this any way to greet your sister?”
He gave you a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes and a half-assed hug. Ah, yes, the depth of your brother’s affection… 
Brian and James went to work grabbing the luggage wordlessly. You grabbed one of your bags and walked arm-in-arm with Donna. The two of you shared a look as you went inside and up the stairs.
“Here you go, lovebirds.” James half-tossed the luggage into his old room. 
So this was where your mum had placed the two of you… It was the quietest and most isolated room in the house. Sitting above the garage, in the corner of the second floor, it was hard to disturb anyone with noise especially since the other two rooms on the floor were a decent distance away.
You wouldn’t have minded the space so much if the bed wasn’t a full-size and Bri wasn’t such a tall man.
“Are…” you started, “we sharing?” You hadn’t prepared for this. You couldn't even look at Brian. 
You hadn’t counted on this being a part of the deal. And, of course, neither had Brian. God… you should have asked! At the very least to prepare yourself… To prepare Brian. You felt a pit forming in your belly. 
“Yep,” he responded. “Mum figured the two of you would want to stay in the same area during your stay.”
“She and dad were okay with that?”
James leaned against the doorway. Donna stood behind him sheepishly. She had left that part out conveniently during the phone calls. “Mum was insistent. Dad put up more of a fight. They agreed though eventually.”
You looked at him with your mouth ajar, much like a fish. “Oh.”
“Is that going to be an issue?” James looked you and your fake boyfriend in the eye, a challenge.
Brian jumped to action. “Not at all. Thank you, James.”
He gave a tight-lipped smile and walked away with his arms crossed. You waited to hear his footsteps go down the creaky stairs before tearing into Donna.
She lowered her voice with her arms outstretched in front of her. “Before you yell at me, I didn’t know how to tell you. There are ears everywhere.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You couldn't have mentioned that? Like at all?”
“I’m sorry!” She whisper-yelled. “What would you have wanted me to do? Say that the two of you shouldn’t share a room? It’ll be easier to communicate with the both of you in the same space. Could you imagine being separate for a week while you try to pull this off?”
You supposed she was right. “No, no. You’re right.” You took a deep breath and changed your tone of voice so the rest of the house could hear you. “Thank you, Donna. I think we’re going to nap.”
She matched your tone. “Of course! I’ll let the two of you get settled in!” You mouthed a ‘thank you’ at her before she closed the door behind her and skipped away.
And then there were two.
“You’ve been awfully quiet, Br- What are you doing?”
Brian was setting up his luggage next to the loveseat in the room and had found the spare blankets from the closet. He was making a bed on the couch. If he thought he was taking the couch, you’d be damned.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you’re making my bed, how kind of you! But really I’m the host so I must insist that you leave your accommodations to me, Mr. May.” You grabbed the spare pillow out of his hand and kicked his bag toward the bed. You began lugging your bag close to the couch. Brian stuck his foot out and stopped the bag.
“‘Your’ bed? I’m taking the couch.” He gently grabbed your bag and chucked it onto the bed. Your jaw dropped.
“No, Brian. I’m taking the couch. You’re too tall for it.” It was true. You could fit the couch much more comfortably than he could.
“Ah, but you see, as your boyfriend,” you rolled your eyes goodnaturedly, “I must be chivalrous and relinquish the bed to my beloved.”
“You’re being an ungrateful guest,” you countered.
He winced. “Low blow.”
“I’m not above it.” Brian snatched the pillow back and began rubbing his hair on it. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Staking my claim,” he answered, matter-of-factly. His hair was a static-y mess. As if to prove his point he tossed his body haphazardly onto the couch and sprawled out, limbs and all. “This is mine.”
“You act like you laying on top of something is going to deter me in any way.” You laughed at his logic. “Being on the couch does not mean it is suddenly uninhabitable.”
“It does.” He pointedly stretched his limbs out more. “Watch me.”
“This argument is going nowhere.”
“I agree. Which is why you should just let me take the couch.”
“What if we-”
A knock on the door sounded. Brian shot up and the two of you tossed the blankets and pillow haphazardly on the bed. You answered the door with Brian hovered closely behind you.
James. He had a smirk on his face. How much of the conversation had he heard?
“Yes?” you asked through gritted teeth.
“I don’t know if I mentioned it or not but I thought I’d be thorough and tell you that this room gets rather cold in the winters. The garage isn’t insulated and neither are the walls that this room shares with it.”
“Oh, really?”
“I mean, you’re already sharing a bed so that’ll help but you might want to grab some extra blankets on top of that. Perhaps a second bed’s worth.” He peeked in to see the mound of blankets on the bed. “But it looks like the two of you have already figured that out.”
You chuckled dryly. “Yep. Thanks for the pointer.”
James hummed a laugh. “Anytime.” And like the asshole he was he sauntered away humming a Bob Dylan song. You pushed the door closed and rested your forehead on it.
“We could switch nights?” You offered. Brian knew you better than that; of all the sensations that you hated (fatigue, hunger, headache, etc.) being cold was what you loathed the most.
“Or we could just share the bed like they suspect us to…” He suggested. You looked at him. He didn’t seem to be pulling your leg.
“You wouldn’t be uncomfortable with that?” Your fingers picked at the ends of your hair.
Brian had his hands on his hips. “Not at all. Unless you would be.”
You looked him in the eye and then to the floor, your arms crossed. “I’m fine with it.”
“I guess we’ll share it then,” he affirmed.
“Yep.” You popped the ‘p.’
The two of you looked at the surrounding room and its four walls. The couch. The bed. The windows. Anywhere but each other. This was real. All the time you had pretended to be dating before you got to your parents house suddenly felt like dress rehearsals. This. This was real. And things were different.
This was showtime.
“Well, then,” Brian filled the silence. “Now that it’s settled why don’t we set up the room? We did tell them we were taking a nap. We can get settled a little bit.” 
You nodded.
“I’ll do the bed if you do the closet?”
You nodded wordlessly again and took a deep breath before kicking off your shoes and opening the closet. You heard Brian take off his coat and toss it onto the couch. You set yours on top of his and reminded yourself to put in the coat closet downstairs by the front door.
As promised you began hanging some of your items and with Brian’s permission began helping him with his. The bathroom that was conjoined to the room soon had your various shampoo, tooth brushes, and regular hair brushes strewn across the counter top and among the shelves in the shower.
Amongst the thoughts of how absolutely spoiled rotten James had been up here while you and your sister had to share a smaller room was another more alarming notion. As you put yours and Brian’s shoes down on the floor of the closet and split the drawers between the two of you your mind drifted to the small part of it that realized how naturally it looked, how naturally it felt to have the items in the same space. To have Brian’s giant shoes next to yours. To have his various hair brushes that resembled Medieval torture devices right next to your own weapons of choice. To dance and bustle about a small space in a rhythm so natural that an onlooker would swear it was rehearsed.
“You’ve been awfully pensive,” Brian snapped you out of your stupor as you pulled a dress of yours onto a hangar and set it on your side of the closet trying to move in such a way that maybe you’d forget your hands were shaking and maybe Brian wouldn’t notice your hands shaking. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“I…” you took a breath. You didn’t really know what to say. Instead you just turned and let yourself fall onto the couch back first and stared up at the blank ceiling. “This is really happening.”
“Hey.” Brian appeared into view as we walked to you and looked down. “Are you alright?”
You finally made eye contact with Brian and shook your head. Trying to will your tears back into your ducts with the help of good old-fashioned gravity you stared back up at the ceiling again.
Brian rushed to crouch at your side. “Woah, woah, woah. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
You turned to face him and sat up so that he could sit next to you on the couch. “No, it wasn’t you. I’m just overwhelmed. I still can’t believe I’m in this mess. That my family sees so much of my value in my relationships and not me. That it went this far. That I actually care so much about what they think even though I shouldn’t. That I dragged you into this.”
Brian hummed in understanding and pulled you into a hug. “Well, first of all, you didn’t drag me into this. I body slammed myself into this. You didn’t even really need to ask me to help you; if anything I dragged you into this. Remember our little moment on the driveway?”
Yes… How infuriatingly encouraging he had been. How embarrassingly frantic you had behaved. He was right. Brian was unfailingly loyal to you. If he hadn’t backed down then, when you had offered him a way out.
“You know you’re earning your ‘poodle’ title more and more,” you commented.
Brian cocked his head. “How so?”
“Lanky, tall, high-maintenance-”
“Feeling the love. Thank you.”
“But still an excellent companion and unbelievably sweet.”
Brian gave you a soft smile and rubbed his arm up and down your back. “If I was a humbler person I might tell you to stop.”
“Oh I’m stopping,” you said, sniffling back your tears and exhaling the panic. “If your head gets any more full of hot air, your hair is going to start defying the laws of physics without any assistance.”
“Yeah, you’re feeling better,” Brian quipped, feigning offense.
“I’m sorry… which one of us brought more brushes and styling products?”
“I want to make a good first impression! I may be a fake boyfriend but I still want your family to like me.” He defended.
“You’ll be great! Aside from James, you’d have to do something really out of character to get them to not like you.”
“Not this ‘be yourself’ stuff again,” Brian complained and threw his head back to rest on the back of the couch.
“It’s true. They’ll love you!” You encouraged him.
Brian’s face took on that infamous cheeky expression. Uh-oh… “Is it because I’m… so charming?”
Your face flushed in remembrance of what your mother had almost let slip. You leaned forward and covered your face with your hand. “Why did I know you were going to bring that up?”
“Because you know me better than anyone else.” He replied, matter-of-factly. 
“I think your mum might contend with me on that, Bri,” you offered.
“And I knew you were going to say that.” Brian shrugged in consideration. “Fine. You and my mum know me better than anyone else.”
“Well,” you set your hand on his knee. A once platonic gesture, it felt different this time. You continued, hurrying your way through what you were going to say so that it wouldn’t be as awkward when you stopped touching, “since we know each other so well, I’d say we stock up on rest while we can.”
“You talk like we’re going to be running a marathon for the next week.”
“Trust me, Bri,” you responded, standing up and laying down comfortably on the bed. “You’re gonna need it.”
Brian looked at you in disbelief. “Oh please. I’ve dealt with concerts for years. How bad can it be?!”
TAGS: @andtheswordwentsnickersnack​ @phantoms-lynn​
39 notes · View notes
himooonlight · 3 years
Text
who are you? pt. 3 (reggie x reader)
pairing: reggie x reader
word count: 4.7k
plot: you dream about reggie constantly and when you see him perfoming with julie, you decide to ask her about him
warnings: sad stuff?
A/N: hello again! i'm super excited about this chapter, so hope you all like it :) two things though: 1. this story takes place after the season finale and i'm trying to keep everything accurate and 2. the dream is in italics. NOW ENJOY!!
oh and just in case you missed, here's chapter 1 and chapter 2
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- You know, I was thinking. - Reggie says as I wave my sister goodbye. She did talk to Julie's dad about having me for dinner, making sure he was okay with it, just like I knew she would do. Mr. Molina seems like a very nice person. - “I’ll always find you” sounded a bit creepy. How about “we’ll always find each other”? That way I’m not the only creepy stalker in the relationship. We can be weird together.
  Reggie knows I can't reply, but I can't help but smile. He's too cute.
  - Y/N, come in! - Mr. Molina screams from the door.
  Daisy goes back to her car and when I can't see her anymore due to all the plants and trees in their front yard, I walk inside. The first thing I notice is a large wooden straight staircase and a lot of different carpets on the floor. Everything is neat and in brown tones. A lot of frames are decorating the yellow walls; some are pictures and some are paintings. Everything is elegant and cool, detailed even.
  - Julie, Y/N's here! - He screams at the bottom of the sairs. He's looking up, so I'm assuming Julie's room is upstairs. Soon enough, his daughter appears and smiles at me. I like how her front teeth are separated and she doesn't wear much makeup; it makes me feel more accepted and understood somehow. - Girls, I'll be in my room working on some editing, so behave, ok? Oh, and there's some fresh strawberries in the fridge. Maybe you can make Y/N that smoothie.
  He winks at Julie and goes upstairs. Meanwhile, I'm frozen, inebriated with a memory.
  Fresh strawberries. That house. The open kitchen.
  I've seen that place before in my dreams. With Reggie. When I was a man.
  The cabinets were light blue and the orange chairs gave the kitchen some sort of happy vibe even though I wasn't comfortable there. A few people were sitting on the counter, close to the big fridge, holding cups. The strangers were flirting, kissing and singing with the loud music that was playing. Overwhelmed, I looked for Reggie.
  It was the same house. The floor was covered in white porcelain tiles and there was a big leather couch where Julie's dinner table was, but I knew it was the same place.
  - Are you ok? - Julie asks me.
  Her dad is gone and suddenly I feel inadequate. I have to focus on breathing normally while trying to remember more details. Everybody is connected somehow, I know, and maybe recalling a conversation or recognizing something could help Reggie and the boys.
  - I need to explain my connection with Reggie. - I whisper. My voice is shaky and she looks worried. Reggie tries to hold my hand and fails, making me smile softly at him. It's nice to know he is around, somehow. - I've been here before, in my dreams. It's… are the boys here as well?
  I look around just for a moment, taking in more details. The curtains in the dream house were beige. There were a lot of plants around and a few picture frames in the living room. I can't quite see the faces in the photos, but it's a family of three in front of a Christmas tree. There's too many people around me and it's overwhelming.
  I sit on the floor and Julie follows me. Closing my eyes, I try getting back to that dream just in time to recall Reggie touching my shoulder and saying "there's some fresh strawberries in the fridge; you said you like it so I bought you some".
  He looks shy for a moment and I can't help but stare at his eyes in awe. I don't feel very relaxed at the party and Reggie picks up on the way I play with my fingers in agitation and look away, trying to see if we can go out. He takes my hand and soon we're at the back of the house, in a big garage with a lot of instruments.
  - Thanks for coming. I know you're not a huge fan of parties, but I'm glad you're here. It wouldn't be the same without you.
  His stare is too much for me to handle, so I walk around the place, looking attentively at the instruments. The drums and a guitar are inviting to the touch, but I hold back. Even though we are alone, it's like being with him is wrong so I act like I'm walking on eggshells. Feels right liking him, but it's wrong; it's a fight that I know my head will win and my heart will be devastated.
  - I came here to say that I… - I start, not looking at him. He's too pure and I'm too weak. The music is still playing in the background and we can hear a lot of screams and laughs coming from the house. - that we can't do this.
  Reggie looks offended.
  - Do what?
  - This. You and I. - I replied, turning to face him. He looks perplexed. Did I misread the signs? - My parents would kill me.
  I can cut the tension with a knife. However, I don't have to try because Reginald is doing that for us by putting a mask on and looking frustrated. He opens his mouth a few times, as if trying to justify or explain himself.
  - Ethan, what are you talking about? - He asks, with a scoff. I don't recognize that reaction on his face. It's like he's trying too hard to play a part he doesn't even want to. - We're friends. I like girls. I flirt a lot, sure, but it's all a joke.
  He bought me strawberries as a joke.
  He held my hand and called me pet names for the laugh.
  He was pretending when I thought he felt something more.
  - I'm sorry. - I said, staring at some papers on the floor. Probably unfinished lyrics. A notebook is open with the name Emily on the top of the page and then it hits me: he could never love me the way I loved him. I was the weird one; I was wrong. - I have to go.
  - Y/N. - Julie touches my arm, making me open my eyes. - Tell me what is going on.
  She's fairly calm. Reggie, however, looks like he's about to scream.
  - They are here, right? - I inquire and Julie nods in response. - I've been having dreams about Reggie for a year now. The first five dreams or so were different. I was a man and he was… himself. But things were different somehow, not just me. The world was not the same. The last dream I had before meeting him as me, a girl, I was at this house. Again: this was not your place. The decoration was totally different and people were dressed like they were in the 90's. He said his bandmate was throwing a party since his parents weren't home and that I should come. I actually did and he said he didn't like me because I was a guy. So I left and the next thing I know I'm me and he's asking for help, saying he needs me. At first I thought he changed his mind, cause we were going on dates, talking about the future, laughing and just enjoying everything together. In my dreams, of course. Now I just... it felt like different lifetimes, to be honest. And I liked him in both.
  - Alex is asking when was the first time you two met. - Julie says.
  - I don't know the date, but it was at a book club. He said they were going to play there, but they mostly ate. And one of his friends was super engaged with the people there, listening to them talk about literature and life. I can't remember their faces very well. I just remember one was brunette and the other was blond, just like your band, Julie.
  - Luke asked when was the last time you had a dream about me. - It's Reginald's turn to be his friends' messenger.
  - Thursday night. Reggie said something about having to go, not knowing how to stay. It was very emotional. - I answer. - But a friend of mine sent me a video of your concert on Friday night. She was at the Orpheum and she said you were great. I just couldn't stop looking at you and wondering if I'm insane. Am I crazy, Reggie?
  - If you are crazy, so am I. - Julie declares when the boy next to me doesn't say anything. It's too much to take in. The three of us are still sitting on the floor and the silence is loud. Loud because it means a lot; that we're all confused. - Alex, wait.
  - What? - I ask.
  - Alex stormed off. He asked us to come to the garage.
  Reggie beams, looking ashamed, and we go to the place I've seen before in my dreams. The garage/studio has chairs in the ceiling and a lot of plants, along with a beautiful piano and a bigger window. Beside me, Julie seems nervous and suddenly two good-looking boys appear in front of me, playing the guitar and the drums.
  The brunette and the blond that I didn't recognize before are playing loudly, staring at me with indecipherable expressions and furrowed eyebrows.
  - This is the only way you can see us, when we're playing. - The drummer screams. - I'm Alex and this is Luke. - In cue, Luke smiles a little. He is definitely the one that enjoyed metaphors in my dream. - Do you remember anything else about the book club?
  - Why? - Luke inquires.
  - Just sush. - He says.
  - Anything like what?
  - Like the address.
  Luke looks at Alex like he just said the biggest nonsense he has ever heard. Reggie is standing next to me, speechless. I can tell he's conflicted, so I don't push. I'm confused as well, trying to focus on the first dream, realizing that the details are not very clear anymore; all I can recall is Reggie being adorable and my feelings all over the place. I remember walking around the house unpretentiously with him, thinking about his features and his personality.
  - I don't know. - I state.
  - Do you think this is about your unfinished business too? - It's Julie's turn to make questions. - The book club? Y/N? What is going on? After Friday I figured we would stay together, but now you're actually considering going back out there?
  I have no idea what she is talking about. I just feel like I'm intruding and should just let go, pretending that Reggie is just imaginary. I don't think I'll dream about him again, so I could always just do like the night I said "I have to go" and leave again.
  Nobody really talks about leaving. Songs are written about being left, books tell the story of the ones who leave, movies focus on the girl moving on after getting dumped. It's never about the villain, the person who decides to leave because it's too overwhelming, too much to handle. Nobody talks about how hard it is to live with the weight of the decision to go away - it's always focussed on the consequences, not the responsibility of leaving.
  - I wanna know. - Reginald says. - I think I need to know.
  - And I think I remember the address. - Luke sounds serious. He is still playing just like Alex (who looks tired), but keeps trying his best to continue. - Do you think your dad can take you to Echo Park right now?
  The car ride is a bit awkward. Julie is sitting in the front with her dad, that doesn't question when she asks to go to the park. She justifies with a simple "we want to see this house for our drawing class, so we can get some inspiration" that he answers with a smile and a "let's go". Luke and Alex teleport, while Reggie stays behind to accompany me.
  - I'm trying to remember that day, I promise. The day we met. - His voice is low and I feel an urge to hug him. - There's something here - He points at his head. - about the party, but I just remember feeling bad for lying about something, then Luke said we should play and that's pretty much it. What does it even mean? How can you dream about that? Are you a ghost too? Ok, just ignore that last question. But how? Why? What is happening?
  - You know, Y/N, I really think that friend of ours should just learn how to teleport, right? - Julie says, turning her head around and looking at Reggie. He apologies and disappears.
  The rest of the way is basically Mr. Molina asking about school and making me feel at ease. He is kind and bright, which makes me wonder about Julie's mom. Was she as bright? Or maybe more quiet and calm? Collected maybe? The way her dad talks about Carlos, Julie's brother, makes me think that they're doing alright, that they are healing. Julie engages a little more when he talks about the concert and when the cars slows down close the address Luke gave us, my heart is going wild.
  - This is the house, right? - Mr. Molina asks.
  It is. Luke is right; that's the friendly two-story white house that works as a cultural center. Big windows, big porch. There's a few flowers and a swig, but the rest is just like I remember. Looks like there's a small gathering going on and I can see some people in the front yard, talking and drinking what looks like orange juice. A "Hope Cultural Center" sign greets people with a smiley face and blue letters close to the door too.
  - Yep, that's it.
  - Dad, do you wanna go park somewhere? We'll take some pictures and wait for you here. Maybe go inside a little? Our friend said they have book clubs, so maybe there's some expositions and stuff like that too.
  - Sure! I'll be right back.
  Julie and I get out of the car and find Reggie sitting on the sidewalk, observing the house attentively. I assume the boys are with him as well.
  - Should we go inside? Just to check it out? - I can't recognize my own voice. It doesn't sound like the same person that was contemplating running away. I sound excited. - What do you think?
  Both of them nod and we take the few steps that separates us from the gates. It's open and everybody looks very friendly, so we go on, holding onto the "Hope" sign. Hoping we can discover something important, any information that can help us. I wouldn't say out loud, but I could add "life changing" to that list as well.
  - Oh, hello there! - An old lady says. Her voice is almost like summer days and cotton candy. - I've never seen your faces around here. 
  - Yeah, we were just passing by and…
  - Welcome then, my dears. We're happy to have you with us today. - Her smile melts my heart. It could be her fluffy hair or the wrinkles in her eyes; perhaps everything about her screams "I'm a nice person". - We're celebrating our 30th anniversary! There's some expositions on the second floor, food in the kitchen area, back there, - She points somewhere like we know the place already and that makes me feel warm. - and music in the backyard too. Help yourself and if you need anything, let me know, ok?
  - She is so nice. - Reggie says, smiling too. - So, what are we looking for? - When everybody stays quiet, I feel panic rising in my chest.
  - Y/N, I'll stay here to wait for my dad. You go ahead and look around, see if you remember anything. The boys will do the same. - She looks around and I assume she is making sure they know what to do. - I'll text you when my dad gets here.
  As I take the first step further away from her, the panic intensifies. I have to put it aside so I can focus and try to find anything that's remotely relevant.
  I find myself going to the backyard, amused that everything looks so similar to my dream. The grass is greener, the fence is now brown, yet I can almost see Reggie and his friends standing at the same place.
  There's only one girl out there sitting with a guitar in a small stage made with wood pallets, seeming nervous. I take one last look around before heading upstairs. Reggie is by the kitchen and Julie is probably still at the door, so I find the stairs and take in all the frames by the wall. Some are poems, some are drawings and everything is beautiful, soulfull.
  When I get to the actual exposition, I find a photo that grabs my attention.
  It's a group picture with at least 6 people. The date says it's 1995 and everybody has a book in their hand and a silly look on their face, apparently happy to be there. Probably the old lady knows who they are, but I don't see her around, so I just continue my quest for the unknown.
  That is until I recognize Alex in another frame that also dates 1995. 
  He is holding a paper that says "best poem" and I feel goosebumps all over my arms. My throat closes.
  They are really dead. Reggie is really dead.
  Death took him away from me and I feel so selfish for feeling sad about it: I feel sad because I can't be with him anymore. My first thought is that it's disappointing loving someone so impossible like him. The second is "he was so young and had so many dreams… why?". Questioning death and all its mystery is probably normal, still I hate the feeling of not knowing more. Why is he a ghost? Why so early? Why him? Would I ever forget him completely?
  Life really is just a competition to see how long we can stay alive and well, tricking death. Death really is just about the living grieving because their love has no place to go.
   These people probably don't even know about Reggie, Alex and Luke. When they see the picture, they might think Alex is probably old, married and maybe doing something boring. Maybe they don't even suppose anything about him like it's not relevant, not worth it.
  It's impossible not to notice the bitter sensation in my mouth. I guess it's something like frustration or the weight of everything coming back to me after the insane day I had.
  - That's Alex. - Reggie's voice scares me and I jump a little. He's examining the picture carefully. - I don't remember being here, to be honest. No matter how hard I try.
  - Alex and his friends were the living proof that you can always try harder. - I hear someone's voice. When I look around, the old lady is standing next to me.
  I can't bring myself to say anything. My whole body is tired and my thoughts are not clear anymore. All I can do is keep all my attention on that picture and hope I can go home soon.
  - They were great. - She continues, not minding Reggie. The lady can't see him. - They were in a band called Sunset Curve. My best friend is this guy's mom. - She points at the cheerful Alex immortalized in the photo. - Alex and his friends died that year and she was devastated. Everybody was. I've heard that one of the boys' parents searched the whole town for him before knowing about his death. Apparently they weren't on good terms.
  She is talking about Luke, making me feel like an intruder. Again.
  - Do you still talk to his mom? - I continue my way through the expositions while she follows me around. It's a timeline with different occasions, different people. Everybody is joyful and in bright colors, always doing something in a group, sustaining the idea that everything is better when you're surrounded by nice people. - Is she alright?
  - Oh, yes, darling, she is. His parents opened a coffee shop downtown. They've been involved in a lot of projects, volunteering to help the community. A few years back they decided to focus on kids and I think they found their purpose in life again with that. Let me show you something.
  Her hand flies to meet mine and I feel positive energy running through us. She is very vivid, which is a great match with her colorful clothes. She's wearing green pants, a pink shirt and orange shoes. Her smile is decorated with red lipstick, contrasting with a few missed teeth. It's inevitable to like her and her unique way of dressing and expressing herself.
  - Here. - We stop in 2018. The walls are white so the colors scream, begging for attention. - This was two years ago. Lisa and her husband, Jarred, Alex's parents, made a project to help kids and teenagers with music. They had workshops, competitions, small concerts at their cafe. It was amazing. They actually found...
  She is pointing at a few pictures where kids are playing instruments, wearing wigs and a lot of glitter. They all look delighted and excited and I can almost see the spark in their eyes. At the top, on the left side, I see something that makes me stop in my tracks, feeling dizzy. She shouldn't be wearing nice shoes, considering I might throw up at any moment.
  - Y/N. - Reggie calls. He probably sees the same thing I'm seeing.
  It can't be. I wanna go home.
  I can't be there anymore.
  - There you are. - Julie screams. My body is so stiff I can't turn around. - Y/N? What are you guys doing?
  - I was just showing her this picture. - She doesn't notice the way my mind is about to explode and continues. - It was back in 2018. These two boys were awesome and even covered Sunset Curve a few times. I think their names were Luke and Reggie, if I'm not mistaken. They haven't been around in a while. Jarred said they look just like Alex's bandmates, but this one - She points at Luke. - was an orphan and was kind of a troublemaker. And this one - It's Reggie's turn. - was having problems at school. They just assumed they didn't want to come to the workshops anymore. But my point is: his parents found their peace with their son's death. They managed to make something beautiful and honor Alex's name. It's all that matters, right? We can't change the fact that they died. All we can do is decide how we're going to use their influence in your lives.
  Julie is probably just as confused as I am. I hear an "excuse me for a second" and suddenly she is gone. I miss her colors and being oblivious to that information. That Reggie and Luke were alive two years ago.
  - What is going on?
  I can clearly see Reggie and Luke playing at a small stage, sharing a microphone. They look so connected and carefree. The quality of the picture is so good that I can't even question the date; there's no way that was taken before 1995.
  Alex is nowhere to be seen in that photo.
  - We need to find them, Y/N. We need to know who they are, why they're pretending to be Reggie and Luke and... what is going on?
  - Guys. - Reggie is still staring at the picture like his life depended on it. - Guys. I… I think I remember this. This place. Luke, you remember too right?
  It's the first time I see Reggie so unstable. He's not making jokes to hide his feelings; he is genuinely confused and afraid, like all of us. I feel like this is the first time I see him and it's scary. Not being able to help, frustrated that I can't stop the wave of uncertainty and fear that he's experiencing. 
  Luke's answer is not audible to me. Reggie is saying something yet I can't hear him because I'm busy engulfed in hesitation. Should I give them privacy and go home? Should I ask around about the coffee shop? Should I stay quiet?
  - I'm confused too. Maybe we should call it a day and just go home for now. We can come back another time. - Julie speaks. - Come on, Y/N. My dad is waiting outside.
  I ask Mr. Molina to take me home, with the excuse that I don't feel good. It's not really a lie. He is very polite and says I should come back another time so we can all have hot dogs together. Julie agrees and I wonder if we'll be friends. I hope so.
  When I get to my room, my mind runs to the picture. It's so clear, so confusing and so aggravating. We're getting played by faith, destiny or the universe; some unknown force with strong powers to make people sick to their stomach. Their goal might be to drive people crazy. Who knows? Surely not me.
  I eat dinner with my family, finish my homework, take a shower and read a little while listening to some music. When it's almost nine, I hear a knock on my door.
  - Come in.
  My eyes are playing tricks on me. Reggie is standing there, with his hands in his pockets and red eyes.
  I stand up, not minding my bunny pajamas. He doesn't seem to mind either.
  - Nice candles. - There he is, the same flirty Reggie. I relax and he steps closer to me. His gaze is so intense and I want to cry. - Look at you being romantic.
  - This was actually me trying to summon you, but alright. - I reply and he laughs. It's not genuine. - How are you?
  It's ironic how my playlist is called "slow dancing in my room". Soon enough, Reggie shows me his palms, as if inviting me for a dance. Not going all the way and trying to touch him, I smile weakly and almost wince with the urge to hold his hand. We sway and keep our eyes on each other.
  - I'm sad. - That's new. He's never this transparent. - I don't understand what is going on. I remember that day with Luke. At least I think I do. I don't know what's real and what's just my mind desperate to be alive again. I thought just playing with Julie was enough, but…
  He doesn't finish. The song ends and we keep dancing slowly, letting our eyes talk for a moment. I can notice the pain, the sadness and the urge in his face. It breaks my heart.
  - What do you wanna do now?
  He tries touching my hand and misses it. His eyes scan my room, probably running away from me and my questioning eyes.
  - I wanna know everything, but Alex is not taking it well. He's not very good with changes.
  I nod and turn my head a little, demanding his attention on me again.
  - Take your time, ok? Talk to them about it, make a list on why you should and shouldn't go to that cafe and... I don't know, - We're still dancing and I'm still crushed, but at least being with him calms my heart. - breathe. Just breathe. Everything will be alright.
  - How can you be so positive right now?
  - Well, if people can be negative for no reason, I can be positive for no reason too. - I shrug and he sighs. - Scratch that. I do have a reason.
  Reggie gets closer and I can almost feel his nose touching mine.
  - What is it? - His voice is just above a whisper.
  - I want that to be true. I want you to be happy and well. I want you to feel loved too. That's exactly what you deserve, Reggie. Happiness. Love.
  Before I can say anything else, he steps back and says goodnight. My chest hurts and when I wake up in the morning with a text from Julie saying "let's go to that cafe today", I don't feel happy. Or loved.
  I'm just scared.
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thestraggletag · 3 years
Text
Three Appointments and a Wedding
AN: Hi, @magicalgiven it is I, your Secret Santa! If I’m not mistaken we are both Argentinians in which case commiserate with me over the fucking hot weather we’ve been having. Because it fucking sucks. It was a pleasure to be your Santa, and I’m sorry this fic didn’t get smutty. I tried to add as much spice at the end as I could. It was challenging but fun because the accidental engagement prompt has been done a lot in the fandom so it was nice to try and put my spin on things. I hope you like it!
Prompt: Accidental engagement and consequences.
Summary: Mr Gold would do anything to help his only son plan his wedding, even if it is getting mistaked for the groom over and over as his crush gets mistaken for the bride. Over and over.
Rating: PG-13
He reminded himself that Bae had been clear about his distaste for a big wedding, and Emma as well. As far as they both were concerned they were better off with a simple civil ceremony and a honeymoon in Florida. But Emma’s parents insisted that their only child, their little princess, marry in style, so something grander was decided upon. He had to admit he hadn’t put up much of a fight. He did not have a lot in common with the Nolans- no matter how much David insisted on treating him like best mates whenever they met- but he did agree with them on the wedding. Bae was his only son and he wished to make a fuss about his wedding as well.
So he couldn’t really say no when Bae called to ask him to please take his place at a catering appointment in Portland. He had been summoned to a surprised meeting with a client that was a rather big to-do at his job. He did something related to web design that he couldn’t for the life of him understand, but it allowed him to work from home most of the time and stay in Storybrooke, so he was glad to be of assistance if he needed it.
He arrived at the catering business with a bit of time to spare, introducing himself and letting the person checking the appointment know he was waiting for someone. Not Miss Swan, because apparently she also had urgent business that could not be delayed- she did work in law enforcement, so there was a small chance she wasn’t lying to get out of “boring wedding stuff” as she kept calling it right in front of her mother and likely to annoy her. He had been told she would send Miss Lucas as a replacement, since she knew her way around a menu. He did not look forward to it, though perhaps he could amuse himself with trying to figure out how to raise the subject of the diner’s rent being due next week over talk of canapes. 
“Mr Gold, you got here before me!”
He turned around, a part of him recognising instantly that charming Australian lilt. He looked slightly down to find Miss Belle French, the town’s librarian as of three years. She was dressed, as always, rather charmingly, and looked less out of place in the city than in their small town. 
“I hope you haven’t been waiting long. The original plan was for Ruby to fill in for Emma, but Granny’s arthritis started acting up so she had to stay and help at the diner. Oh, please don’t tell Granny I told you that or she’ll never forgive me.”
He recalled she was an old friend of Miss Swan’s, from before she came back to Storybrooke, back when she was living in New York as a bit of a rebellion against her parents, doing bounty hunting work of all things. They had been roommates while Miss French went to NYU for her master’s in Library Science and worked at an antique bookstore. He knew only because he knew the bookstore and thought it smart to hold onto that piece of information. Book restoration and re-binding wasn’t his specialty, so it was nice to know of someone he could consult with if the need ever arose.
“Your secret’s safe with me, Miss French. I will even abstain of using the information against Granny the next time she tries to overcharge me for coffee. I hope you understand what a sacrifice that is.”
She laughed and he tried to pretend he didn’t feel overly smug about it, turning instead to open the door for her.
“Oh, Mr Gold, I see your fianceé is here! Lovely to meet the future Mrs Gold.”
He fumbled, his brain too caught up in what had just been said to register the small step on his way. He righted himself just as Miss French stammered a surprised denial.
“Oh, right, I apologise for assuming you would change your name after marriage, Miss Swan. Please, follow me.”
The man, a strongly-accented Frenchman, if his ears did not deceive him, swept past them and deeper into the shop, forcing them both to follow. The back was a rather nice dining area, small but with lots of windows to let in natural light. It was right next to the kitchen, but it still felt private and quiet. They were ushered into a table already prepared for them and served a sample of entrées along with a card detailing the ingredients of each one.
“Well, I suppose it’s an obvious mistake to make, and it would be unkind to correct him, he’d be mortified. I hope you don’t mind playing the would-be groom for a day, Mr Gold. At least we get some nice food out of it.”
“It’ll make a nice change from Granny’s overpriced lasagna.”
She slapped him gently on the arm, trying to conceal her smile, and he was surprised at how nice the gesture felt. Not many people touched him, and less with that sort of uncomplicated ease. He was glad that Miss French felt comfortable around him.
“So, what type of food does Miss Swan enjoy?”
“You should really begin calling her Emma, you know. And me Belle, none of that Miss French nonsense. This is not some nineteenth century pretend engagement, you know. I hope we can consider ourselves a modern pretend couple.” Miss French- Belle- smiled at him over the rim of her water glass before taking a sip. “As for Emma, she likes bar food. If it was up to her we’d serve peanuts and fries for entrées and burgers as the main course. I understand her parents talked her out of it, so perhaps nothing very fancy, but tasteful at the same time.”
He had given up on the day that morning, thinking it would be spent trying to make awkward conversation with a confrontational Miss Lucas, glaring daggers at him from across a rather small table because he dared charge rent for the property her grandmother rented from him. Instead he found himself discussing food and wine with someone he was infinitely more fond of and could not even muster enough grumpiness later in the evening to snark at Bae when he called later at night to thank him for subbing for him.
“It’ll be the last time, pops, I swear.”
.
The week after the catering appointment Bae called him in a panic to beg him to go for him to the florist appointment, also in Portland. He swallowed a few choice words learned in his youth in Glasgow, closed his shop and drove to the address Bae texted him. He was somewhat less surprised than before to find Miss French there, sitting on a bench outside the shop and reading a book. Something niggled at the back of his head but when he greeted her and they got to explain their presence he realised it made a bit more sense. Miss Swan’s job was a bit emergency-heavy and Miss French was the daughter of a florist, so it made sense to send her as a replacement.
She knew her stuff, as he could tell almost as soon as they set foot into the shop, to the delight of the old, red-haired florist that handled their appointment. The librarian engaged her in a rather interesting discussion on the meaning of flowers and the importance of harmonious scents, something he had never considered before. They spent a rather lovely hour touring the greenhouse and browsing through the catalogues, with Miss French- “Honestly, Arran, it’s Belle, you agreed!”- making a game out of it, picking something and having him guess whether it was a choice for Miss Swan’s wedding or a reflection of personal taste. He learned from it that Belle liked blue as much as her outfits had already implied and that she loved hydrangeas, thought them elegant but soft.
“Too soft for Emma. She likes bold colours and is not fond of traditional flowers, so I was thinking perhaps something with bougainvilleas? They have such lovely deep pink colour, almost red. What do you think?”
It was a bit intoxicating, the smell of the flowers, the heat of the shop and Belle French talking about flowers with a passion that stirred something in him that had nothing to do with centerpieces or boutonnieres. It wasn’t until they were out of it, inhaling the crisp evening Portland air, that he realised the florist had mistaken them for the engaged couple as well, and neither of them had made any effort to correct her. Well, that would’ve been rude, he reasoned. No need to put the old woman in the spot.
.
The morning of the cake-tasting appointment he had woken up with the knowledge that he was likely to get a “surprise” call from Bae begging him to “fill in” for him at the cake shop, and he could not even bring himself to feel angry about it. The wedding was, after all, a rather rushed affair, seeing as to how it was not what either the bride or groom had planned for, so allowances had to be made for the couple. That or they both were trying to punish their parents for pushing on them a grander event than the one they had wanted in the first place.
On his way out of town he passed by the library, insisting he would drive Miss French who was, surprisingly, filling in for Miss Swan again. She didn’t seem to mind yet another disruption into her schedule.
“I love Storybrooke, but I don’t mind admitting that it’s nice to go out to a big city every now and then.”
The bakery that would make the cake- one of the few that would accommodate the short notice of the order placement- was located in Bangor, which seemed to merge big-city vibes with small-town charm. The bakery itself was lovely, with a white and beige storefront and a myriad of colourful treats on display. It smelled strongly of vanilla and chocolate inside, and there was a dreamy, romantic sort of quality to the decoration. They were ushered into a warm, cosy room where they spent the next hour and a half tasting different cakes, one better than the next.
“Emma is a bit chocolate obsessed, so I’m leaning towards the chocolate champagne one. It was delicious.”
He tried not to replay in his mind the way she had moaned at the first taste of that one, eyes closing in absolute bliss.
“I still can’t believe that little urchin had me fill in for him again, so I’m not even considering his tastes. My vote is for the strawberry shortcake.”
Belle frowned, idly liking some frosting from her fork. His left hand tightened around the napkin on his lap.
“Isn’t Bae allergic to strawberries?”
“Exactly.”
The librarian laughed, which he was rather surprised by. Very few shared his rather dark sense of humour, most found the content and his delivery of it rather off-putting. He tried not to preen at the idea. 
“Might want to hold on in killing him until after the wedding. After all, we have invested quite a few hours into the preparation already. Feels more like our wedding, in a way.”
He choked on a rather lovely piece of red velvet cheesecake, fumbling for his glass of water to try and wash it down. He realised the danger he was in, all of a sudden, perhaps too late. His crush had been safe when he had not had much of a chance to interact with the librarian and get to know her. But spending entire days with her had changed things, giving his feelings depth that he did not entirely appreciate. His instinct of self-preservation was urging him to do something. Say something mean or cutting, or close himself off. Perhaps invent some business emergency and leave, letting Belle figure out on her own how to get back to town. If she was cross with him, if she hated him, if she decided to keep his distance, he would be safe.
But, surprisingly, he found that he was rather tired of feeling safe, and of pushing people away.
.
“You know, we didn’t do half-bad in the end, all things considered.”
He turned around, tearing his eyes away from his son and his new wife trying to waltz. He was sure someone was filming it, anyway, and he’d get to tease Bae about it later. Belle looked absolutely stunning in a Halston dress, an architectural number in navy blue with a champagne-coloured lining that peeped from the folds of the skirts and a bit of a train in the back, the hem landing above the knee at the front and below it at the back. It was a far cry from what most women were wearing, in particular the friends of the mother of the bride, but it was exactly what he had expected from her: bold, flirty, and the slightest bit of out place in a small town, without really seeming to realise. Her lips were a lovely deep, dark red and smiling wide. At him, of all people.
“Yes. The flowers do look splendid, Miss French. You have quite an eye for it.”
She hooked her arm through his, looking admonishingly up at him.
“It’s Belle. Unless you’ve decided I cannot call you Arran anymore.”
If he were stronger, he would politely insist on calling her Miss French, thus gently reestablishing their more formal dynamic. It would be safer, certainly. But he found himself unable to muster the energy for it. It was a happy day, and he was ecstatic as the father of the groom should be. Seemed like the occasion to do what he wanted and not necessarily what he thought was best. Indulge a bit.
“Belle, then. I rather like how you pronounce my name, seems a shame to make you stop.”
Her eyes widened, and so did her smile. He tried to remember how many glasses of champagne he had drunk, but could not recall. He had indulged there too, but that was only because he had been sitting next to David Nolan for dinner and he had kept trying to talk to him about sports. He had made the mistake of trying to discuss the UEFA Super Cup, but that had only led to ten minutes of David Nolan referring to football as soccer and displaying no understanding of the rules of the game.
“So, how’s the proud father? Was it all you hoped it would be?”
He looked around. The venue was lovely, a manor outside Storybrooke that was used exclusively for events like weddings and such, with extensive gardens and lovely, broad balconies. The Nolans had secured the place, seemed they knew the owner and had been able to pull some strings. It was decorated a bit like an enchanted forest, in shades of silver, gold and bold touches of bright pink and dark blue.
“Well, Bae remembered his lines and didn’t step on Miss Swan’s train at any point so the wedding has exceeded my wildest expectations.”
He glanced again towards his son, dancing something a bit more lively with Emma and looking infinitely more at ease doing so. They truly suited each other, and he was glad of that. Glad that Bae would know, hopefully, nothing but love in his family he meant to build for himself.
“It’s a lovely song. Would you care to dance?”
A tricky question, since the answer was both a resounding no and a desperate yes, but he merely pointed towards his cane as a way out. It seemed he was not the only one emboldened by drink, however, if Belle’s flashing eyes and red cheeks were anything to go by.
“Oh, come on, just some gentle swaying. We could go outside, if you don’t wish others to see. It’s a bit stuffy in here anyway.”
There was no way for him to deny her, nor did he wish to anymore. He let her lead him out, into one of the terrace-like balconies attached to the ballroom, and wrapped her arms around his neck, prompting his own to wrap around her waist. They soon fell into a slow, easy rhythm, lazy and yet strangely exhilarating. He felt loose and tightly-wound at the same time, and could not decide whether he liked the feeling or not.
“It really is a lovely wedding, by the way.”
“Yes, I think we did rather well, all things considered. Certainly more than what Bae deserved, taking into account how little he worked for it.”
She tugged on his hair, he assumed as a way to chastise him. It had rather the opposite result, sending a jolt of fizzy pleasure up and down his spine.
“You rather enjoyed it, admit it. And I did too. In a way it’s sad that the wedding has happened and our outings are at an end.”
She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, teeth worrying her lower lip the slightest bit. He got the feeling that there was something he was not seeing or sensing, some signal he was not quite deciphering. But it was getting rather difficult to think, with the champagne in his veins, and the feel of Belle in his arms and the way she smelt like orange blossom. 
“You look lovely, by the way.” He realised he hadn’t told her, and it seemed like a major oversight. “Stunning, really. Gorgeous. Too good to be wasting your time out on the balcony with me.”
What the fuck was wrong with him? When had he lost complete control of his bleeding mouth?
“Don’t say that. I like spending time with you. A lot.” She bit her lip again and he wondered if his blood pressure could take it. “Actually, I was hoping we could spend more time together, if you wished it.”
There was no mistaking the flirty turn of her lips, or the coyness dancing in her eyes, even to an expert in self-denial such as him. He tried to form words to reply to her, something along the lines of “Yes, please” or “Is it tomorrow night too soon?” but his vocal cords were suddenly useless, and in a sudden panic that she would interpret his stupid silence for a rejection of her advances he leaned down, pressing his lips against hers. He felt her stiffen in his arms for a second, saw her eyes widen in surprise, but the next moment she was pressing back against him, tipping her head back to better capture his mouth with her own. She took absolute control with a quiet, fierce determination that he found incredibly erotic. He was happy to reciprocate, to tighten his arm around her waist and open his mouth to her, his left hand tightening around the handle of his cane with something that felt like petulant frustration at not being able to simply drop the damned thing hold her properly, perhaps delve a hand into her hair, feel if it was as soft as it always looked. 
She seemed to read his mind, for she maneuvered them clumsily towards the rather tall balustrade. He eagerly leaned against it before dropping his cane in the nick of time to catch the librarian’s leg, which sought to wrap itself around his waist. Her obvious, undisguised want was disarming, making him forget himself in a way he had never allowed himself to-
“Papa, what the fuck?”
“Belle!”
Both him and Belle startled, with her regretfully taking a few steps away from him, leaving him to notice the chill in the air. When he glanced at the entrance of the balcony he saw his son and Miss Swan, looking radiant in her Vera Wang dress and also, bizarrely, quite smug.
“Hey, Bae, didn’t see you there.”
His accent barely made the words intelligible, but there was no helping that. He always lost control of his brogue when he was nervous.
“Clearly!” Bae sounded shrill, more child than man. Reminded him of the infamous temper-tantrums the lad had thrown once upon a time. “How could you? At my own wedding?!”
Fuck, he was right. He had been caught fucking making-out and almost doing God-knew-what just a few bloody steps away from his son’s wedding reception. What was the matter with him?
“I mean, why couldn’t you wait? I had almost won the bet!”
What?
“You only had to last until after the wedding! I was so close, pops! And you were doing so well!”
“Yes, yes, it’s all very sad. Now remember, Bae, you promised at least two dances with Regina’s sister. At least she’s unlikely to hit on you at your own wedding, so there’s that.”
Emma smiled up at her new husband, kissed his cheek, turned him around and directed him back towards the ballroom with a not-so-gentle smack in the ass. She smiled, gave Belle a thumbs up and an “atta girl” and walked out of the balcony, closing the French doors behind her.
“What the fuck was that?”
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katikacreations · 4 years
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(Cover illustration by @clowncauldron​ ) LINK TO AO3 VERSION IN THE NOTES! Formatting is better on AO3, it’s easier to read over there!
SUMMARY:  Gyro can’t fix Boyd’s glitching problem, so he asks Dr. Von Drake for advice. Boyd goes to a pool party and confesses to Huey that his new home life with Gyro isn’t exactly perfect. 
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2BO, you are not evil! You are good! You’re more than your programming! You are a definitely real boy! Gyro’s own words echoed in his head as he tried to sleep on the flight back to Duckburg.
It was a gruelling twelve hours on a cargo plane like the Sunchaser, but if one was willing to put up with the discomfort and inconvenience of being stashed between boxes of freight, it was worth it. Mr. McDuck didn’t charge for employees to hitch a ride on cargo planes that were already scheduled, and there was no TSA screening for private cargo flights, leaving from private airfields, which was a big help when you were traveling with hyper-advanced combat technology like the Gizmosuit and 2BO.
2BO. Boyd. Whatever you called it, the android was potentially very dangerous. It had been able to override Dr. Akita’s programming and choose its own actions, which had saved both Gyro and Fenton’s lives, but how? Asking an AI to ignore its programming was like asking a human being to ignore their instincts, like trying to inhale underwater, or sticking your hands into a fire. It could be done, but it was difficult and sometimes impossible.
Whatever Dr. Akita had programmed into 2BO had become lower priority and less important than the android’s own, self-created programming, even if Akita’s programming was older. That’s the only way that 2BO could have possibly overridden the commands.
It had to be the result of twenty years of independence. 2BO had gone so long without anyone to give it orders, it must have learned to make choices for itself, otherwise it would never have survived as long as it did. It was a learning system, so the ability to re-evaluate and change its own programming over time to adapt to new situations was integral.
But was 2BO a real boy? Gyro had said the words, but he knew of course that they weren’t true. 2BO was a machine that emulated a real boy very convincingly, but that did not make it a human being. Gyro felt a twinge of guilt for speaking such nonsense out loud in front of God and everybody, but he’d had no other choice. 2BO hadn’t responded to anything else, and that phrase had clearly been lodged deep in its memory as something significant, even if it was just nonsense spoken by an immature and naive younger version of himself. Gyro had tried everything else he could think of before resorting to that meaningless platitude.
It had worked, though. Gyro and Fenton were both still alive. 2BO was with them, had circumvented Dr. Akita’s override programming. They were all headed back to Duckburg, safe and sound.
2BO wasn’t a real boy. What 2BO was, Gyro wasn’t sure yet.
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Gyro Gearloose was a proud man, and he’d earned the right to that through a life of hard work. He knew he was smart and wasn’t about to partake of the sin of false modesty. He was justifiably proud of his superior intellect, his ability to keep discovering new truths of the universe, and to keep designing and creating new and imaginative technology over the years.
He’d started inventing when he’d been just barely old enough to pick up a screwdriver, and he hadn’t stopped in the forty-three years since. He did the work because he loved it, because it was the most fulfilling thing in the world for him, because nothing else compared to the satisfaction that came with seeing an idea from his head come together in his hands and finally become a fully-formed creation that existed in the real world.
Other people took weekends and nights off because they worked to live, but Gyro lived to work. The little moments of life - visiting family, spending time with friends, “relaxing” and “resting” - were obstacles between him and getting back to the work he loved with his whole heart. They were distractions, necessary evils he was occasionally forced to bow to, but they would never be the thing which drove him. Gyro lived to discover, imagine, build and create. So anything that got in the way of that was quickly pushed to the side.
This presented a problem. Being a very proud man, Gyro was not particularly practiced at asking for help. It took him a long time to realize when he needed help, and even longer to figure out how to ask for it.
2BO had started living with Gyro after their return from Tokyolk, and Gyro suddenly found himself thrust into the position of not only trying to fix the android’s damaged programming (an ongoing, unresolved issue), but also having to provide daily guidance for something that acted very much like a child.
He was being forced by circumstance to act as a caretaker and to parent. Needless to say, that was not a skill set Gyro had honed, and it wasn’t a job he wanted to do. He had no aspirations of being a father or having children, but 2BO constantly pushed him into that role with each new interaction.
It wasn’t all bad of course: 2BO was pleasant enough to be around, so it took some time before things reached critical mass. 2BO could take care of itself, was self-reliant for the most part, and was often helpful around the lab with its superior strength, lightning-fast processing speed, and its ability to withstand deadly radiation.
But 2BO wanted continual attention from Gyro, and he didn’t have the patience for it. 2BO constantly wanted to play games, and every night it asked Gyro to read it a “bedtime story”, even though 2BO didn’t actually sleep.
Generally Gyro just dismissed the requests, and told the android to go play with the McDuck children, or Lil’ Bulb. He’d tried to read to 2BO once or twice, but the android had complained when Gyro started reading articles from scientific journals out loud, so they didn’t do that anymore.
All of that was bad enough, but it was the incessant questions that finally pushed Gyro too far.
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“Why did swear words get invented if we’re not allowed to say them?”
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“How did people make the first tools if they didn’t have any tools?”
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“”Huey, Duey and Louie are triplets. Did they all come out of one egg or were they in three separate eggs?”
“How did Ms. Della lay three eggs that big?”
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"Where do thoughts come from?"
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“Are there infinite words?”
“No, 2BO, but there are infinite numbers.”
“Well if there is a word for every number, then there must be infinite words.”
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“How do I know that I’m real?”
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“What happens to a person when they die?”
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“What did it feel like on your last day of being a child?”
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“Why do people hold hands?”
“Well, adults hold children by the hand to make sure they don’t fall down or run into traffic.”
“Then why do adults sometimes hold hands?”
“I don’t know,” said Gyro, who had never actually held hands with anyone after his eleventh birthday. He’d never experienced the urge, either. Why did adults hold hands? “Maybe to restrain the person they’re with, to keep them from leaving.”
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Gyro Gearloose needed help.
From a technical, legal point of view, 2BO was not his responsibility. He’d only been an assistant on the project, which had begun years before Gyro had even set foot in Japan. The reason he’d taken the fall for the destruction of Tokyolk was because they had needed someone to blame for the catastrophe, and he’d been the only available target after Dr. Akita disappeared. None of it was Gyro’s fault, but he’d suffered for it regardless.
He’d done jail time, lost his scholarship to the Tokyolk Institute of Technology, and had to start his doctorate over from scratch at the University of Tennessee-Knoxville years later when the disaster with 2BO was no longer so fresh in everyone’s minds. Gyro had paid for what happened in Tokyolk many times over, and he was only just starting to dig himself out of that hole.
Despite all that, morally he felt an obligation to 2BO. He had been there when the android first activated. He’d spent months programming, teaching, and training it to act as much like a person as possible. The fact that it was struggling with all of that now was Gyro’s fault. He’d been a naive, sentimental idiot in his youth and instead of letting 2BO be the weapon Dr. Akita had designed it to be, he’d forced it into an eternal game of playing pretend, and now 2BO was barely functional as a result.
He could think of few worse fates for an artificial intelligence. To be shackled and bound to arbitrary human standards of behavior, to waste all of it’s mental powers on trying to convincingly present itself as a human child when in reality, it was so much more. Gyro felt sorry for it.
Gyro Gearloose needed help. He needed a specialist.
He offloaded the onerous task of seeking assistance to Fenton.
“I need you to find a specialist to help with 2BO’s glitching problem,” he told him one night, as Fenton was on his way home.
“What?” Fenton called back, his foot holding the elevator door open as he leaned back into the airlock that connected the elevators to the lab floor to hear Gyro better.
“Find a specialist to help with 2BO’s glitching!” Gyro shouted back.
“A specialist to help with Boyd’s glitches?” Fenton called back. The elevator attempted to close on Fenton, and he put his arm up to make it stop. The door pushed against his hand briefly before sliding away from the resistance. “What kind of specialist?”
The elevator began to make a high-pitched squealing sound, protesting the fact that it was being held open.
“I don’t know!” Gyro shouted back. “A programmer, I guess! Someone who knows Fortran 77, C++, MATLAB, Python, and can handle system architecture of at least 100 billion bits.”
“Not asking for much, are you?” Fenton replied with a level of sarcasm Gyro knew his assistant wouldn’t dare to voice if he was in the same room as him.
“Just let me know when you find someone!”
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It was nearly a week later when the topic came up again. Gyro was attempting to troubleshoot a glitch in 2BO that was triggered every time the android heard the word pineapple. At this point the list of things that could trigger a glitch was truly overwhelming. A few days ago 2BO had nearly destroyed someone’s house because he heard a dog barking. Thankfully, the McDuck family had covered it up, blaming a minor earthquake for the damage.
The android sat on a table beside the lab’s Cray XT3 computer terminal. 2BO was powered down, eyes closed and body slumped forward, cables connecting it to the Cray’s data ports. The monitor was awash with seemingly endless lines of code from the core dump they’d just done, and Gyro was pain-stakingly working his way through them, searching for the source of the problem.
“Dr. Gearloose! I’ve gotten some replies from the people I contacted about helping with Boyd,” Fenton said, approaching with a stack of envelopes in hand.
Gyro glanced away from his work only long enough to see the paper envelopes. “You wrote physical letters? No wonder it took them so long to respond.”
“In this day and age, a personal touch like a paper letter can really help make a good impression,” Fenton said. “Also, people familiar with the programming languages you asked for all skew older.”
Gyro made a noise that indicated he’d lost interest in the conversation and that Fenton should move on. The man had gotten better at reading him, and, instead of making further small talk, he went to start opening the pile of letters.
“Alright, let’s see,” Fenton said, and Gyro marked where he was in the code so he could come back to it later, deciding to take a break. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate properly with Fenton talking and rustling around nearby. He took the opportunity to take off his glasses and massage around his closed eyes.
“Yes? Get on with it, Inter--Assistant.”
“Eh, espere,” Fenton said, and Gyro heard the rapid fluttering of papers as Fenton fumbled with them. “I… This doesn’t make sense. They all say… ‘No’, ‘No’, ‘No’, ‘No’, ‘Hell no’, ‘Contact me again and I’ll get a restraining order?!’ ”
“What did you write to them, Assistant?” Gyro demanded, though he already had a hunch of what might have gone wrong.
“I--What did I do? Nada! Nothing unusual! I just said that you were looking for someone with the skills you listed, to consult with on a technical problem you were having.”
“Did you put my name on them?” Gyro asked, wanting to confirm his suspicions.
“Of course I did!” Fenton said. “It’s your lab! Who would I tell them was writing, the Queen of England? Lin-Manuel Miranda? Spider-Ham?! I used the lab stationary that has Dr. Von Drake crossed out and your name written in the margins.”
“You idiot,” Gyro said, but he was more tired than angry. “Did you forget that I’m a pariah in the scientific community? People still blame me for what happened in Japan with 2BO twenty years ago, and if they’d started to forget, last month’s incident made it the hot new gossip all over again. I thought you were smart enough to figure that out and put your own name instead. I didn’t realize I had to tell you everything.”
Fenton’s face tightened the more Gyro spoke, taking the scolding without any further attempt at making excuses, which was a relief. Gyro hated when people couldn’t keep it together.
“Considering your usual tendency to overdo things, should I assume that you’ve written to every programmer in the United States that fits my requirements, and all those bridges have now been thoroughly burnt?” Gyro asked with some venom.
“Also a few in México and Canada,” Fenton said, shrinking in on himself with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Dr. Gearloose, I didn’t mean to cause trouble for--”
“Go… Do something else. Away from me,” Gyro said, struggling not to shout at the other man. “We’ll have to continue working on 2BO without assistance.”
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Huey loved planning things. Oftentimes he found himself making plans for events that would never even happen. The process of planning and figuring out all the details just felt good, even if he never got outside of the planning stage. He could spend hours daydreaming about parties, expeditions, and camping trips.
Planning was his favorite part of any adventure, and he loved going over maps and charts with Uncle Scrooge, observing how the old man did it and trying to learn something from it.
So planning for their first ever pool party with their extended group of friends was beyond exciting. It wasn’t just a fantasy scenario that had no hope of happening. Their friends were really all coming over for a day of fun in the pool, and Mrs. Beakley had even given Huey a budget for buying snacks and party supplies.
He’d scoured the Pinfeather app looking for ideas all week, spent days creating pool-themed decorations, and all of yesterday preparing dishes so there would be a variety of healthy and fun food available, no matter what kind of dietary restrictions their friends might have. He’d thought of everything and was extremely proud of how it had all come together. Nothing could possibly go wrong when he’d done such a thorough job of planning things.
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Everything was going completely wrong!
The party had been in full swing for a couple of hours, and Huey couldn’t bring himself to go into the water or join in with the others. Nobody was eating his lovingly crafted healthy snacks. His brothers had taken one look at Huey’s Fun Summer Dessert Pizza, his Gluten-free tortilla chips and strawberry corn salsa, his hotdog sliders with mango and pineapple chutney, and they had started raiding the pantry, helping their guests to microwaved hot wings, cheese-wiz, mini pizza bagels, potato chips, and Pep soda.
Lena, Violet and Webby (who wasn’t technically a guest but Huey had counted her as one for the sake of his logistics) seemed to be having plenty of fun on their own without the piles of pre-made water balloons that were stacked on a pool float bobbing around in the water, or the board games Huey had arranged by the neat stacks of towels and sunscreen. Lena had turned off Huey’s Summer Pool Party Fun Mix five minutes after her arrival and plugged in her own phone to play the newest Featherweights album. Violet had complimented him on the decorative wreath made of novelty cocktail umbrellas and swords at the front door, but Huey wasn’t sure if she had been employing sarcasm or not.
Louie climbed out of the pool and shook the water off his feathers. Huey felt too miserable to even bother flinching away. What did it matter? He was in swim trunks anyway.
“How come you’re just sitting over here by yourself?” Louie asked, picking up a bag of chips and shoving a handful into his mouth as he sat down next to Huey.
“No reason,” Huey mumbled. He was saved from further conversation when an app on his phone told him there was someone at the front door. “Someone’s at the door, it’s gotta be Boyd! I’ll go let him in.”
“Robo-Boyd?” Louie called after him, tone incredulous. “Why’d you invite him? Can he even go in the water?”
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“Boyd! The party started hours ago, is everything okay?” Huey asked as he flung open the front door. Boyd stood there wearing a Hawaiian shirt with anchors and ships on it, red swim trunks, and his red anti-laser sunglasses. He was carrying a large plastic tupperware container.
“I’m sorry for arriving late.” Boyd said, holding the tupperware out for Huey to take. “Yes, everything’s fine now. I brought this for the party, I hope everyone likes it.”
Huey vaguely remembered reading something about it being polite in Japan to bring a gift with you when visiting someone’s home. He took the plastic container and tried to guess what might be inside it by the weight and the black and white color he could discern through the semi-opaque cover.
“Oh, thanks for bringing something!” Huey said. “What is it?”
“A cookies and cream sheet cake.”
Everyone was going to love that, Huey thought with a mix of envy and embarrassment. Why was Boyd better at understanding regular people than he was? Shouldn’t Boyd be at a disadvantage, since he was a literal computer and Huey was a flesh and blood kid?
“Awesome. Come on, let’s go out back so I can introduce you to everybody,” Huey said.
“I’m excited to meet Webby’s friends, Lena and Violet,” Boyd said, closing the door behind them as they walked through the house.
“Why’d you show up so late? That’s not like you.” Even though Boyd said everything was fine, Huey couldn’t stop himself from worrying. Both he and Boyd were usually very punctual.
“I was helping Mr. Gizmoduck clean up a shipping tanker accident in Audubon Bay. I wanted to send you a text, but the signal was bad. I’m sorry for worrying you.”
“It’s okay! I’m just glad it wasn’t anything too dangerous and that you’re safe,” Huey answered in a rush, not wanting Boyd to feel guilty for trying to be a hero. He knew that ever since they’d returned from Tokyolk, the android boy had spent a lot of his time helping people all around Duckburg and St. Canard.
“I think it’s really cool that you’ve been helping out Gizmoduck,” Huey said, and Boyd flashed him a huge, brilliant smile that made Huey’s chest feel funny. He smiled back at Boyd.
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“Hi, I’m Boyd, a definitely real boy!” Boyd announced, offering his hand to Violet, who shook it, and Lena, who didn’t.
“I’m Violet. You’re in the same Junior Woodchuck troop as Huey, right?”
“Affirmative! I’m a member of Junior Woodchuck troop 15. You recently became a Senior Junior Woodchuck. You have more badges than 86.2% of the other members in our age range. I think that’s very admirable.”
“Cool,” Said Lena indifferently. “So you’re Huey’s friend? Where are you from?”
“I was born in Tokyolk. Where are you from, Lena?”
“Uh, let’s not talk about that,” Lena replied uneasily.
“Why not? I answered your question,” Boyd said.
“Lena’s kind of been through a lot recently,” Huey said, interrupting the conversation before it could get any more confrontational. “Talking about family stuff is hard for her.”
“Oh,” Boyd said. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know.”
“It’s whatever,” Lena said with a shrug, radiating a cool indifference that Huey envied a little.
“Boyd’s an android,” Huey explained, “But he’s also just a kid like any of us.” This revelation seemed to soften Lena’s attitude.
“This is my first time attending a pool party. I’ve also been to a birthday party. Those are all the parties I have been to,” Boyd said.
“You know what? This is our first pool party, too,” Lena said, smiling at Boyd. “And I’m having a great time. Do you eat food?”
“Yeah, I love eating food!” Boyd said, as the group made their way over to the snack table. “I need to consume nutrients and calories to maintain my biological components.”
“Me too,” Lena said.
“You planned this whole party, right Huey?” Violet asked. “I think the streamers between the umbrellas and the colorful leis really create a festive atmosphere.”
“Thanks, I made them by hand,” Huey said, grateful that someone appreciated just how much effort it had taken to prepare everything.
“And I’m guessing Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum weren’t a lot of help,” Lena added, unwrapping a chocolate ding-dong and taking a bite.
“Which one of us is Tweedle-Dee and which of us is Tweedle-Dum?” Dewey called from the pool. Lena ignored them and looked at Huey expectantly, waiting for an answer.
Huey laughed a little, and he hugged his arms to himself to try and ease how awkward he felt with the older girl’s attention on him.
“Yeah, they weren’t really interested. Planning stuff is more my thing.”
“Well, you’re good at it,” Lena said bluntly, “They’re probably too lazy to try and compete with someone who tries as hard as you do.”
“Who are you calling lazy?” Louie called from the pool float he was lounging on.
“You!” Lena shouted back.
“Fair, that’s an accurate assessment, carry on,” Louie replied as he floated away.
Maybe the party wasn’t going that bad. Now that Boyd had arrived, Huey felt a lot more confident, and watching Boyd enjoying himself made Huey happy.
“I have an easier time breaking down and extracting nutrients from simple, unprocessed foods,” Boyd said, as he polished off a second plate of cheese-and-fruit skewers. “I don’t have a sense of taste, but I’m sure these are really yummy. My compositional sensors say the fruit is at peak ripeness and that the cheese is at an ideal temperature.”
“Glad you like them,” Huey said.
“You’re welcome. Should we go in the pool?” Boyd said.
“Can you go in the pool?” Huey asked. “Aren’t you too heavy?”
“Dr. Gearloose installed automatic arm floaties on me this morning.” There was a loud hissing sound as metal panels on Boyd’s upper arms retracted and PVC material inflated with air, outfitting Boyd with swim fins. “They’re rated up to 145 kg which is twice my weight. He assured me that with these, I would be able to remain safely buoyant while in the water.”
“If Uncle Donald could install those on us, he would,” Huey said.
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“So where did you get the cookies and cream cake from? Dr. Gearloose didn’t make it, did he?” Huey asked. The sun had started to set, and the pool lights were on. The other kids were all playing with glow-sticks and glow-in-the-dark bracelets and necklaces Huey had bought in bulk online. A little distance away, Mom and Uncle Donald were barbequing some burgers and hot dogs for dinner.
Boyd hadn’t taken any of the glow-in-the-dark stuff, but he seemed happy to sit on the edge of the pool next to Huey, their feet dangling in the water. Boyd’s eyes were lit from within, like flashlights, as the daylight around them grew dimmer. His tinted sunglasses turned the light red, and it reminded Huey of the taillights of a car.
“No, of course Dr. Gearloose didn’t make the cake, he’s much too busy for that kind of frivolity. I went to the employee cafeteria at The Bin to buy some slices of cake, and one of the ladies who works there asked why I was buying eight pieces. I explained to her that I was going to a party, and she asked why I was by myself in the cafeteria at 9AM, and I told her I didn’t have--”
“Uh, I think I get the general gist of what happened,” Huey said. “So she made the cake for you?”
“Yes! She said that she was certain it would be popular, and I think her assessment was correct. Its sugar content is similar to snacks that children in our age range typically enjoy.”
Even though it was getting dark outside, the air was still almost unbearably hot. It had been over ninety degrees every day for the past two weeks in Duckburg, and the heat lingered. Cicadas buzzed in the dark, and occasionally a frog croaked.
“Kids, time for dinner!” Donald called. Gradually they all set aside their games, dried off with towels, and made their way to the picnic table that had been set out for dinner in the garden. Boyd grabbed Huey’s arm before he could follow, stopping him.
“What’s wrong?” Huey asked.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Boyd said. “I just… Wanted to thank you for inviting me to your pool party. It’s been a lot of fun.”
“Well, don’t worry, the fun’s not done yet,” Huey said. Maybe Boyd was just sad that the party was almost over? “We’re still going to tell scary stories around a campfire, and Uncle Scrooge and Mom always have some great ones.”
“That sounds great. I’m excited to hear the stories,” Boyd said, his grip on Huey’s arm relaxing until the android’s hand slipped down and rested against Huey’s. They were holding hands. Huey felt that same funny feeling in his chest from before, and suddenly the rest of the world around them was weirdly quiet. No frogs, no cicadas, no Uncle Donald arguing with Mom. Just him and Boyd, holding hands on a summer night.
“...But something’s bothering you, isn’t it?” Huey asked.
Boyd didn’t answer immediately, which was unusual for the android. Huey squeezed his hand gently, trying to encourage the other boy to share his feelings.
“When I lived with Mr. Beaks, he played with me all the time for the first few days, but then he started ignoring me. When I lived with the Drakes, I could play with Doofus any time I wanted, but he didn’t want to play with me, and said things that made me feel bad. Mr. and Mrs. Drake were nice, but if they paid too much attention to me, Doofus always got mad…”
“I like living with Dr. Gearloose better than any of the others,” Boyd said. “But sometimes I feel lonely. He doesn’t have a lot of time to play with me either, and if I distract Mr. Fenton or Mr. Manny from work too much, Dr. Gearloose yells at them. At night when he goes to sleep, he makes me stay in the closet, so I won’t wake him up by moving around, and he doesn’t like reading me bedtime stories.
“Is something wrong with me?” Boyd asked. “It feels like every time I join a family, they end up getting bored with me, or they don’t really want me around.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you!” Huey said. “A lot of kids feel that way. Sometimes parents or other kids don’t have time to play with us, sometimes they don’t want to play with us, and it does feel lonely. Also, not everyone has a good family. Sometimes people just don’t get along.”
“What do regular kids do if they’re in a bad family?” Boyd asked.
“Honestly? I think they’re just stuck when that happens. Running away and living on your own is dangerous and hard. But you don’t have that problem! Since you’re a super-strong robot, if you want to leave, you can just go.”
“Sort of,” Boyd said. “It’s… Not that simple. I’m a robot, but I’m bio-mechanical. I still need to eat and charge some of my power cells occasionally. Getting food and access to electricity when I’m on my own can be hard. But the worst part is… I really don’t like being alone. I like to be around people.”
There was such a sadness in Boyd’s voice in that moment that Huey felt a need to do more than just hold hands. “Would it be okay if I hugged you?” he asked, not knowing what to say or how else to make Boyd feel better.
“Yes,” Boyd said, looking delighted by the offer. He held his arms out stiffly towards Huey, and it looked so silly that Huey struggled not to laugh.
“Okay.” Huey carefully put his arms around Boyd, hugging him tight.
“BOYS!” Della shouted from a distance, making Huey nearly jump out of his skin. “Come eat before the food gets cold! C’mon! You got water in your ears or what?”
“Coming, Mom!” Huey shouted back, grabbing Boyd by the hand and pulling him towards where the rest of their family and friends were gathered.
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Once a month, Gyro had a video chat with Dr. Ludwig Von Drake. The man had mentored him when he made his second attempt at his doctorate, and though he wasn’t always easy to have a long-distance conversation with, Gyro found the exercise useful in a variety of ways. Sometimes he could bounce ideas off the older scientist and find better solutions he might not have thought of on his own. Sometimes they talked about world events and science news. Sometimes it just felt good to talk to someone else who felt as if they were remotely close to Gyro’s level of intellect.
Dr. Von Drake might have been a bit scatterbrained, but he was brilliant and a real renaissance man to boot. Gyro admired him tremendously, though he did take the man’s words with a grain of salt due to the aforementioned scatterbrained-ness.
Gyro liked to have something mindless he could work on while he was on a call with someone, even someone as interesting to talk to as Dr. Von Drake. Having to sit still and focus on a conversation and struggle with eye contact on a webcam was a surefire recipe for not only boredom but also his attention wandering away. On particularly bad days, he might end up feather-picking, which was an embarrassing nervous tic he’d spent decades trying to conquer.
So today he was shoulders deep repairing a jet engine (burnt out courtesy of Launchpad McQuack) when his conversation with Dr. Von Drake shifted from the doctor’s latest oil painting experiments to what Gyro had been up to recently.
“Nothing that exciting, I’m afraid,” Gyro said. “It feels like all I do anymore is repair things. A never-ending cycle of maintenance, something which should have been passed on to technicians instead of taking up my valuable time! I’m always chasing after old projects, trying to keep them from falling apart. The Gizmo-suit. And Lil’ Bulb. And--”
“Dr. Gearloose,” 2BO said, suddenly appearing at Gyro’s side. “Can I go over to Huey’s to play?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Thank you!” 2BO chirped enthusiastically as it activated its rocket jets, the turbines spinning up rapidly.
“Just make sure you don’t stay out too late!” Gyro shouted, raising his voice so 2BO could hear him over the roar of its propulsion system.
“I’ll be home at seven!” 2BO said with a smile, rising from the floor and flying out one of the emergency air lock exits. Gyro could see the android shoot out under the water, flying past the lab’s windows as it gained altitude and finally vanished from sight, leaving nothing but a flurry of bubbles in its wake.
“My goodness, what a charming little boy!” Dr. Von Drake said. “Is he yours or perhaps the child of a coworker?”
“Oh, it’s not a child,” Gyro explained. “That’s 2BO, it’s just an android I helped create as a student.”
“Just an android? Gyro, my boy, he is quite remarkable! Even with the rocket jets for feet, I was entirely ready to accept that he was a real boy. Why haven’t you ever shown him to me before? You’ve never even mentioned him.”
Gyro had been dreading this particular topic, though he’d always known it would come up someday. He set down his tools and wiped the oil from his hands, fidgeting with the shop towel as he tried to pick his words.
“It’s a long story, sir.”
“That’s no problem, I have long ears!” Dr. Von Drake replied, which was nonsensical enough that it made Gyro chuckle.
“That is manifestly untrue.” Gyro felt himself smiling just a little. Though they were thousands of miles apart and only interacting through an impersonal and cold computer screen, Dr. Von Drake’s warm and nonjudgmental presence still felt as reassuring now as it had when Gyro had been a young man. “But since you insist… Before I came to work for you, I worked for Dr. Inutaro Akita in Tokyolk.”
“I’ve met him,” Dr. Von Drake said, prompting Gyro to continue.
“He was already working on 2BO when I started assisting him. It was designed to be an autonomous defense drone, capable of interacting with end users in a naturalistic way. But something went wrong.”
“With 2BO?”
“No, with Dr. Akita. Originally I thought it was a fault in 2BO, but it was just following orders. Dr. Akita ordered 2BO to go on a rampage, and it performed exactly as designed.”
“That’s awful!” Dr. Von Drake exclaimed. “But now that you mention it, I remember reading something about a robot attacking Tokyolk way back when. It’s hard to believe all that destruction was caused by little 2BO… But if he was created by Dr. Akita I can’t say I’m too surprised. The man has ‘mad scientist’ practically stamped on his forehead. He’s a terrible sore loser. Matilda said he’s not allowed at the annual canasta game after what happened to that china cabinet.”
Gyro was morbidly curious to know what had happened that would make the sweet-tempered Matilda McDuck ban someone from the International Robot Designer Union’s annual card game, but he knew better than to ask. Dr. Von Drake was likely to actually tell him the whole story and that could take hours - hours that Gyro didn’t want to spare.
“So how is it that he’s come to live with you now?” Dr. Von Drake asked. “The incident in Tokyolk was a long time ago.”
“Somehow 2BO turned up here in Duckburg,” Gyro explained. “I had no idea that 2BO was even operational anymore. I thought it had been destroyed, but it wasn’t and now it’s here, and it’s just another thing I have to constantly do maintenance on.
“It has these terrible glitches that are triggered by random stimuli. I’ve been working on it for a whole month, and it seems like the problems just keep getting worse. I’m not making any progress. I told Fenton to get in touch with some programmers to find a specialist to help me resolve the issue, but--”
“Tell me more about these glitches,” Dr. Von Drake said. “Maybe I can help you figure it out.”
“Well, as I said, 2BO was originally designed to be a defense drone, so obviously it has a weapons system.”
“Obviously.”
“But 2BO’s also a highly complex learning system. It was meant to interact with people the way another person might, and that kind of processing power normally takes up a much larger footprint than 2BO has.”
“It’s not a remote system?” Dr. Von Drake asked. This wasn’t an unreasonable question, as most AI’s of 2BO’s complexity were at least the size of a car. There weren’t that many out there that Gyro was aware of, but they did exist. He assumed that most of them were confidential government projects. None of them were really like 2BO though. Advanced AI technology had been a stagnant field since the end of the Cold War.
“No, 2BO is entirely self-contained. It can be remote controlled in theory, but, under normal circumstances, all it needs to operate is onboard.”
“And you say it’s been functioning independently for… How long?”
“Twenty years on its own without meaningful human intervention. No maintenance, no repairs.”
“Remarkable!” Dr. Von Drake took off his glasses to polish them, something he usually did when he was excited. “Can you send me the latest core memory dump? I’m sure it’s a doozy of a file, but I’d like to look it over.”
“Of course, though… Hmm.” Gyro considered the reality of sending the file over the internet. “It’s almost a terabyte.”
“That’s not so large, we can keep talking while it sends over the WAN. A terabyte shouldn’t take more than half an hour.”
The suggestion of sending the data across the McDuck Enterprises’ global intranet made Gyro hesitate. It was one thing to send Dr. Von Drake a funny cat video through their company emails, it was another thing entirely to send proprietary data that wasn’t official McDuck Enterprises work through the data pipeline that Mr. McDuck so generously provided to their labs.
“Are you sure that’s alright?” Gyro asked. He’d long given up working on anything while having this conversation, and was watching Dr. Von Drake on his desktop monitor while picking at the feathers on his left wrist. “I know you’re Mr. McDuck’s brother-in-law, but it’s still using company resources for a personal project.”
“Pish-tosh! Don’t worry about it so much, my boy. After all, are you debugging Boyd on a personal computer, or are you using McDuck resources to do it?”
“I am using the McDuck lab equipment,” Gyro admitted grudgingly. “I’ve been here so long, I always think of it as my lab equipment. I do a lot of work here that isn’t strictly for Mr. McDuck, but this is different.”
“How so?”
“Those other things I work on are never anything this important,” Gyro said. “Like using the laser cutter to cut out pieces when I was making myself a suit of armor, or when I made myself a new headset. I designed it on my workstation using my company edition of CAD and printed it with the 3D printer after hours. I bought my own filament and used that for the build, but it’s a small project, and if Mr. McDuck wanted to copyright the design and mass produce them, it wouldn’t matter, even if I just designed it for my personal use.
“2BO is different,” Gyro continued. “Both the chassis and the programming are proprietary designs that belong to Akita International.”
“That company went bankrupt and ceased to exist years ago,” Dr. Von Drake pointed out. “You don’t expect them to show up on your doorstep and demand custody of 2BO, do you?”
“I don’t know,” Gyro admitted, wincing as he tugged a feather loose from his wrist. He set it down on his desk and crossed his arms over his chest in an attempt to stop picking at himself. “Dr. Akita is in jail, but he does still have living family. And there could possibly be old creditors that might come after 2BO if they realize it’s still functional. Anyway, what I’m really concerned about is that if I send the data through the McDuck Enterprises system, then they’ll have legal grounds to claim the data as theirs.”
“Please, Scroogey wouldn’t do something like that!” Dr. Von Drake said.
“Mr. McDuck might not, but the company absolutely would,” Gyro said, recalling his many unpleasant encounters with the McDuck Enterprises’ Board of Directors. “I’ll ship it to you overnight on a jump drive. You can tell me what you think of it when it arrives.”
“Alright, alright. But back to the subject at hand, you were talking about the hardware and software that your android runs on.”
“Right. 2BO’s hardware is a combination of chemical and crystal processors operating a GIST framework, using a program derived from the FELT system.”
“Ahh, like TOODLES! You remember TOODLES from when you worked here, don’t you? He’s built on crystal microprocessors and a GIST framework as well.”
Unfortunately Gyro did remember TOODLES, the omnipresent AI that controlled Dr. Von Drake’s lab at McDuck castle in Scotland. It wasn’t that there was anything particularly wrong with TOODLES, but the AI had been designed as a caretaker, a nanny of sorts, and it tended to treat everyone it came into contact with like a child. It got on Gyro’s nerves very quickly.
“I do remember TOODLES,” Gyro said, as diplomatically as possible. “I didn’t realize it shared the same architecture as 2BO. I guess I never really looked under the hood.” In truth, Gyro had avoided TOODLES whenever possible in the seven years he’d worked for Dr. Von Drake.
“And that’s a shame, TOODLES is quite the complex fellow. He’s even older than your 2BO, born in 1980.”
“Activated. You mean activated in 1980,” Gyro corrected, but to no avail as Dr. Von Drake simply continued on.
“However, I think the primary difference is that TOODLES has absolutely no conflict programming, as he is not a weapon, and that he has never been on his own. When he learns new things, I’m right here to help him through it, and to make sure TOODLES has properly understood whatever his new experience was. 2BO, I assume, has many different layers of programming, from his weapons systems to navigation to human interaction. Living on his own for twenty years with no one to help him properly understand the things he has experienced, well, I’m sure his code looks like a big plate of spaghetti by now!”
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Two days later, Gyro received an email from Dr. Von Drake.
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NEXT CHAPTER: Dr. Bara Summary:  Fenton and Boyd chat on the way to the lab. Gyro introduces himself in the most melodramatic way possible, and Dr. Bara meets everyone at McDuck Enterprises R&D. Dr. Bara starts assessing Boyd and things get worse before they get better. Gyro thinks he's helping.
62 notes · View notes
luthien-t · 4 years
Text
Resurfaced Memories. chapter one.
Loki x Female reader
warning: swearing, use of tobacco, angst slightly
Summary: Being the goddess of Victory, Sigyn. You Devoted your eternal love to Loki, but ever since his reveal of being the Jotun, Odin decides to separate you both to prevent all chances of him seizing the throne. Casted -More like banished- to Midgard with no memories of your previous life, you believe you are the same as the ones around you, the midgardians. You gave yourself the name Y/n. With plenty of help and guidance you finally have a life, what will it be of Loki when he finds you during his trips with his brother? 
word count: 1.6K+
(Im going to pretend that Thanos NEVER happened, so loki 2012 never happened -the avenger did happen tho, just not bc of loki- loki is on good terms with them, him and thor come visit every once and a while, thank u thank u)
A/N: Tell me what you think! Send me a message if you want to be in the taglist and thank youu! Happy readingg
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1945, New York.
You are walking, where? You don’t know, you don’t recognise half of the things you pass. People are dressed differently than you, looking down at your gown, it was muddy and damaged, your hair was out of place and your bare feet cannot handle any more of the wet mud you’ve been walking on, it was raining, heavy. You find a house with the lights turned on and walked towards it. Your mind was spiralling with thoughts, unsure of what happened or where you’ve been before, you knock on the door once, tears start to dwell in your eyes, you can’t deny how terrified and confused you are. Knocking again on the door, you were greeted by a woman, a shotgun in her hand earning a gasp from you.
“Who are you and what are you doing on my porch?!” She had the gun aimed directly towards you, as soon as she noticed your tears she put down the gun, scanning you from head to toe, a frown appearing on her face as she noticed the ripped and muddied clothes before pulling you in and looking around outside the house, trying to find any sign of danger. You stood behind her, mouth dry, your brain can’t even comprehend the situation you are in, you are trying so hard to remember but all you get is headache.
“Darling, are you safe?” She locked the door before turning to look at you, concern visible in her face and you only shrug, words won’t come out, almost like you have forgotten how to think or use them. She walked to the living room behind you, telling you to follow her as she grabbed a blanket to wrap around you. “What is your name?” She asks, quietly. You look up at her, trying to remember, your eyes moving around and closing them as if you will remember, but nothing comes to mind. Growing frustrated a sob escapes and your body shakes, she frowns and sits down on the couch in front of you. “Have a seat, sweet heart.” She said in a soothing voice, you sit down and violently wipe your tears before looking down at your hands resting on your knees. 
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you.” You hear yourself say, although it came out through your gasps and broken sobs. She shook her head and leaned forward. “Nonsense, as long as you’re here, you are safe. No one is going to hurt you” She rested a hand on your knee, leaning her head down to look at your face. 
But that is the thing, you don’t even know if there is anyone or or anything, you can’t remember where you were or how you got here, your eyes locked to the woman in front of you and you nod. “I don’t remember anything” Thats the only thing you are sure of, you don’t remember. 
“Parents? Family? Friends? Anyone I can call?” She asks slowly and you shake your head. “I don’t remember anything, I swear.” Your body begins to shake again and she tightens the blanket around you, trying to give you some form of security. “That’s alright, we will figure this out.” She smiles softly. “I’m Linda, Linda Johnson.” She sits back and watches you, unsure of how to handle your situation. You nod. “I’m-“ You want to say, want to know your name, but your mind won’t cooperate with you whatsoever, your tears appearing again and you sigh. “I don’t know.” You say and look up at her, a frown printed on your face. 
She was wearing a plain white shirt and jeans, her hair was orange and she appeared to be younger than you could imagine. She tried to have a conversation with you, talking about her past in simple details, she used to work with the Armed forces. “You don’t look like you live here.”she said then told you that you are currently in New York in the united states, she is about 28 years old, lives alone ever since she left her job. You wanted to interact with her and tell about yourself but your mind won’t budge one bit. 
“I will send papers about you, maybe a family or a friend will recognise you and call. We will check up with a doctor tomorrow to see if there is any thing they can do” She reassured you, all you can simply do is nod and thank her. 
1947, New York.
It has been two years since you found yourself in New York, you’ve gotten used to the way things work around here. Living with Linda was making everything easier for you, everyday you learnt something new from her. A couple of months into your first interaction, she decided to give you a name. 
“You’re not going to be cramped up in this house all day long, you can help me and I can help you,” She started, “It has been 3 months since I put the posters up about you, but we have to see every outcome.” She was starting to worry, she wondered if you even had a family around here. “How does y/n sound?” She said and you smiled wide at her. “I love it” You say and repeat the name, it was simple and easy to remember.
After a year or so, you started to have a life here, you also learnt the reason why Linda left her job, she talked about how a scientist named Abraham Erskine tested a chemical on her, she felt unsafe and had to leave. 
“There was no effect, I didn’t feel a thing, he called it the super-soldier serum, I was there to help when he first started working on it. Which is why he tested on me, when nothing happened to me he realised that the serum needed more development, but I couldn’t risk my life for some bullshitted serum” She says as she lights her cigarette and you nod. “So you’re still the same? No effects?” You ask, stirring a cup of tea in your hand and she shakes her head. “Oh no, honey, I had some reaction, my wounds heal faster and I look like im 20 when I’m actually 47, I can run fast, the super strength ingredient was apparently the only thing missing, but I had to get out or else he would’ve kept testing and trying.” You nod again and take a sip from your cup. 
“For all we know I might live past the normal human age” she chuckled and you smile. You wonder how old you are, the doctors who checked up on you all gave you the same answer. “Our machines are not that upgraded and we could only assume that you are in your twenties.” They were all amazed at how your cells regenerate quickly and how immune you are to diseases despite not knowing what a vaccine is. 
Your days always passed quickly with nothing to do but help Linda in her house, you found a new passion towards gardening and reading, you spent your free time reading every book Linda had and sometimes you’d go to the library and read the books there, you enjoyed norse mythology the most and absorbed every knowledge you could have cramped up inside your mind. 
Back in Asgard.
Loki spent the last two year, alone. Yes, he had his brother and his friends, but no one was able fill the gap that you left. He wondered if he ever treated you wrong for you to leave so easily, without a goodbye or a letter, his thoughts taking over him. He mostly spent his awakening hours in the library, sometimes in the garden under your favourite tree, hoping maybe one day you will return with an explanation. 
“Still waiting, brother?” Thor said, looking down at Loki who was sitting under that wretched tree he loved dearly. 
“That is none of your concern, Thor.” He replied as he flipped the page of the book he pretended to be reading, Thor knew him more than anyone, he was the only one who was able to see through his lies ever since you left. 
“She will return, don’t fret, Loki. Everyone was envious of the love you two had for eac-“ 
“I would rather not talk about her, thank you very much.” He shut his book and looked up at his brother. Thor only chuckled and sat down next to him, anger started to coarse through Lokis veins, How dare he sit where my beloved sat before him!
“Father is as distraught as you are, you know.” Thor looked at him with amusement in his eyes, trying to calm his brother down. “She was the only one keeping you from causing all this trouble!” This time, Thor laughed and Loki looked away. “Father loves to pretend, Thor, you should know this by now.” He crossed his arm and remembered the last time Odin mentioned her.
“She forced heimdall to open the Bifront, Loki, she succeeded at treason. I would not want a criminal roaming this castle or this realm.” Odin told him calmly, Loki was drowning in his own guilt and pain that he was unable to see the lie presented in front of him.
“This is her home! What will happen of her if she is denied of returning to her own realm!” Loki protested, taking a step closer to Odin. 
“I will not command Heimdall to bring her back, she may have left on her own accord but she will not return so easily! This is final.” His father stood up, his staff slamming down on the floor, Loki fought the anger and tears from appearing and left without another word. 
Odin watched as Loki left and whispered. “One day you will understand.” 
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logan-is-noggin · 3 years
Text
Anxious Beauty part 2
word count: 2566
warning: play fighting
the years passed and the three fairies raised Prince Virgil, who they affectionately nicknamed storm cloud, or just cloud for short, in an unassuming cottage in the nearby forest.
Now that the Prince was four, on cool nights like tonight, they left the tots bedroom window open to allow the sweet smell of the peach trees that grew outside to flow inside.
Logan's faithful raven companion croft, landed on a branch outside the open window. When his master had no use of him. Croft often found himself observing the object Logan seemed so fascinated by. But tonight he had a mission to finish. The bird hopped to the windowsill and peered inside.
Cloud rolled over in his crib and blinked his eyes open, hearing the creaking nearby. When he saw his bird friend he shaking stood on his bed and reached for him. But croft flew inside, in a loop, dropping what he carried in his beak before flying out the window and away.
Cloud looked down and saw what the bird had left. A dark old fashion key. In the handle was a purple jewel in the shape of a heart.
The next morning when Patton saw Virgil with the key, he was puzzled. He didn't recall the king giving it to his son when they departed, the others also denied giving it to the Prince. Patton reached to take it away, but once he did, the toddler let out a loud wail. Patton quickly gave it back. " okay, you can keep it." Since that day, cloud always had the key with him or else he was very upset. As he grew up he played in the woods like any child. For a time, the curse was forgotten.
"okay Roman that's all for tonight, it's getting late kiddo."
He took the bowl from the Prince and set it in the sink, he would wash it in the morning. "You can't stop there padre, I haven't even burst onto the scene yet."
"He can continue the story tomorrow Roman, we're filming with Thomas tomorrow remember? We each need to be rested for our performance, we don't need you yawning while the cameras on." Logan chided as he walked up to his room.
The next day every could see how impatient Roman was being, he groaned any time anyone messed up their lines, which made Virgil start messing up on purpose.
That night at dinner Roman are twice as fast as usual when Patton placed the dishes in the sink Logan sighed as said " I can clean up tonight Patton." Roman smiled and practically yanked Patton out of the kitchen "thanks teach!" He called.
Roman sat cross legged as Patton stood before him.
"Alright let me remember where we were..."
Twelve years passed and cloud grew into a fine young man. That morning the three seemed to be trying to get him out of the house. " why don't you go play outside, maybe go for a swim? It's a lovely warm day out." Patton encouraged. Cloud nodded as he slipped on his gray vest over his white long sleeve shirt. Leaving the top button undone. Cloud opened the Dutch door of the cottage and waved goodbye to the three. " have fun. Don't go too far, but don't come back too quickly.." The three called out over each other. Cloud stood his head as he walked off. He could tell when they were trying to hide something. And the lad was always kind enough to play along with their surprises.
The forest was empty today, only filled with the sounds of the forest animals, it was alright, Virgil had perfected how to entertain himself.
Cloud walked between trees swinging himself forward to grab the next trunk. Walking across a fallen tree with his arms out to steady himself. He unlocked his boots and walked through the river, he scooped up a smooth stone and tossed it, the rock skipping thrice before sinking to the bottom. He picked up a stick and swung it around, pretending to fight an invisible foe. His parents often were over cautious when it came to raising him, not letting him eat fruit right off the tree near his home, though he sneaked berries from bushes when he was in the woods. Only remus let him get away with things the others found dangerous, like fighting. " come on you two! He's gonna have to learn to fight eventually if he's going to be king." Remus whispered one afternoon. So they relented and let Virgil have supervised battles with remus.
Not paying attention as he swung his stick-sword, cloud had begun to sing.
" I heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord, but you don't really care for music do ya?
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift, the baffled king composing hallelujah"
Prince Roman and his hunting party were riding back after an uneventful morning, he could tell his mare rose was thirsty having not been watered since they left so he told the rest to go on without him as he slowly rode into the woods. The canopy from the treetops immediately cooled Roman from the sun. Once his eyes adjusted he led rose to the small pond they often visited when he first got her.
As she drank Roman sat on a stone to rest himself, he refilled his canteen and took a sip when he heard a noise. He shot up, hand on his sheathed sword just in case of danger. After listening he realized the sound was singing. Even from this distance Roman was spellbound. He had never heard a sweeter tenor in his life.
" hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
he took hold of his horses bridle and walked towards the noise of the voice. He found boy alone through the trees in the clearing. He held a stick and looked like he was fencing something Roman could not see. Roman smirked and found his own falls. Branch, not wanting to scare the boy away by using his real sword.
(Vpov)
Suddenly someone burst out of the trees and stood three feet away. He called to challenge him. Usually cloud would run from the stranger but seeing that he also wielded a stick let him know he was also playing.
The two slowly circled each other, Virgil tried to remember Remus's lecture on strategies but he almost always tangent off into talking about wounds. So he decided to try and copy the man. When he advanced, Virgil tried to stay swords distance away. When He swung Virgil brought his up and they hit with a deafening whack. Virgil did the same but his opponent ducked before it could make contact. More jabs were taken and all too soon cloud was backed against a tree with the "sword" to his throat.
" Not much for training, but a decent fight anyhow." He said as he tossed his stick to the side.
" well, my um, parents don't like me fighting a lot. They're worried I could get hurt." Cloud mumbled.
Roman waved him off " nonsense. Every man should learn the art of dueling, if the need arose to save a bachelor or damsel in distress." He said proudly.
" ill make note of that."
" how rude of me. My name is Roman." He said as he brushed back his red cape.
Virgil mildly panicked at what to do. He wasn't sure if it was right to tell his name to a stranger.
" you can call me cloud. It's what my parents call me."
" intriguing." A high shinny made Virgil flinch. Roman saw his fear and placed a hand on his shoulder. " fear not. That is just rose. I almost forgot I left her in the brushes." He whistled with two gloved fingers in his mouth and suddenly a white mare with a rose gold mane leapt through the opening and trotted to her owners side. " this is my rose. The best and most beautiful mare in the entire kingdom, in my humble opinion."
"Very humble.." Cloud teased. Roman rolled his eyes. " would you like to go for a ride?" He said, holding his hand out. Cloud glanced around wondering what Patton would say if he were here. He had never ridden a horse before. " I guess so." Roman quickly mounted then reached down to help cloud onto the space behind him. " I'm not gonna fall am I?"
" just hold onto me. Ill keep you safe."
First they walked down the path, Roman making sure Virgil was feeling secure before he clicked at the horse who sped up galloping throughout the trees. Roman laughed as clouds grip around his waist tightened. She slowed to a stop at the edge of the forest in a clearing. They both dismounted and cloud wrapped his arms around him. " I suppose ill think twice about riding a strangers horse." Roman laughed again. They walked a ways until they reached a spot cloud knew well. A tree had fallen years ago but continued to grew horizontally, making the perfect sitting spot. They rested as they watched their surroundings.
" ave you ever watched the sunrise from here cloud? That is truly a magical experience."
" no, but I have a fair view from my home. We can see the village and the castle well."
Roman hopped down and tugged cloud along with him. " what are we doing now?"
" since your fighting skills are pretty dismal, I assume you don't know how to dance either. So I'm going to teach you."
Cloud rolled his eyes but took Romans hand anyway. He pulled the young man close, their chests almost touching. Romans left hand rested around his side and clasped his right hand with his own. Suddenly they seemed to be sucked up into a whirlwind. Half the time, cloud tried to mirror Romans expert steps as they turned in time. The other half he couldn't stop staring into Romans eyes. Could this be what love felt like?
They continued twirling around the forest to their silent symphony until they were both out of breath. They slowed to a stop and their hands fell to their sides but still connected.
" you're quite light on your feet cloud. A plus to both dancing a dueling. But practice makes perfect."
Cloud was still in a daze that he couldn't come up with a snarky comment. " I need to return to my father in town. But may I visit you again, possibly tomorrow?"
Cloud shook himself free " of course. My cottage is close to the field where we met. You can meet my parents."
Roman bent and kissed both of his hands. " I will spend every moment missing you until then, my cloud."
Cloud watched as Roman mounted his horse, after opting out of a ride home, he still wasn't used to riding. And stood there until he disappeared into the trees.
Cloud returned home, he stopped at the door, hearing whispers and shushing from the other side. He wondered what his three guardians had been up to in his absence. He pushed open the Dutch doors calling to the quiet house.
" hey guys I'm home. I-" he paused as he closed the door. Something was different. Laying spread out on a chair was a very fancy looking outfit. It was a pair of black trousers, a purple vest and white shirt. Hanging behind it was a deep purple cape with black stitching around the borders.
Next to it was a small cake, he could tell it was BlackBerry- his favorite.
Cloud jumped back as the three fairies all yelled surprise from their place in the kitchen. They came forward to embrace the boy. Cloud had completely forgotten about his birthday. " what have you done?" He said happily appraising the material of the clothes. Certainly the fabric was not cheap.
" it's your sixteenth birthday and we knew we needed to do something extra special." Janus said.
Patton smiled sadly as he pulled out a second chair to have him sit. " Cloud- I mean Virgil, we also did all this because there's something we need to tell you."
Now he was concerned. They usually didn't call him Virgil unless it was very serious. " alright, what is it?"
" well kiddo, what I'm about to say may come as a surprise. It's not the kind of thing one hears every day, and I suppose we should have told you a bit sooner but we wanted..."
" YOU'RE A PRINCE!" Remus blurted out from behind them. The other two whipped their heads to glare at him.
" crashed that carriage, didn't we Remus?" Janus said
" blue was rambling. Better to just rip it off like a wound dressing!" Everyone including Virgil groaned at that imagery.
" wait, so I'm a Prince." He said as if testing the words on his lips.
" yes. You are the only son and heir of his majesty, king Thomas. I know this is all a lot to take in."
Virgil looked back to the outfit. It's grand appearance suddenly making sense. He shook his head laughing to himself " I wonder how he'll take that News"
"Wonder how who'll take that news?" The fairies all asked.
Virgil rubbed the back of his neck." Oh, well, a man happened through the forest where I was, I was practicing my fighting, but only with a stick. He jumps out of the bushes and wants to duel. But he was just playing" now Virgil was rambling trying to push his innocence.
"What else did you do?" Patton asked cautiously.
" He took me on a ride through the woods on his horse, we talked a lot. He also taught me to dance. We spun so much that I'm still a little dizzy" he said with a smile. " he's coming back tomorrow."
Patton recognized the look Virgil had. He had definitely fallen in love with him. Which would make this next part of the conversation harder.
" Virgil..Unfortunately we won't be here after today. We promised to we would bring you back to the castle tonight."
Virgil was upset. " are you sure we couldn't wait until tomorrow so I could explain to him. I'm sure he mind me being a Prince." Janus stepped forward " son, I'm afraid that's not possible. you see A part of being a Prince is that when you were born, you were also betrothed to another Prince from an allied kingdom, Prince-"
Now Virgil was mad " I don't care what his name is. How could anyone force or even expect anyone, let alone a Prince to marry someone they've never met!"
Remus lightly placed his hand on his arm " now cloud-"
Virgil shook him off. " no! You don't get to call me that anymore. You keep this information from me my whole life. Then expect me to be okay with this. I don't know the first thing about being a Prince. I don't want to go." Tears streamed down his cheeks as he fled from the room. Patton Janus and Remus stood around wondering what to do to help their Prince.
PART 3:
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reithel1 · 3 years
Text
Lucifer: Revelations (Outline for a Movie)
OR
Lucifer: Season 6.66
(How I Would Have Written Season 6):
I Love the actors, the characters and have deep appreciation for everyone in front of and behind the cameras… the story had quite a few good things… but parts were missing, some were confusing and some parts that were just plain mean… you naughty writers!
Lucifer Season Six was a disappointment to a lot of people. I swear, if I hear one more person say “bittersweet” I’m going to kick someone right in their dark chocolate.
It wasn’t “bittersweet” … much of the Chloe-and-Lucifer story was just bitter, period. (Also, a lot of folks are appalled at the way Trixie was snubbed…)
First, it’s obvious that none of your writers are old enough to understand the pain they are trying to write about…
They say, “it’s ok because they know Lucifer and Chloe will have eternity together”… This is something that a younger person would write… someone who has never had to live for several decades without that one person… the love of her life, raise his child alone… missing those milestones… first steps, first giggles, birthdays and holidays… it’s even worse, much worse, if he is somewhere else missing them too and she has to feel his pain too. And that is just HUMAN suffering.
Compound that with knowing your loved one is in a place where a month of your pain is a thousand years of torture for him, and it becomes unfathomable.
I have done the human part and wouldn’t even wish that pain on a fictional character.
That Time Travel nonsense just doesn’t work if it means that Lucifer has to sacrifice everything he has worked through, trying to so hard to come to grips with his own daddy issues. There is NO WAY that he would agree to walk away from his own child after all of that. NO WAY that he becomes a deadbeat Daddy.
So, I learned a new word… RETCON… it means “Retroactive Continuity”… something can be changed so that things that come after it can also be changed…
This can be corrected if it is shown that parts of the sixth season were just old, sick Chloe’s dementia, bad dreams, an injury or an illness-driven hallucination...
For one thing, once Rory returned to Chloe’s deathbed, couldn’t she have EASILY just sent up a prayer to Uncle Amenadiel aka GOD, and said, “I know the truth now, please tell Dad it’s time to come home, Mom needs him... it’s time!” and Lucifer could have been there within seconds! So the final scenes of Chloe dying without him don’t make any sense. Amenadiel not taking Chloe to see her Dad and Mom in heaven before heading to Hell also doesn’t make any sense… if she lived to be old, Penelope would have joined John by then.
So, I present: LUCIFER: REVELATIONS OR SEASON 6.66:
NEW GOD: I would change the plot so that Lucifer initially ascends the throne, attempts being God, (people AND angels died for him to become God, you know), he discovers what a hard job it really is, (remember when he said he hated the cacophony of voices in his head? How hard would it be for him to have to deal with 7.79 billion people praying to him in different languages, almost all at once, and see how he handled THAT!), then discovers Chloe is pregnant and THEN figures out that he doesn’t want the God job... How hard would it be for him when he’s God to constantly hear what she is thinking and have to turn a “deaf ear” to it? Not comment on it out of respect for her... adjust to letting her have some kind of privacy? After awhile, Lucifer begins to take more and more time away from his God duties, as if pretending he’s deaf and turning off his “hearing aid.”
NO GOD: On a celestial level, the other angels get frustrated because Dad has vacated the throne, Michael was gone (being punished in Hell) and Lucifer is gone frequently because he wants to step down — spend more time with Chloe as she nears her due date, then with the baby and Trixie, settling in to being an “earthly” Dad, and sort of neglecting his “Father of the Universe” duties… and Amenadiel doesn’t want it either... New rumbling began regarding who should rule... Since earth is once again basically without a God, things begin to descend into chaos, both on the earthly plane and in Heaven...
MICHAEL: Lucifer’s counsel helps Michael understand that the same parental issues that caused him to be rebellious and mischievous has caused Michael to be resentful and devious… This revelation helps them both, Lucifer forgives Michael and after awhile, Michael finally forgives himself for being a dickhead, and finally self-actualizes his wings back. Michael returns to the Silver City, and is happily reunited with all his siblings who are pleased that he has found his way... but soon, he feels the tension of the empty throne, he considers trying to claim it, but he is a different angel now, feels that it is no longer his destiny or his desire to rule... he feels unfulfilled in Heaven and returns to Hell to help Lucifer with his giant new task of helping lost souls find their own way out.
Lucifer is surprised and very pleased to be working wing-to-wing with his brother and it helps lighten his work load, but is dismayed to hear of the unrest in Heaven and the disintegration of things on earth. Since Michael has made such a transformation, while Lucifer was still God, he fixes Michael’s wing and shoulder, removes his scar and makes him beautiful again, with shimmering gold wings. Now he’s just as lovely as Lucifer and has no further reason for jealousy.
AMENADIEL: I wanted to see Amenadiel in a situation where he saved that racist boss by stepping in front of him and deflecting a bullet… the same black guy he has been so horrid to has now saved him… Amenadiel could have a few choice words for him, maybe pulls his shirt open and show him there is no bulletproof vest… right before leaving to go back to the Silver City.
NEW REBELLION: Near the end of the Movie: Wouldn't it be great if Lucifer and Michael could return to Heaven for a battle scene and fight together with Amenadiel against a new rebellion led by someone other than Lucifer or Michael? Now Lucifer is finding out how his father felt when Lucifer rebelled against Him all those many years ago! Surprised? Betrayed? Angry? Hurt? (Maybe it could even be Rory or some as-yet unborn angel child that starts this rebellion against him... but this time, it’s not because he wasn’t a good Dad, but because he is not being a good God in their eyes.)
They would find a way to make their brothers and sisters stand down by stopping the rebellion by a show of wit and power but not fighting... maybe just as the battle is about to begin, Lucifer (who is still God at this point) slices a veil of clouds with the flaming sword, showing a brilliant white and diamond view of a Heavenly Host of souls, millions of them... (CGI) all the good souls who have agreed, plus all the souls that he has saved from Hell and ascended to Heaven who have vowed never to serve any angel who takes the throne by force... (this scene would be great close to the end of the movie for a chance to see everyone one last time as they all stand together in the clouds in support of Lucifer), and can include any/all main characters that have recently deceased — if any — Ella, Maze, Eve, Linda, Trixie... previous characters: John and Penelope Decker, Dan and Charlotte, Father Kinley/Dromos and Squee, Delilah, Jimmy Barnes, Father Frank, Candy Morningstar, Reese, Cain, Abel and LeMec and Mr Said Out Bitch and any angels like RayRay, Zadkiel, Sara, Gabriel, and any other fan favorites from the past that we’d recognize, anyone who is available and willing to do it for the right price), and it is an amazing, breathtaking sight to behold... and with Chloe, Michael, and Amenadiel by his side, Lucifer says, “What would be the point of sitting on a throne in an empty kingdom where the only ones to bend a knee will be a few of your own brothers and sisters?”
This has paved the way for the New God...
(Note: For a couple of seconds each, show a view of the couch back home in Hell’s Therapy Office: Julian and his dad Mr. Tiernan are waiting for their session, squabbling. In another room, Malcom is sitting in a lumpy chair in front of a big screen TV that doesn’t work, with a table of food looks beautiful but has no taste or smell, and a glance into another room with Pete surrounded by lilies, listening to angry women — Ella’s voice and his mother’s — screaming at him 24/7. He and Malcom are both staring at a sign above a Red Light that isn’t lit... “Come to Therapy Office when Lit”)
NEW GOD/OG GOD: The three brothers calmed the rebellion, but they still have an empty throne that none of them really want to ascend to... Lucifer is still technically God, and Michael and Amenadiel try to convince Lucifer that he should resume his duties but Lucifer and Michael are now humble enough to know that it is not their calling... their work in Hell needs them.
Big fanfare! Dad comes back, and Lucifer gladly returns the family business back to its rightful owner... ALL of Lucifer’s lessons are NOW FINALLY completed, FINALLY he has a whole new understanding of how tough God’s job was, he has a whole new appreciation and respect for his Dad and the two of them can finally have the relationship they have always needed and Lucifer has always craved and Lucifer will finally have the chance to have a real family with his Dad and Mum, since they worked out their shit in her dimension, (He’s GOD for Heaven’s sake, you damn well know He can travel between dimensions if He wants to, and I’m sure Goddess is equally powerful and can come and go as She pleases too... gimme a break!
PS: Uriel and Remi can make an appearance too, because I am quite sure Dad is very capable of snatching his children’s souls out of their bodies, or creating replicas or holograms or whatever… removing them from harm’s way just in the nick of time, or giving them new bodies up in the Silver City. He IS God!)
God tells Lucifer he saw him at the Colosseum and was practicing blinking his eyes at the end (we saw three quick black outs at the end of season five while Lucifer held up the flaming sword and said, “Oh my Me”... figured it must’ve been God blinking, but it wasn’t mentioned again).
The three brothers now understand the pecking order, Amenadiel is second in command and has his ability to slow time plus almost as many powers as God (but not quite all the “omni’s”), and Lucifer and Michael are 2nd and 3rd in line, having slightly less powers than Amenadiel but more than the other angels, are happy to facilitate the transformation of Hell while helping out in Heaven whenever called upon to do so — those rare times when God, Goddess and Amenadiel are absent, need extra help or errands run somewhere in the world. Lucifer is still the Lightbringer but that is about all that stands him apart from Michael at that point, as they stand together as matching archangels.
And maybe in the end, the seven of them, (Dad, Mum, Amenadiel, Linda, Lucifer and Chloe and Michael) all working together to make earth and hell better places, and raise Charlie, Trixie and Rory and any future angel babies to be the next generation so that Grandpa and Grandma, Moms, Dads and Uncles can actually take a Vacay once in awhile and visit Mum’s dimension... or... Boca maybe? French Riviera? And Michael helps cover the workload in Hell’s Therapy Office, while Lucifer is away.
LINDA: Speaking of Linda, Linda and Amenadiel should realize eventually that they miss each other and really do love each other. In my story, Dad returns and takes his throne back so that would give Amenadiel and Linda plenty of time to fall back in love, especially now that Maze has married and no longer has a reason to be jealous of them. God and Goddess may retire eventually, or at least lighten their load in this dimension so they can work part time in Goddess’s dimension, so it would be nice if Amenadiel wasn’t going to be alone for eternity since he will obviously be second in command, and in charge, when God and Goddess are busy elsewhere. Plus, there’s Charlie and maybe future angel babies???
DAN: I would have shown Lucifer spending more time with Dan but getting frustrated with him like he always did, (and like he did with Mr. SOB), until he finally takes Dan through a rewind of every important scene of the last days of his life, in reverse, to see why he was feeling guilty... he would have landed on Trixie and their game of unicorn armies soon enough. (And by the way... how is it that Lucifer instantly knew the source of Lee��s guilt, and the Professor’s, and apparently everyone else’s in hell, but couldn’t figure out what Dan was feeling guilty about???) The way Dan ended up in Heaven with Charlotte, waffles and chocolate pudding cups was pretty perfect. I wouldn’t change that.
They didn’t need the whole time travel bullshit to pull it off... and it would have made a much better story without it.
MAZE and EVE: Maze and Eve was pretty good... in a movie, we could see more of their daily life, find out if they have a dungeon in their basement... you know, for Saturday night orgies... (or for some quick, fun torture before turning in their bounty catches)... find out if they ever decided to raise a kid together... maybe Trixie went to stay with them when she turned 18?
Plot twist! Maybe something happens to Trixie and Maze sacrifices herself to save her and dies... ends up in Heaven after all. (See below.)
ADAM: I thought the guy they cast for Adam was an odd choice... Eve looked like she came from that region, but he didn’t look like someone who supplied a rib to make her... all things being equal and taking DNA into consideration.... He should have looked more like her.... But oh well, not my place.... Anyway... maybe God can park Adam in Mum’s new universe and see if She can “pull” something better out of him, LoL. Hopefully his first two sons in Her dimension won’t set us all up to be potential homicidal maniacs.
ELLA: Ella and Carol seemed to be getting along ok, we could find out if she finally found a good guy... or does she like tequila too much to stick with him? Does he backslide into drinking and become violent with her? Does she have to defend herself with the taser she keeps on her key ring these days?
LOL. Anyway, there should be a scene where RayRay comes for a visit... maybe two scenes... one where she stops by to say hello right when Ella finds out that celestials are real and then again at the moment of her death. And Ella should feel welcomed and comforted by her friend RayRay in that moment... which could be something violent and dramatic (and very poignant) if it happens when she’s young... like a shooter in the police station or something.
Then she could see Amenadiel and Lucifer when they welcome her into Heaven. After Michael redeems himself, he and Ella might be a great pair in Heaven... she’s always been attracted to bad boys, and Michael, being an ex-bad boy, might be just what she needs... and her heavenly brightness, might be just what he needs! Michael needs somebody to love him and give him the balance that Chloe gives Lucifer. Yes... perfect... and then Michael would also have his eternal mate. Michael could even fly her down to Hell at some point to peek in on Pete… just for shits and giggles.
One final note about Ella... once God returns, now that Ella knows the truth... she will demand a wedding. We all know Ella wouldn’t let Chloe’s baby be born without Chloe being married to the baby daddy... even if he is an angel... and even if the officiant is God... she would want the pomp and circumstance and the flourish for Chloe and for all their friends. (Because their police friends don’t know that Lucifer is an Angel and God-frey is GOD and Lucifer’s brother/aka Officer Amenadiel is an Angel...) she would want to put on the whole shindig as much for them as the for the happy couple! (The fans want it too!) And woweee what a wedding night!
TRIXIE: I would have shown a few short clips and bits or a montage of Trixie as she reached adulthood… not only milestones like getting driver’s license and a not-catholic-Chloe giving her the keys then crossing herself… first kiss, cap and gown pic of high school graduation, but also brief scenes of her holding pic of Dan crying… maybe even looking at her mom’s gun… sitting on Linda’s couch…
Maybe Trixie follows in the family tradition and joins the LAPD when she’s old enough... Pete has been in a mental institution but has conned everyone that he’s sane and is out now… Trixie is in the precinct when Pete shows up bearing a grudge and a semi-automatic pistol… Maze and Eve are there with their latest bounty, Ella is there with some evidence on a case, and is scared when she sees him… Pete shoots at Ella, but Maze jumps him, takes the bullet, starts fighting… Pete isn’t great with a gun (and he’s still crazy) so he misses Ella, but he keeps shooting… then RayRay shows up, tells Ella not to worry, to close her eyes, everything will be fine,(nobody else can see her of course)… Maze ends up saving Trixie and Eve and several other people in the office with her ninja skills, but during the scuffle, one of the bullets hits Ella and several others are deflected, but Maze takes two more hits that would have killed Trixie and Eve and a couple of other officers receive non-life-threatening GSWs. Maze is a tough cookie, but even she can’t survive being shot three times at close range… and RayRay makes sure Ella feels no fear or pain as she transcends then goes back for Maze who survives a little longer. Long enough for a tearful, heartfelt goodbye to Eve... maybe she sings a few bars of Wonderwall? Eve, who, being 13 billion years old herself, may follow her to Heaven with a broken heart (or an aneurism or a ruptured appendix) soon after. Who knows. She’s never been sick before... will she know what to do if she feels a pain in her right side?
Ooooo! I just added this:
As she is dying, Maze thinks Eve’s wound is superficial, (but is it?), and tells Eve she thinks she is “Done, ‘over-and-out” and probably headed for Squee’s chamber of torture in Hell since she’s not sure Lucifer ever finished making the changes regarding who could rule…
After RayRay drops off Ella in Heaven she returns to the precinct massacre… Maze thinks she’s there to take Eve and begs RayRay to let Eve live… To keep us guessing, the scene changes…. SO, did RayRay take only Eve back to Heaven? Or put one under each arm and fly away? Did she take one to Heaven and one to Hell? Stay tuned…
Trixie was saved by Maze’s sacrifice and ultimately becomes a Detective like her mom and dies heroically, in the line, years later, after marrying and giving Chloe and Lucifer a couple of grandchildren to dote over. Happy reunion scene in Heaven with Dad-Dan and Grandma Penelope Decker, meets Grandpa John Decker. Maybe it could do a quick view of the person Trixie gave her life to save who goes on to become a doctor and find a cure for a disease. Framed on the doctor’s desk is a newspaper clipping of a headline, “Ninja Cop Saves Kid” subheading “Officer Subdued Three Suspects Using Karambit, Freed Hostage Before Being Shot”
LINDA: It doesn’t have to be Rory that helps Lucifer figure out that he’s supposed to be a therapist is Hell... LINDA could be the one to point out to Lucifer that he offered Lee, (Mr. Said Out Bitch), some excellent advice, the same way she’s been offering Lucifer advice for the past five years, only Lee actually took that advice (unlike Lucifer who usually skews or screws up her advice)... And that’s why Lee was there in heaven to help him when he crash-landed... “And hey... wouldn’t it be wonderful if someone could give that kind of advice to other souls down in Hell? Because until the moment that YOU TOOK THE TIME to explain it to Lee, NOBODY DOWN THERE KNEW what was causing their hell loops or that they had ANY CHANCE or ANY METHOD of escaping them! Maybe they just needed somebody to give them that clue. What do you think Lucifer? Do you know anybody who might be UNIQUELY QUALIFIED for that job?” — you see??? No need for a friggin' time travel plot device... no need to torture Lucifer, who has already spent billions of years in hell, by taking him away from the love of life and his child for billions more years!
I could also see Lucifer having a standing weekly appointment with Linda both while still living and in Heaven after she passes, to discuss his most difficult cases and get her take on them and opinions on what he should say, which he will get right sometimes and spectacularly fuck up other times!
Linda loves her role as therapist to the celestial world, and her man is God and Goddess’s 2nd in Command now, her son is an angel... she is set for eternity! The doctor is IN!
CHARLIE, RORY, OTHER ANGEL BABIES: After Amenadiel and Linda come to their senses and finally commit to being together, they should have a set of twins, possibly more babies later. Lucifer and Chloe should have at least one more. Angel babies are smart… half humans start normal… get their wings around the time they are potty trained. Linda and Chloe provide discipline, human education… empathy, sympathy, joy, and as much human history as possible. The children would be extremely smart, could skate through school jumping grades… so being home-schooled seems more logical. Controlling excitable, hyperactive children who can fly will prove quite challenging for the human parents, but the angel Daddies are thrilled with their role… teaching them to fly, schooling them about celestial business… Also, they could grow in stature faster than normal human children. They would look grown up by the age of five, but would still be as immature as children and need their mothers to guide their emotional maturity to catch up to their rapid growth.
DECKERSTAR: In my story, we get to see Lucifer and Chloe happy together, raising Trixie and Rory... Chloe always trying to keep her devilish side in check while Daddy's always having fun. Rory has him wrapped around her pinky and he is a doting daddy. She’s a handful, brilliant in school.... Sometimes a little “spirited” and that gets her in trouble.
She gets bullied at school, she says, “back off Billy, you got no idea who my daddy is! Remember the girl that bullied Trixie?
I can picture her first date... Lucifer says, “have her home by 9:30 OR ELSE” and flashes his red eyes...
The first time a date gets fresh with her and she says, “No means NO!” and tosses them out of the car!
Oh hell, watching Lucifer and Chloe raise Rory and Trixie and any other little angels that come along would be hilariously funny... could be it’s own spin off “Devil Daddy Knows Best” or Daddy Devil Knows Best... I can’t decide.
NUDITY: In a movie, we can see more of Lucifer in the nude, and have hotter sex scenes.... Not x-rated or anything, but we could get closer to R-rated... definitely expand on that orgy scene in “Orgy Pants to Work”!!! (Tom’s wife looks enough like Lauren that with the right lighting and camera angles, they could do a lot together using her as Lauren’s body double and with editing, we would never know which was which!!!). And maybe he’d actually KISS HER.
Sure, the whole “Chloe growing older while Lucifer stays young” plot thing is a pain in the ass... for some of the years, he could dye his hair greyer to match hers until it was white, even though his face wouldn’t have aged.... People see what they want to see... but it would have been a lot more heart-wrenching to have a scene where an older-looking Chloe calls a family meeting and asks the children to please understand that society just won’t handle the truth, and they must fake Lucifer’s death so that they can start a new life someplace else where nobody knows them... that means they won’t get to see him very much because he will have to live elsewhere and they can only go visit and have to pretend he’s dead. At least that way, Chloe can see him on weekends and vacations, and he can fly in for quick visits in the middle of the night when either of them get too lonely. They can set things up ahead of time for rendezvous.
At some point, she can retire from the LAPD and announce that she is moving to Florida or Vegas (some place where folks are used to seeing older women with younger men), or whatever, and she can be a cougar and he’s her pool boy? Massage therapist? Chef? (Could be a running joke.)
When she reaches a certain age, it could be a tear jerking scene if she asks him to leave her because she is embarrassed about her failing body, but would he? Why wouldn’t he just agree to allow her to lie to people and say he was living with her because he was her nephew or male nurse or something? Or simply say he was her caretaker… which wouldn’t be a lie… At that point, nobody would know them, and it’s nobody’s business anyway...
And he would definitely be by her bedside when she died, and so would Trixie and Maze and anyone else that was still alive, (if any... or did she outlive them all because she was stuck with the Tree of Life??? Nobody told us if that, and being able to conceive angel babies were the side effects of being stabbed with the Tree of Life...) and upon her death there would be a tender, tearful, “see you soon,” then RayRay would show up, she would transform into her younger self, and Lucifer would fly her to Heaven to see Amenadiel and her Dad, probably her mom by then, and any of their friends if any of them died first.
OR... DECKERSTAR 2nd OPTION:
We could dispense with the whole “she’s growing old and whatever shall we do???” problem, and just have Chloe die doing what she loves best.. protecting somebody in the line of duty. She could be approaching retirement... she and Lucifer could already be having the “I’m starting to look too old to be with you even though you’re dyeing your hair grey... what should we do?” conversation when one day, they are coming out of a fast food joint with the grandkids and bank robbers step out of the bank next door, she yells “LAPD!” they both step in front of the grandkids as she pulls her gun... RayRay shows up one second later… you see where I’m going with this right? Tearful goodbye scene… no rescue this time… Lilith’s ring is empty… this time, it is her human destiny.
After her death, Lucifer would carry her to Heaven to visit her dad and anyone who predeceased her, and then they would travel back and forth together where she would help him redeem souls part of the time in hell. Same outcome as Season 6.
Maybe, since she was a handmade gift from God (via Amenadiel) to start with, God will turn her into an angel and give her matching white luminescent wings so that she can stand beside Lucifer as an equal, and that way, they can also fly to earth now and then for vacations all over the world after all their friends and family members have crossed over (so nobody on earth freaks out from accidentally seeing them again, LoL, but if she outlived everybody anyway... problem solved.) Hey, He’s God, He can do anything, right? ;o)
Along those same lines, in special consideration for all the help and happiness they have brought to Amenadiel and later to Michael, I could also see God and Goddess granting wings and angel status to Linda and Ella so that they can be suitable mates for His sons for their eternity in Heaven, and able to enjoy all of the perks that go along with that… Maybe, if Chloe outlives them all and she is the last to arrive in Heaven, they could even have a little ceremony, where God and Goddess bestow wings and angel status on them all, including Maze and Eve, which might come as a HUGE surprise to Maze, who never dreamed she’s make it to Heaven to begin with.
They could keep the parts where Chloe and Amenadiel work toward cleaning up the LAPD… and we definitely need to hear Tom sing more… a lullaby to his baby… childhood songs when they’re older and of course, show him teaching them the piano and guitar… of course we must have full blown staged musical numbers… maybe have him sing softly to Chloe as she’s sleeping… and/or as she’s dying… it could be amazing. And I loved Bob the Drag Queen… Lux should bring the RuPaul Review and enjoy several of them… they put on a great show!
One more thing... we NEED a making-love scene with Lucifer holding Chloe in his arms while flying! Wings covering everything important, of course, but it is obvious what they’re doing! Joining the mile-high club! How about on the wedding night?!? Whooohooo!!!!! (If Chloe isn’t already pregnant when this wedding night flight happens, maybe this is when Rory is conceived???)
There’s enough there for a movie or about a dozen more episodes of the show... This is only an outline, but but I could write stories myself for some of these ideas… hell, they practically write themselves. Anyway, THAT’S how I would outline a Movie: Lucifer: Revelations… or Lucifer Season 6.66!!!
Now... let’s get busy and do it different this time (with no time travel nonsense and no sadistic torturing DECKERSTAR)! LOL
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spell-cleaver · 4 years
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“I have no fondness or love for Vader,” Luke admitted feeling the desire to avenge his parents, “I want him dead as much as you do.” (Luke Palps AU)
Ohhhh boy this is literally the second oldest prompt in my inbox, so sorry it took this long, but it was Important and I had big plans for it ;)
Warnings for Palps being an utter creep and also Sith alchemy magic being kinda weird and gross in general.
Previous parts on the masterpost here!
“I have no fondness or love for Vader,” Luke admitted, feeling the desire to avenge his parents, “I want him dead as much as you do.”
Hearing the voice activated the same fight or flight instinct he knew so well, and the lie and the emotions transmitted to support it had flown before he even gave it a thought, responding to what Palpatine had said. His brain whirled a mile a minute when he turned back around to behold the room, though, because... there was nothing here.
No Emperor. No bodies. No voices.
And yet a voice said, "I am certain of that, my son. You always were sensible in that way."
Luke unlocked his binders with the Force, freeing his hands and letting the cuffs clatter to the floor.
Nothing here... except...
While he watched, a stiff breeze blew through the room, disturbing the pile of ashes in the middle of it—no. That wasn't a breeze; breezes weren't laden with dark intent, they didn't crackle with the dark side and they didn't radiate malice in the way that this did. He didn't know what this was, but it wasn't a breeze, and he realised that even before...
It whipped the ashes into a frenzy, scattering them around the room; Luke coughed, fiercely, and spat; his saliva flecked the obsidian floor. The ashes swept back into the middle, into a pile, and then...
They moved.
"What?" Luke asked. It seemed to be his favourite word, today. "What is this?"
No answer came; he could see for himself. See for himself as the ashes rose to a pillar just above his head, then collapsed in on themselves to form a different shape, a more humanoid shape, a...
Luke stared into the ashes to see Palpatine's face staring back.
He screamed.
Backpedalled, running for the way he'd come in to collide with the shield, getting shocked all the way through and tossed back to collapse onto the floor. Palpatine followed him, his incorporeal form just... hovering as Luke stayed there on his backside, frozen, staring in terror and confusion, at— at—
"Impossible," he breathed.
"All is possible, my son," Palpatine said, "through the Force."
"You— you're alive?"
"No." His voice, not... disembodied anymore, but still separate, ringing around the room as a thing individual of the ashes, rang out with disdain. "I am dead. But my research and my studies have allowed me to linger, and soon they will allow me to return." He reached out a crooked, ashy finger to tap Luke's chin; Luke sneezed. Palpatine drew back, as if offended that he'd dared to disturb the drama of the moment. "But to do so, I need your help, child."
"No!" Luke scrambled to his feet; he clenched his fists, shaking. He tried to reach for the Force but it was far away, here, drenched in darkness, and it skittered out of his control. Peace was not something he could find. "No, I know what you mean by that—"
"What do you think I mean by that?" Palpatine sounded genuinely concerned—in a kindly manner, the way he'd always pretended to be, always taken pleasure in misleading him with, and then punishing him, crushing his hopes, the way he wanted to—
"You're going to crush my soul and take my body and my power for your own! I won't let you!" He scowled at him. "No, Father, you are dead and I am glad of it."
Palpatine's expression soured for a heartbeat, but then it was gone again and he continued, "Oh, I had no idea you hated me so fiercely, my son. Whatever I did to warrant such behaviour, I am sure—"
"I am sure," Luke gritted out, "that you enjoyed doing it. I won't let you do it anymore."
"Luke. You do not understand." His voice was back to chiding now, and Luke hated it. "I would not be crushing your soul, or whatever nonsense Lord Vader has fed you. Of course he would want to turn you against me; do you not see? I will do nothing of the sort."
"I don't believe you."
"Did you research this yourself? Or did Lord Vader generously offer to research it for you?"
Luke froze. How— Vader had, and Luke trusted him, but how could he explain—
Palpatine noticed his conflict. "Luke, I do not want to see you hurt. I have loathed the idea of leaving you alone in the galaxy, at his whim, to be paraded around like a puppet. This 'possession' you seem so afraid of... it will not be permanent. You will be in no danger. But it will enable me to return to life, so that I may return as Emperor and protect you from him—"
"I'm fine, thank you."
"Luke. You say that." Palpatine smiled, and then... ash flew from the right side of his body to the left side, solidifying his left arm to the point that he could physically brush a lock of hair back from Luke's face. It was the most affection he'd shown him in years, and it took everything in Luke not to scream. "But... Whatever Lord Vader is doing, you may think you can handle it. But he will not stop. And when it gets too much for you to bear, you will not be able to escape. If you run, he will follow wherever you go, he will hunt you down. No matter how far you go, or where you end up, he will find you, and you will not enjoy it when he does. He will linger over you, a shadow, for the rest of your life without my help."
Luke wanted to laugh in his face.
He wanted to. He knew Vader, knew his father would protect him. He had no fear of that.
But one thing stood out to him—
He will not stop.
Palpatine wouldn't stop.
He will linger over you, a shadow, for you rest of your life.
Death had not stopped him. He and his acolytes would just keep coming for Luke, keep coming, and nowhere Luke ran or hid could stop them. He would spend the rest of his life in constant terror of the man who'd made it a living hell.
There was only one way out of this, he realised, staring into Palpatine's face. His two eyes glowed like embers in the ashes—as yellow as ever.
And Luke realised:
There was only one way he would ever escape the monster that was his father.
"Father..." he said, staring. Let the weight of... all of this... crash down on him as he sagged, tears springing to his eyes, his voice ragged. "I..."
"Shhh..." Palpatine soothed. He stepped forwards, ash... encircling Luke in the parody of a hug, holding him, constricting him tightly enough that it was possessive. Luke wanted to shout, wanted to run away, wanted—
He wanted Vader.
"Shhh... my son..." Palpatine soothed. "All will be made right."
Luke just closed his eyes.
He was doing such a stupid thing.
This was such a stupid decision.
He might never see Vader and Nova again.
But there was nothing else he could do.
Palpatine said, "Do not think of Lord Vader. He is nothing. I am your father." A hitch in Luke's breathing, and Palpatine tsked. "Don't you want to make your father proud? I am proud of you now, Luke."
Luke swallowed tightly. Fourteen years of longing, of being eager-to-please, of hope, ignited in his chest.
"Yes," he said hoarsely, and it was true. "I want to make my father proud."
"Then, my dear son..." The voice whispered against his mind, this time, and Luke's shields shivered at the touch. "Let me in."
A heartbeat.
A heartbeat of indecision. Of doubt. Of fear.
Then he dropped his mental shields, and the darkness rushed in to devour him whole.
Send me the first sentence of a scene from this AU and I might continue it!
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bindi-the-skunk · 3 years
Text
Can No One Keep Their Nose In Their Own Business?
CHAPTER FOUR: Rescue and news
Thankfully the next few months offered little else of note, save everyone trying to convince the couple that birthing at the society was a good idea.
Robert and Henry did in fact manage to go home and stayed there when possible, but inevitably they would have to go to the society and deal with whatever chaos had ensued there.
Thankfully the now rapidly kicking baby proved to be a very good deterrent for nonsense.
Jasper was proving to be the only sane one out of the bunch as he had several siblings who had in fact, been born at home, but also knowing his mother would have immediately demanded a hospital if she felt anything off with any of her pregnancies and would not have put up with anyone trying to backseat drive when she was pregnant.
A particularly noisy cousin had gotten a swift boot to the face for suggesting she was gaining too much weight...
But it seemed Jekyll would be on the other end of that extreme...
"You are eight months pregnant and look six! You need to get some more protein into that chicken leg body of yours!" Victoria said as she tried to herd the squirming Henry towards the kitchen.
"I'm not hungry, thank you very much!" The chemist did his best to duck around Frankenstein who seemed determined to stuff him like a holiday turkey and as luck would have it for him, Robert had some business his father insisted he tend to today, leaving him at the society since irritation was apparently healthier than being left alone at the house since he was so far along.
"And that shirt is too thin! You need a thick wool sweater that will-"
If she sent him into labor early...
"Doctor Jekyll can you take a look at some notes I made?" Jasper asked smiling trying to help give the other a reason to get away from Frankenstein.
"Love to! See you a bit later Ms. Frankenstein!" Jekyll followed Jasper leaving a pouting Victoria behind.
Jasper was most certainly getting first dibs on holding the baby after Robert
Henry knew it was impolite to dash off as they did, but no more so than pretending to fall asleep so he did not have to talk to her...that little trick would not work after the baby was out...well maybe the first couple months.
He was starting to miss the time when she hated him
Though her almost maternal like concern was quite sweet when it was not making him want to scream, perhaps it was just hormones...one minute he was ready to burst into tears and next he wanted some of Rachels cookies ...and then cried over the cookies because she made them look cute.
He truly was a horrible mess sometimes --- We can't keep that up the rest of the month!" Hyde complained
"she will just get crazier the closer we get to the end, she has it in her head that midwifery is easy and childbirth will be a cakewalk after she built new life" Part of Jekyll did wish to believe her but previous experience said he was in it for the long haul.
Not to mention she built creature huge, how would she handle something as tiny as a newborn baby? Her hands might not shake, but she was a fan of animated conversation...
"Yeah, I might like her but that does not mean I want her playing groundhog with my private area!"
"Oh, that reminds me, Robert picked out a cute bunny jumper for the baby when it comes and I need to order it..."
"How are you more scatterbrained than me?" Hyde droned out, glad he was not the one in control, as he was bearing witness to more and more moments of vomiting, putting keys in the fridge, crying over baby elephant cookies, and leaking every fluid imaginable as his 'good' halves stomach grew and made it all the harder to put on socks without the curly-haired chipmunk's help.
Oh right the werewolf pup was talking...
"I'm going to ask Rachel to be my mate"
Eh?
"Oh, Jasper that is fantastic news!" Henry exclaimed and held back the urge to hug the boy feeling like a proud parent despite the werewolf not being his own pup.
"I'm going to ask her on the rooftop, I just need a reason for us to go up there..." Jasper pouted, he wanted the night to be special...but omegas rarely 'proposed' to alpha's and he was unsure how to go about it.
"Just tell the truth, that you want a nice evening with her and then just out and say your true feelings, no need to try and be big and loud about it, she adores you and will appreciate anything you do for her," Jekyll said, putting a comforting hand on Jaspers shoulder, he understood how nerve-wracking it was to be unsure how to spit out words.
In more than one context
The werewolf smiled wide and nodded, he had to get to work!
I'm not a Jasper/henry shipper as you can tell... I see them as having a father and son type of bond (since Jasper is a werewolf and Henry was in love with Morcant who was a werewolf I kind of see him as having a sort of "what could have been" moments in the webcomic despite his genuine love for Robert (or even a moment of "why couldn't I have followed that path?" as in having a straight (or as straight as a werewolf/human relationship can go ) relationship with Morcant and having "pups" with her instead of keeping on pining for Lanyon.
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