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kyuus4ku · 3 years

Note

RYLEY THIS TOOK A WHILE TO SEND BC I CANT EXPLAIN THINGS-

so may I request a scenario with akutagawa and lingering kisses? where the reader & aku are just so close to sharing a kiss (like, noses touching close) but neither actually do (yet? 👀) bc they’re both afraid of different things (with aku maybe it’s bc he’s in pm + starting a relationship & with reader maybe it’s rejection? your choice rlly) I don’t mind whether they do kiss or not @ the end ^^

I just love how well you write descriptively & how u write emotions 😊 please please please feel free to change it up a lil if you feel the need to. I don’t mind if it’s not aku either, tho I’d prefer it to be a bsd man.

tell me if it doesn’t make sense (T-T )

𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗔𝗟𝗟

akutagawa ryunosuke

genre: scenario ; fluff

warnings: none

word count: 2.2K

a/n: MSJDSN dw sweetheart you explained it perfectly! i love this idea so so much. thank you for your kind words and for also giving me the privilege to write this 💫 praying i got your request right ahhh rlly hope you like this mei <3

The cool evening was aging into an even colder night, contrasting with the way the steamy wisps of smoke drew themselves out in emanation from the cup of hot herbal tea set on the table before him. Ever since you were introduced into his life, he liked sitting in the dining room, but that was only because he was accompanied by you— your presence was always a blessing, and the absence of it was now a curse.

Well, temporary curse actually. He raised his gaze to the clock pinned on the wall ahead of him, eyes assuming a sparkle of what he recently found out to be anticipation— you should be walking through the door to greet him any minute now.

The weather outside was decent, diametrically contrasting the weather from just a few days ago. Typically, Akutagawa disliked reminiscence— it was just a gateway to hell; it just reminded him that not every moment he'd long to cling onto for the rest of his life could stay in his possession forever, even though moments as such were rare for a boy like him.

But since that day, he figured that if he had a good memory to recall, there'd be more where that came from. There had to be, right? It wasn't sheer hopefulness— he knew better than to depend on such a flimsy concept. However, staying connected to a source of hope seemed to be a little more promising than hoping on something his eyes couldn't quite visualise even with the sharpest of imaginations, something his fingertips couldn't quite grasp onto since blind optimism didn't really offer anything tactile.

He couldn't dismiss the satisfaction his torpefied soul reaped from your company any longer, especially ever since you had started making him feel things he never knew he was capable of feeling. Whether it was your presence which gave him a type of solace that got him through sleepless nights, or the beamy smile you flashed at him whenever you caught him staring at you absentmindedly, Akutagawa knew this was right where he wanted to be.

It took him one specific stranger he had bumped into at the local coffeeshop to realise that the part of him he kept most concealed was the part of him still alive.

So there he was, seated alone with his thoughts, finally allowing himself to reacquaint his mind with thoughts of the past— specifically, a few months ago. Thinking about that specific night constituted to the unfurling of colourful memories like paint-filled dynamite on the canvass of his mind. Nothing really magical per se— just... very, very unorthodox for someone who didn't know the difference between approval that was garnered from blood, sweat, and tears, and kindness that was entitled to every human being.

It was raining fiercely. Thunderous clouds exchanged streaks of light with each other to exhibit an overawing view altogether. His gaze was fixed on the angry sky, but his ears took in every word tumbling out of your lips like a golden waterfall.

That's how he interpreted it at least, and it was pretty uncharacteristic of the boy who expertly picked out at anyone's flaw to dampen their value to him. It was sort of a preparatory measure, so that he wouldn't be totally miffed when their flaws suddenly emerged in their raw, ugly forms only to disappoint him.

Not that he let a lot of people stick around long enough to show their true colours though. Even so, as much as he'd hate to admit it, you were an exception.

You sat next to him, wingback chairs providing very little alleviation to your stiffened muscles after a long day. As much as he appreciated the periods of quietude you shared, he liked listening to you. It wasn't one-sided either.

If you spoke about things he had an opinion about, he wouldn't hesitate to cut you off just to insert his views. You never got annoyed when he disagreed with you or started rambling to the brink of losing his point. You were more grateful for the fact that he was actually speaking to you, because for a reclusive person, he sure had a lot more to his personality that anyone would imagine.

"That's really not how it works," he proclaimed with confidence.

"Oh, so you're not supposed to be okay if someone cuts in line to get a cup of coffee? What am I supposed to do? Put up a fight?"

"Sure."

"Akutagawa!"

"You were there first."

"Okay, but what if they were in a hurry?" you asked, sipping on the glass of bourbon in your hands. You couldn't help but smile at how headstrong he was about such a simple thing.

"It's not your problem if they're irresponsibly tardy."

"Yeah, but a kind act goes a long way," you sneered.

He scoffed.

"You're just giving them an excuse to continue being the scatterbrained scum that they are," he reasoned, harsh words said in such a calm tone.

"Scatterbrained scum, huh?" you glanced at his direction, shaking your head with an amused grin on your face. "That's a... strong term."

"Am I wrong?" he asked, meeting your gaze with a shrewd expression, as if he had already won the 'debate.'

You laughed. He frowned.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Nothing," you grinned sweetly. "I was in the middle of telling you about this crazy thing that happened this morning but you seemed more concerned with the 'scatterbrained scum' that came in my way."

"Well, someone had to point it out."

You shut your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose, soft chortles escaping your lips with ease. His lips quirked into what would easily qualify as a smile— that is, if he tried hard enough.

"Nice sense of humour you've got there," you commented (sarcastically), eyes meeting his, which were already hung up on the features of your face— accentuated in divinity he hoped his presence would never ever demoralise. God, what made you so different? What made you so special? What did you have that he didn't?

"I wasn't joking," he replied flatly. You shook your head, rolling your eyes in dismissal.

"Alright, tough guy, let's switch topics before you plot a murder," you murmured with blithe. "I've got an interesting question for you actually."

"Go on." He wished he were better at reading signs, because he didn't know whether to expect the worst or the best out of your mouth.

"What are the likes of a person like me ending up next to a person like you?"

Hm. Unimaginable. He didn't know how he had gotten so lucky.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Unlikely, I suppose. Why do you ask?"

You took a while to respond, tapping the tip of your index finger on the corner of the armrest. "Unlikely how?"

He shrugged, eyes shying away from your piercing gaze. "I'm probably the type of person people tell you to stay away from."

You giggled lightly, earning a careful glance from him. "I wouldn't even if they told me to."

His expression lit up. Odd to think that that was the kindest statement his marred ears had ever heard.

"What? Why do you look so surprised?" you prompted, placing your glass on the coffee table next to you so you could face him, arms crossed, resting themselves on the armrest separating the two of you.

"Never heard something like that before," he muttered under his breath, eyes fixated on the way his fingers were picking at each other mindlessly. Your hand travelled to touch his cheek, reluctantly, because you didn't want to scare him. It was kind of like when you lured that wounded kitten into your grasp to treat the wound on its tiny leg and feed it bits of your food— slowly, carefully, all to win its trust so that it could be taken care of.

His face retreated from your touch by half a centimetre, but every bone in his body told him to hold still.

"Do you trust me?" You could feel your guts twist in dread as you waited for an answer you weren't sure if you were ready to hear or not. This wasn't planned— getting so close to the unsmiling guy you almost spilled coffee on a few weeks ago. None of it was. None of it was meant to be planned anyway, because if it were, you wouldn't be next to him right now. Initiating all this was just a leap of faith every strand of logic integrated in your mind was protesting against. So many things could go wrong if you left your heart in the hands of the boy who didn't know what else to do with his own.

Guess you'd never know until you actually did something about these feelings— the blossoming wildflowers crawling their way around your heart like parasitic weeds.

His eyes met yours in a type of finality you were starstruck by, as if all his ambition had finally come into full view. "I trust you."

Inching in closer, you could feel his breath hitch upon feeling the tip of your nose brush against his. Before doing anything rash, an exasperated breath of amusement departed your lips as you tipped your forehead forward to rest on his.

"Doesn't really seem like you do," you smiled, pulling away slightly to softly nudge his chin upward, just so he could keep his eyes— the honest, vulnerable ones— in your sight. He could trust you. He really wanted to. But part of him didn't want to believe you; part of him knew that something would go wrong, that something would drive you away, that something would eventually betray the amount of promise you had gracing your tone.

Still, the other part of him, the part of him persuading his lips to meet yours this very instant, knew that there was a slim chance of maybe: maybe you wouldn't leave him, maybe you'd stick around despite his past, his mistakes, and his shortcomings.

He was willing, but honestly, were you?

"Ryuu?" you whispered inquisitively. "Do you trust me?"

The question was starting to get annoyingly repetitive— of course he did. What was stopping him? What kept him from taking the path he never knew was even traversable for a hardened mafioso like him? This was a mistake. How could someone like him even dare to stand next to the likes of you?

"I do," he nodded, a sheet of thoughtfulness glazing over his dark eyes. "But I wished we weren't so different."

"Different?"

"I'm not someone you deserve."

You tilted your head.

"How do you know what I deserve?" you asked timidly, not really expecting a clear-cut answer.

Having expected a different response altogether, his eyes widened slightly.

"The blood under our skins— it's the same colour, correct?"

He nodded.

"You and I— we're both human beings, nothing more, nothing less, yes?"

He nodded, rather cluelessly actually, even though he knew exactly where you were going with this; he knew why you were throwing figures of rhetoric right at his face during such a dire moment. He was iron-willed, but by now, he understood that you were, too.

He gulped down an argument of resistance. No— he wasn't going to skip this chance. Just once, just this one time, he wasn't going to deprive himself of something he inherently wanted.

Your thumb traced soft circles on the side of his neck; your eyes fluttered shut as you felt his lips barely touch yours. To pull back or to keep going; this wasn't supposed to be this confusing. Is this what you wanted? Is this what he wanted? God, if there was a switch to turn off all the perturbing thoughts streaming through your heads like relentless swarms of dust moths, the two of you would flick it down simultaneously.

Candy-flavoured electricity crackled at the feel of his quiet breath tickling your nose. Your half-lidded eyes sparkled; his heart skipped a beat, maybe two. That was enough to incite the pressing of your lips against his with delicate will and want, your fingers wrapping themselves around the back of his neck with gentle desperation and zest.

There wasn't anything left to be afraid of, so he leaned in to kiss you back, cold hands placing themselves upon both your cheeks in a featherlike manner, as if he were scared of hurting you. His heartbeats were louder than the dubious whispers of his common sense. He couldn't really think straight, and part of him didn't really want to either.

Lightning flashed throughout the room, framing this very moment, packing it into a sacred box the two of you ultimately tied in between your hearts.

And as months withered away, Akutagawa always thought about the divergent ways his life would've continued from that day if he hadn't kissed you back. Out of all possibilities, that kiss was one in a million. And out of all the people you picked to give that kiss to, you picked him.

He still couldn't figure out how he had gotten so lucky. He wondered if he ever would.

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missymurphy1985 · 3 years

Text

The Writer (Tommy Shelby X Fem.Reader) - Part One

Warning - SMUT (eventually)

Request? Yes

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @heidimoreton

You looked in the mirror, straightening out your dress and taking a deep breath. Your boss David, who also happened to be your older brother, had arranged a meeting with you in the offices of the Birmingham Herald at 6pm sharp.

On the way there, you couldn't help but marvel at how you'd ended up here. Your husband had died two years after returning from war having suffered severe injuries, and after you'd taken on his job at the Herald while he was away fighting, falling ill on his return and subsequently dying, your brother, the editor, had kept you on so you weren't destitute. It was against all the principles of the time, a woman working, but your brother never once allowed the other men at the newspaper to talk down to you. You were the best storyteller and strongest journalist they had on the books and he would always have your back. The other men had grown to look at you as a sister almost - you were blessed to be in the position you were in.

Arriving at the Herald, you made your way to David's office.

"Y/n, I'm sorry to call you in this evening..." He smiled, embracing you and offering you a whiskey which you gladly accepted.

"I never have evening plans David, you know that. What was so important it couldn't wait til morning?"

"We've had an incredible offer and I want you to be the one to report it. The story is made for you."

"What is it?"

"Thomas Shelby has agreed to an article on his life to date!"

"Thomas Shelby? As in the Peaky Blinders?! Not a fucking chance David..." You recoiled in horror. You knew the man's history very well, you'd gone to school with his younger brother John and the stories of the Peaky Blinders were infamous. You hated the man - the thought of interviewing him mad your stomach turn.

"This story could launch your career into the big time Y/n! Think about it! The most secretive, elusive man in the country wants to tell his story to you!"

"To the Herald."

"No, y/n, to YOU. He asked for you. By name."

"How the hell does he know my name?" You'd written your articles under a male pen name so as not to distract readers from the content. Not all men were as modern as your brother and coworkers.

"No idea, but he specifically asked for you."

You mind turned - no one knew you worked at the Herald. You'd kept yourself to yourself, even moving out of Small Heath after your husband passed away. You'd lost touch with John just before he went off to war. There was no connection to the Shelby family at all.

"The reason I dragged you in at 6pm is because he wants to make a start today. This evening actually, there's a car picking you up in 30 minutes."

"David!! I can't do this interview for goodness sake, I'm not even close to prepared!"

"You have 30 minutes! Pull your finger out!" He laughed.

You'd crammed as much as possible in that 30 minutes as you could - your mind was whirring at 70miles per hour when the silver Bentley pulled up outside. Glaring at David, who simply smirked in response, you got in the car as the driver greeted you.

"Arrow House ma'am, won't take long to get there," the driver smiled as you asked him where he was taking you. Arrow House? His home? Why would the most secretive man in Birmingham want to meet you in his sanctuary?

************************************************************

Pulling up outside the huge mansion, you couldn't help but be impressed. The gardens were immaculate.

A middle aged lady greeted you at the front door and offered to take your coat. You smiled and handed it over, as she led you through to the dining room. You took the seat she offered.

"Would you like some tea Ms. Y/L/N?" You nodded, and she signalled one of the younger maids to action.

"Mr Shelby will be with you in a moment, please make yourself comfortable," the lady smiled warmly and headed out the door with your coat. You looked around the room. A large painting on one wall of the man himself with a large horse. There was a smaller picture on a cabinet just underneath that caught your eye. A beautiful blond woman, with piercing eyes and a loving smile, holding a small boy in her arms. You didn't know Thomas was married, let alone had a son. The house didn't seem to have much of a feminine feel to it though, it was borderline drab in its decor.

"My wife, Grace. And my son Charles." A voice behind you startled you, and you turned to see Thomas himself walking towards you, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

"She's beautiful, Mr Shelby. And your son is adorable," you smiled, but he didn't return it.

"She certainly was." Your eyes grew wide as the realisation of what he'd said sunk in.

"Oh I'm sorry -"

"No need. It was a long time ago. Shall we get this over with Ms Y/L/N?" You nodded and he led you out of the dining room into a smaller one - clearly an office. The large oak desk sprawled out in front of the bay window. You took your seat opposite his at the desk and pulled out your pen and pad as he poured himself another whiskey. You shook your head when he offered you one, drinking the tea the young maid have brought in to you instead.

Your questions for him were simple at first. You asked about his childhood in Small Heath. His schooling. His childhood friends. Pretty much all one word answers, driving you insane, until you asked about his brothers.

"You knew John, didn't you?" He asked.

"Yes. Same year at school."

"Sadly, he's no longer with us. Shot by the Italians last year." You heart dropped - you heard through the grapevine that John had children and a wife and the news hit you like a freight train. You took a breath and a moment to compose yourself.

"I'm so sorry Mr Shelby..."

"I'm sorry too, I didn't realise you were so close?"

"We were close before the war. Lost touch after that."

"I don't remember seeing you with him?"

"My father wouldn't let me see him, so we had to be careful.."

"You and John were..."

"No no.. god no! Just friends Mr Shelby." He went quiet again, and sipped his whiskey.

Back to the questions. Mundane as they were, you needed them to get the full story. He wasn't forthcoming with the details. You had to really press him, but he spent most of his time drinking his whiskey and looking out of the window at the dark clouds rolling in outside.

"Listen, Mr Shelby, you clearly don't want this any more than I do so please, if you don't mind, I'd like to end the interview here." Your voice was stern, patience had officially gone out of the window he was so fixated with.

"Jack said you were feisty." You froze at mention of your late husband's name.

"How did you know Jack?"

"We served together in France. Good man."

"Is that how you knew my name?" He didn't answer, just nodded, again watching the weather changing quickly outside.

"Storm looks bad."

"If I leave now I should be fine." The first rumble of thunder made you jump, Tommy noticed your fear instantly.

"Scared of storms?"

"They used to scare Jack.." a second rumble had you grasping onto the chair.

"Stay until it passes." Was that a request or an order.. you weren't sure but he took your hand gently and led you into the hallway away from the window, into the main dining room again.

"Frances, have the curtains closed please." He spoke to the older woman who greeted you at the door and she dutifully obliged, closing the curtains in the large windows.

Tommy sat you at the table and gave you his glass of whiskey, your shaky hands accepting it this time. Every thunderstorm brought flashbacks of Jack's terror filled eyes.. his anguished cries of pain.. and ultimately the sound of the gun he placed at his temple before he took his own life. You took a sip of the warm liquid as Tommy sat beside you, a fresh glass of his own in his hand.

"Jack saved my life."

"He did?"

"Yes. We were underground digging.. we could hear the Germans on the other side of the dirt digging towards us... They broke through first and grabbed me. Jack beat them to death with his hammer to get them off me." Tommy's memory made you smile, and you laughed gently.

"He was always brave.. and strong. Put everyone else first. He never told me.."

"He never wanted praise, it was just part of his job. In return.. I said if anything happened to him I would make sure you were looked after."

"What?"

"The men at your office? They're under my watch. They respect you because you're a damn good writer, but they also know if they gave you any shit..." He raised his eyebrow and you couldn't help but smile. Even after his death, he was making sure you were okay. That was the Jack you wanted to remember.

"In that case Mr Shelby, I thank you."

"Call me Tommy eh? Here's to the bravest man in France." He clinked his glass with yours and you felt him almost begin to relax.

"I noticed a piano in the hall - do you play?"

"I did as a boy. My mother was a keen player, I used to watch her all the time. Gave it up after she died."

"I played for Jack all the time. It soothed him when he couldn't sleep." He smiled, a warm genuine smile that you couldn't help but return.

You'd spent the evening drinking whiskey and talking with Tommy, the whiskey hitting you much quicker than it did him, and you could feel your eyelids growing heavier.

"I have a spare room upstairs y/n, maybe stay tonight, I'll have my driver take you home in the morning." He stood before you had chance to argue and you followed him up the stairs.

He led you into a beautiful bedroom, the decor in here much more appealing than downstairs and the large oak double bed even more so.

"I don't want to impose Thomas..."

"That storm isn't letting up any time soon, and you're exhausted. You're welcome to stay. There's fresh clothes in the wardrobe. My wife was the same build as you, they should fit. I'll have my driver take you home at 7am. Goodnight Y/n..." His blue eyes lingered on yours a moment and you felt a rush of something you hadn't felt in a long time... Scaring you. Quickly looking away, you bid him goodnight.

#tommy shelby x smut #tommy x fem!reader #tommy x y/n #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x smut

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urlkssknt · 3 years

Text

nanami kento x fem!reader (2.9k)

nsfw!! mdi!!

warnings; unprotected sex, it’s just very soft and vanilla

a/n; this is a scene from a series i might write, i’m not sure if i want to commit to it, please let me know your thoughts, feedback is much appreciated!

The marriage announcement caught you off guard, it felt like someone had thrown you into the deep end of a pool and you didn't know how to swim, drowning slowly in the snarky whispers from the attendants of the party that reached your ear - wasn't he married to Y/n? Poor girl, I wouldn't be able to show my face if I was her. Many eyes around the room turned towards you in anticipation, waiting for some display of anger or a rage-induced outburst. Much to their disappointment, you stood your ground. You wouldn’t let the perfectly crafted mask fall from your face, especially not now, you couldn’t let the woman, who held a leash over your ex, know she caused an effect on you.

From a distance over, Satoru watched you closely through the peripheral of his sharp vision, you leaned further into the dark long haired man standing beside you to whisper something into his ear. Suguru handed you a small rectangular box discreetly. He was equally as shocked as you. Satoru expected Toji to pull a stunt like this, maybe another pregnancy announcement or a business merger. He never expected it to be announced publicly, in a Gojou family setting. Whilst claps of congratulations sounded around the hall, Gojou's cold gaze threw daggers towards your ex-husband, standing beside your parents with a hand on the waist of his fiancée. The sight of gleaming smiles across your parent’s faces made Satoru feel sick to his stomach. The white haired man also took a mental note of the people who seemed genuinely happy for the wretched couple. Those people didn't realise that they had gotten onto Gojou Satoru's bad side and ruined any promising positive relationship with the businessman.

There was a chill in the evening air as you stood on the balcony, you were grateful no one else was outside to witness the devastation on your face, only the night sky being witness to the single teardrop that fell along the expanse of your cheek. The cold air nipped at the bare skin of your arms and neck, raising the fine hairs which run all along your skin. As a thought of regret for not bringing a jacket along with you popped into your mind, you opened the cigarette packet that Suguru handed to you, bringing one up to your lips to rest as you fish for a lighter in your purse, praying that you had one despite having quit the disgusting habit years ago.

The temperature of the chilling air around you rises as a warming presence pressed against your back, you only relax when the familiar scent of rich cologne mixed with cinnamon infiltrates your senses, allowing yourself to melt into the heated hands that run along your naked arms.

"Do you even have a lighter?" Kento questions as you continue to search through your bag, which was so small, the blond was sceptical about it being big enough to fit any necessities.

Peering up through your lashes, your azure eyes narrowed at him as your lips formed into a deep scowl. Kento was right, you didn’t have a lighter, specifically for scenarios like this, where your fingers are itching to grab at the first intoxicant to cloud your mind. Smoking would help calm the stress that scratches the walls of your brain as the tobacco fills your bloodstream.

“Suguru probably has one-“ you mutter under your breath, speaking with the white stick sitting comfortably between your lips before a hand quickly reaches for it and throws the small object off the balcony, out of sight and out of reach. “What the hell-“ there was little time to process the sudden action as your words are cut short with kento’s palms encasing your face to tilt your head slightly and allow him to lower his lips onto yours in a short kiss. The anger that rushed through your veins quickly dissolved, leaving as fast as it was produced.

A small smile creeped along your lips, “maybe I should take up smoking again.”

Kento couldn’t help the chuckle that let up his throat, his eyes crinkling in the same way that the twin’s did. His hands dropped from your face to hold your hips over the silk material, pulling you closer towards him, your breasts pressing against his chest.

“Let's get out of here.”

Earlier, before he followed your footsteps to check on you, Kento felt a strong grip latch on his arm to prevent him from moving further. The culprit was your brother. Satoru held an intimidating aura, his sapphire eyes bearing a look cold enough to pierce skin. The older man whispered short words to Nanami, advising him to take you away from the party, in order to protect you.

As Kento was texting the babysitter he had hired for the night, making sure his kids were safely sleeping in their beds, you were checking in with the two Zen’in girls that were looking after Megumi for the night. Maki and Mai loved spending time with you, when you announced the divorce with their cousin, they were undeniably upset, not because Toji’s heart was broken but it meant they wouldn’t be able to see you as often.

It wasn't as difficult as you thought it might be to locate the hotel room. Thankfully, both of you were in a conscious state of mind, avoiding the sparkling alcoholic beverages being served in crystal flutes. The hand on the curve of your waist held you close to Kento’s embrace. Just from a short glance, any onlooker would be able to know you were his, there was a loving atmosphere surrounding you two which was hard to miss, from the pearly smile painting your glossy lips to the radiant sparkling of gold among the hues of brown. The booked room was found quickly. Anticipation began to bubble in your stomach, you felt excited to spend the night with such a handsome man, again.

All of your hair was pushed to one side on your shoulder, exposing the tender flesh of your neck. A beautiful and plain canvas just waiting to be painted with deep and dark shades of pinks and purples. The plain sight caused a stir in Kento’s mind, he desired to mark you, in a way he knew no one ever would. Acting on impulse, the father of two kissed a spot where your neck met your shoulder so lightly it felt like petals brushing against your skin. A smirk found its home along Kento’s lips when you craned your head to the side, offering more of yourself to him. The innocent kisses progressed into deep bites, a sudden sharp nip against your pulse point causing a gasp to slip into the air. You couldn’t care less if a horrible bruise formed from Kento's lustful ministrations, his scent clouded your mind like a drug, your thoughts swirling into nothing. Your attention was fixated on the hands wandering from their place on your hips to groping your breasts through the silken material of your dress, sending arsoul to pool in your panties.

A deep timbre tone filled your ears, you turned to face the man speaking. “Would you like to know my new favourite colour?” Kento doesn’t wait for your answer, his hands squeeze at your chest again with more pressure, sadly eliciting another gasp from your lips. The corners of Kento's lips turn downwards ever so slightly, he had hoped that his ears would have been graced with a moan. “Sage green.”

The blond guides you to the queen-sized bed, lined with the finest material he had ever seen, Kento didn’t expect anything less from your brother, who handed him the key card. The hotel room was grand, almost as big as his own apartment, which was quite large.

Kento sits himself against the headboard with his suit jacket and tie discarded somewhere on the floor, falling victim to your travelling hands, eager to undress him. The clothing was no longer his concern as you situated yourself in his lap, thick thighs straddling his waist the best you could in the confinement of your dress. “Tonight,” Kento's eyes move from the swells of your breasts, your cleavage in his direct eye line, to meet your gleaming eyes. He was surprised to find his own reflection in them. “I'm yours.” The words felt heavy on his tongue and heart, it felt like he was confessing to you again, proving to himself that it was you that his heart yearns for.

Slowly, you clamber off of the blond man’s lap without voicing your intentions, not missing how his hands reach out to hold onto you for a moment longer, you giggle lightly at the display of clinginess, never expecting such a stoic man to behave like that. It was refreshing. It reassured the persistent whispers in the back of your mind that Kento wanted you like you wanted him. as you stood at the foot of the bed, you kicked off your nude heels, dropping your height by a few inches. A laugh fell upon your ears, Kento was amused, his smile hidden from your eyes behind his palm. However, the light atmosphere shifted when the sound of a zipper filled the room. Swiftly, the dress dropped to the floor from the pull of gravity, leaving you exposed except for the black lace thong, which barely hid anything from his eyes. Kento wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse.

Finally, it was your turn to smirk when your sharp eyes caught the growing tent of Kento's trousers.

Slowly, you crawled along the bedsheets at an agonising pace, it felt like hours before you finally reached your destination. Within an instant, you felt two large palms squeeze at the pudgy skin of your hips. You couldn’t help but press your hands against Kento's chest, fingers running aimlessly as you met his lips, kissing him with such desire, as if you had planned to devour him.

“Do you know what good boys get, Mister Nanami?” you say in a sultry tone, the touches of the small pads of your fingertips tracing unrecognisable shapes along his chest becoming distractive.

The words registered into the blond’s mind, you had previously asked the same question to the three toddlers, in hopes of containing their erratic behaviour in the kitchen. This should have been degrading, yet, despite using the childish question, a rational voice in Kento’s mind screamed at him to just give in for once.

“Rewards,” it was the same answer Sukuna gave you, it was the correct answer. However, Kento's voice only managed to speak just above a breath, finding himself unable to trust his own voice.

“Well done daddy,” you praised him with a sweet kiss, a shiver running up his neck, before making an effort to unbutton the shirt, “treat me nicely and I’ll reward you.”

All the remaining pieces of clothing were thrown off hurriedly, desperate to feel the pure heat of Kento's unbelievably hot body. It stunned you how he was constantly warm, maybe you could make him your personal heater.

Kento couldn’t help but groan loudly as your hips grinded against his dick, coating him with your wetness, he felt himself throbbing against your folds, ever so desperate to fill you to the brim. As if reading his mind, the teasing touches paused as you lined your entrance up with his cock, only after giving the hard member a few pumps with your hand. The broad shoulders of the businessman were used as an anchor, you cling onto him desperately as you sink onto his dick. In the span of a few hours, you had completely forgotten the thickness of kento’s sex, surprising yourself as you struggle to relax yourself to take him in. Wanton moans fell from both parties as you stayed still for a few seconds to get used to the burn from his fat cock stretching you. The hands on your waist squeeze tightly to help Kento ground himself from rutting up into you. Being enveloped with your warm cunt felt too good, especially when the gummy walls clamped around him, you were all he could think about.

Just from the position alone, the soft tissue of nerves which caused you to see stars were grazed upon, you couldn’t stop the moan escaping from your lips. “I could cum like this,” you relish in the feeling of the palms coaxing the movement of your hips and the mouth that latches onto your mound. A sharp nip against your peak leads to you arching into Kento's mouth, desperate for more of his touches. Despite spending the night before together, the pair of you couldn’t get enough of each other. Not when your tits would bounce as you raised your hips and begin a steady rhythm of grinding against Kento’s lap, each slam against his hips hitting a spot that causes your head to spin. The vision of you on top of him, riding his cock like your life depended on it, spurred the coil tightening in the pit of his stomach. The wetness that pooled between your thighs now began to drip down onto the pelvis of the man below you. A mixture of juices squelching and low moans sounded throughout the room. You had no time to feel embarrassed by the pornographic noises as you desperately chased your high.

“You’re making me feel so good angel,” a sense of pride blooms in Kento's chest as he feels you clenching around him from his praise. His hands stretched lower to graze his fingers over your ass, they latched onto you, his nails creating deep crevices in the area that would still be there in the morning.

You could no longer think straight, completely drunk off of Kento's cock, filling you up so well you wished he’d never leave. A numbness started to form in your thighs, creating a painful burn as you continued to move up and down, pushing through the pain and reaching for your high. From the hand gripping his hair and the way your walls were spasming, Kento knew you were so close to cumming, you just needed a little push. The brush of his thumb circling your clit leans you over the edge and causes your orgasm to hit you like a wave. Kento groaned loudly as you creamed his cock and gripped onto him like a vice. The man felt kind enough to let you catch your breath, he was still painfully hard and so close to his own high.

“As much as I’d like to be rewarded,” a cheeky smile spread through Kento’s lips, chocolate eyes sparkling at you with excitement. His playful and cheery expression leaves as quick as it comes, you almost whine in protest as he uses his strength to pull you off of his lap, and gently lays you down against the bed. The giddy look in Kento's eyes darkens to a lustful stare as your blown out eyes meet his. “Daddy wants to cum, so be a good girl and help daddy out.”

It hadn’t been longer than a few moments since your climax, you had barely calmed down. Without a second thought, Kento thrusts into your sopping entrance, your cum still coating his dick which makes it easier for him to slide back into your cavernous walls. A cry emmits from you due to the overstimulation. The feeling of being filled up again overtook the discomfort you experienced, it felt so good that you could cry from it, it was as if kento was made to fit inside your cunt so deliciously. The hands on your hips migrate to your thighs, pushing them up so that your knees are almost next to your head. Somehow, the angle of the position allows Kento to hit deeper into you.

“Fu- fuck,” your mind is lost for words as it completely blanks, no longer have the ability to form a coherent sentence.

A layer of sweat covers the blond’s body. The slapping sound returns as Kento's heavy balls hit against you with every rut. It was astonishing that the bed frame didn’t move with his frantic movements. Each thrust of his hips were more calculated than the next, earning a cry from you each time as his cockhead continuously came into contact with your g-spot. Kento knew he’d only be able to last through a few more thrusts. From the way your thighs quivered, your second orgasm was closer than he thought.

“Cum with me angel,” Kento's lips found yours in a haste of teeth clashing against each other, desperate to feel closer to you. As soon as the coaxing words fall on your ear, your walls clench around him as another climax ripples through you, this one hitting you much harder. The tension finally snapped, a growl ripped through his throat, no longer being able to hold back, as ropes of his cum shot inside your pussy, hips faltering slightly.

Your eyes flutter shut from exhaustion, trying your best to catch your breath and calm your erratic heart. Gentle hands help drop your legs so they could wrap around Kento’s waist instead of being folded in the air. Kento noticed the drowsy haze you were in. He took it upon himself to find a towel in the bathroom to clean up the mess between your thighs. Exerting his strength, the stoic man helps you to move into the sheets, the cold air no longer able to nip at your naked body.

“We need to buy plan b,” you shifted yourself close to Kento.

A kiss is pressed to the crown of your head. “We can worry about that in the morning.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

Note

haha your snippit abt the dispenser got me thinking.

Dream gets let out of prison and he talks constantly, whatever is on his mind. And he's positive all the time. To a fault where people walk over him. And it doesn't make sense because he was tortured right???? But after an incident they find out it's because he hates the sound of silence and needs constant reminders that other people are there. Also he was punished for any negative emotions in the prison so his default is happy now,,,

hi anon !! this concept makes me SO goddamn sad ,, the idea that he Has to be happy bc anything else would mean punishment im so *punches the walls*

this ,, ficlet is honestly. pretty ooc, not really related to the ask at all, and mostly an excuse for me to cry abt c!dream and c!punz for an excessive amount of time (technically the vote on twitter was supposed to have this as c!sapnap pov, but i just wrote one for him so i went for c!punz instead. mostly bc i wanted to write him LMAO). hopefully someone enjoys it despite *gestures vaguely* all of that mess

tw: trauma, disordered eating, implied torture/abuse, blood, injuries, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional distress, thoughts of murder/mercy killing, mentioned animal death, dark content

In the end, it’s all rather anticlimactic, the complete opposite of Dream’s vault and the whole fiasco of adrenaline and theatrics that had made up that day. Quackity ended up having one too many drinks, bragged about the wrong thing to the wrong person - Punz doesn’t know the specifics, only knows that one thing has led to another and suddenly Sapnap was screaming at his ex-fiancé, sword pointed at his chest and tears streaming down his eyes in the middle of the Community House floor, everyone else stood around and watching. A look into Quackity’s office said everything he didn’t - the chests and chests of used and new tools, shiny and sharpened and completely rusted over with blood and everything in between. There’s been a balled up shirt in the wastebasket, completely unsalvageable from how saturated it was with blood, more red than white, and perhaps most chilling of all the calendar, marked with X after X in red pen, going back months and speaking to their utter failure to see what had been happening all but right in front of them.

With Quackity down, Sam caved not too long after, and with his input getting into the prison was no challenge at all. The only thing holding them back were bad memories and the tense, worried edge to Sam’s jaw as he led the small group of them - himself and Sapnap, actually entering the facility, Bad and Puffy waiting outside - carrying them through winding corridor after winding corridor and lava pit after lava pit, until they’d come to stand before a chasm filled with flowing lava, slowly draining before the main cell.

“I- I have to warn you,” Sam had muttered, uncharacteristically hesitant, “it looks…pretty bad,” and Punz would’ve questioned him further, but the lava had fallen far enough to reveal the topmost edge of the cell, so they let Sapnap hound the Warden for information as they directed their full attention on the cell itself and holy shit.

Nothing Sam said could’ve possibly have prepared them for the sight - it was a complete fucking bloodbath, crimson painting the walls and smeared over the floor and splattered over every visible surface like some abstract art experiment gone wrong. The stench of iron and burning flesh and viscera was awful, even over the gap marked by the still-draining lava. Punz strained his eyes; at the very back of the cell, huddled, unmoving, was a similarly bloodstained shape that must’ve been Dream. They remember the crack of Sapnap’s knuckles meeting Sam’s face and breaking his nose, remember themselves chucking a pearl and feeling along Dream’s neck desperately for a pulse - everything beyond that became a swirl of voices and panic and crying that makes their head hurt to think about, so they don’t.

Recovery is…messy. The physical side had been bad enough - pulling Dream out of the cell, barely breathing, limp in his arms and far too light, all Punz could think about was a sheep he’d found a year ago, frail and struggling to breathe, one he’d ended up killing - quick and painless - with a sword through the skull because it seemed kinder than letting it suffer. Watching Dream struggle on the bed, laid up in Bad’s mansion because none of them knew if he’d survive going any further, body resisting the potions they’d slowly forced down his throat after being so over-saturated on them, temperature spiking and heat baking into his skin like the lava from the prison had been imprinted onto his body, Punz feels the same strange mixture of pity and unease, wonders if it’d be a hell of a lot kinder if they just put him out of his fucking misery.

Still, because Dream is a stubborn bastard, against all odds, he ends up surviving - his fever breaks, the potions begin taking effect, and a few tireless, aching days later his eyes flutter open, lucid for the first time in a week. Punz isn’t even in the room when he wakes, only knows that it happens because the too-quiet room suddenly erupts in noise and activity, muffled thumps and sounds of a struggle undercutting Bad’s frantic calls for someone to help, anyone, and they run into the room to find Dream thrashing on the bed, wounds reopened and blood dripping onto the sheets, eyes wild and wide as his head whips from side to side so hard Punz is half-afraid that he’ll straight up break his neck. Somehow, worst of all, not a single scream falls from his lips, nothing but muffled whines squeezing past his mouth, clenched shut, and for a singular, awful second they wonder how long it took before he realized that screaming was useless.

Fortunately enough for them, or unfortunately, it’s not like he can tell the fucking difference anymore, the panic and strain end up with Dream passing out altogether, and they trade uneasy glances with Bad before going to clean off the worst of his wounds. If everything they’re doing feels hopeless, dressing up wounds that’ll be torn open hours later when Dream is awake enough to feel fear but not much else because he’s forgotten what it’s like to not be afraid - well, that’s for them to think and everyone else to pretend not to agree with.

Weeks pass along the same vein - Dream wakes up, panics; they try to calm him down, fails; he falls back into unconsciousness, and they move on and pretend that they’re cleaning up wounds from battle and not from someone that’s literally been tortured for months on end. People stop by, occasionally; Puffy spends more time than not inside the mansion, but hardly ever enters the door into Dream’s room, Sapnap and George drop by occasionally with potion brewing supplies that the rest of them can’t go out to get; once, he’d gone out to the front door to find a chest with an enchanted golden apple, sender nowhere in sight. He knows that the server is busy; Quackity’s admission had brought more than a few secrets to light, and from what they understand, the political fallout has been pretty damn messy. Still, he stays in the mansion, and watches.

He doesn’t exactly know why he stays. They’re not a stellar healer, not beyond what they know to dress their own wounds, and spend most of their time doing odd-and-ends tasks for Bad, who looks more tired than ever. Maybe it’s because he’s seen Dream at his worst more than the rest of them, had been there through his entire fall from grace, watched as his eyes became clouded with anger and madness and a single, desperate hope that he’d chased at the cost of his world and himself. Maybe it’s because they have no ties to the rest of the server - not to Las Nevadas, falling apart under the scrutiny of the eyes that now fall upon it, not Snowchester, caught up in the chaos, not the Badlands, half-dissolved after the fiasco of the Egg and with Sam’s actions having just come to light. Maybe it’s because above everything else, he feels guilty.

They’d thought the prison was the answer. It’d seemed too simple, back in that Vault - a perfect answer, because everyone else was perfectly happy to watch Dream die another time and some part of them had clenched painfully at the thought even thought they knew it was for the best. The prison meant that he’d be alive, if angry, and at some point when he had the time or the nerve or the guts he could go and visit, and they would talk, and Dream would be angry but with time maybe he could even understand.

They hadn’t wanted this. He can’t imagine anyone wanting this.

“Punz?” They don’t jump at the voice at their back, they don’t, but Bad still has a tiny, tight-lipped smile when they turn around anyway, eyes creased in the corners and still not as bright as they’d been before the Egg. Bad looks at him knowingly, setting a bowl of soup into his hands. “For Dream, if you can get him to eat.” He shifts a pointed gaze towards the door. “Maybe you two could talk.”

“About what?” The words come out harsher than they intend, and they take a moment to bite back the mostly self-directed anger that Bad doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of. “I just-” he waves his hand in the air, trying to articulate the mess that is his relationship with Dream without the words to explain it. “I don’t know, man.”

“You don’t have to talk about everything,” Bad says, calm as always, eyes flicking down to the bowl of soup in his hands. “Just start with the soup.”

Punz sighs. “I’ll try.”

He enters the room in a single, fluid motion, mostly because he knows that if he were to stop at the door then he’d never actually make his way in. Dream flinches back when they enter, eyes going wide and stance going rigid, and the familiarity doesn’t make the sight any easier to bear as they wait, as always, for Dream’s eyes to clear enough for him to realize he’s in the mansion and not stuck in that same obsidian hellhole.

“I brought soup,” they say, finally, when Dream looks up. Dream’s lips twitch up in what he probably means as a smile; between the still-healing gashes on his face and the fear that flashes over his expression, still, it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Thanks.” Dream looks away. “I’ll eat it later.”

Liar, Punz thinks tiredly, moving closer to set the bowl down on the nightstand by the bed. They frown as Dream’s expression goes slack and distanced, again, eyes fixed to stare blankly at the wall once again.

“You should have some now,” he tries, careful to keep his words even. “You need the calories.”

“I’m good,” Dream says, automatic, just shy of sincere. “Thank you.”

“Dream,” they don’t quite succeed at keeping a displeased sigh from falling from their lungs, and bite back a curse at themselves when Dream pulls back with a silent flinch. It’s so goddamn hard, to talk to this version of Dream, both of them feeling around the edges of their relationship like walking on goddamn eggshells. A few months ago, he would’ve straight up called Dream out on his bullshit, get it through his thick skull that the whole ‘I’m fine and don’t need anyone’ act was stupid and completely failing to convince him. Here, they bite back another sigh, look forlornly at the bowl of the soup on the nightstand, sure to go uneaten once again, and force themselves to sound completely neutral when they speak again. “Alright. You’ll have to eat at some point, though.”

“Mmhm,” Dream hums noncommittally, once again staring at the wall. Punz stares at his hands. This is so fucking pointless.

“So,” they say after a few seconds, Bad’s words echoing in their head - they can try to make an effort to talk, sure. It’s just that Dream’s not going to cooperate. “How are you, man?”

The words come out stilted, awkward. He looks up to watch Dream’s expression, as the other man begins to gnaw on the inside of his cheek.

“I’m good,” he says, words deliberately light. “You?”

“Dream…”

“I’m fine.” Dream’s voice sharpens suddenly, breath hitching, before he shakes his head and turns his head away. “I’m fine.”

Punz looks at him incredulously. “Are you serious? Do we need to get into exactly how not-fine you are?” They wave a hand in his direction, jaw clenching when he rears back. “Do ‘fine’ people lose their minds from someone waving at them, now?”

“I-” For a second, Dream glares at him, eyes burning with a familiar, irritated fire that Punz knows all-too-well from having it directed at him a few too many times, before it suddenly dies and Dream is swinging his head back to the bedsheets, hands tightening on the cloth as he stammers. “I- What do you want?”

Punz breathes a soft sigh, regret blooming in the center of their chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles, careful to keep their gestures overly-telegraphed and away from the other man’s face. “I’m just- you’re not okay, man. No one’s expecting you to be okay after...all of that.”

“But why?”

Dream’s voice is small, nearly a sob, and Punz directs wide, alarmed eyes to where he’s hunched in over himself, knees pulled to his chest, hands staring at the sheets pulled over them. “Why?” he says, again, quieter, lip trembling slightly.

“Because you were tortured,” Punz begins, words slow as they watch Dream’s expression, trying to pull out the thoughts behind his averted eyes, “Because the cell was inhumane, and nobody deserves to be treated like that. Because you were hurt very, very badly because of what we did, and none of us are expecting you to be fine right after going through months of trauma.” He pauses. “You know that, right?”

“But I’m out,” Dream says, quiet, disbelieving, instead of answering their question. “I’m out of there. It’s over. It’s- everything’s good,” he whispers, more to himself than to them, hands curling into fists and then uncurling. “I’m- they said I would never get out. And I’m outside, and it’s not- not the cell, and I get real food, and Quackity doesn’t visit anymore,” he shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut as his breath catches in his throat. “I’m happy- I should be happy. Right?”

“Oh Dream,” the other man flinches back, breath quickening, and Punz’s hand stops short from where he’d almost let it fall onto the other’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be happy, man. Not- not after all of that. Not if you’re not ready yet.” Dream’s eyes, wide and wet, rise to look at their own, and they feel more than hear the soft, wounded noise that leaves their lips. “It’s ok to be hurt. It’s ok to be scared. No one’s blaming you, alright? No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

This, more than anything, seems to be the breaking point, because Dream collapses forward, hands flying up to pull at his tangled hair before Punz manages to ease them away and into his own hands, watching as he grips onto them until his knuckles go white. His breathing shudders, quiet, even his sobs muffled as to make as little noise as possible, and they murmur meaningless croons and hums as he cries into their chest.

“I wanna- I wanna be okay,” he hiccups, and Punz smooths his hair back behind their hand.

“I know,” he swallows around the lump that has risen in his own throat. “I’m sorry.”

#tw trauma #tw disordered eating #tw torture #tw abuse #tw blood #tw injuries #tw unhealthy coping mechanism #tw emotional distress #tw murder #tw animal death #tw dark content #tw unhealthy eating habits #-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !!#-> my asks

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songofclarity · 3 years

Note

what do you think of the idea of Wen Yuan being Wen Xu’s son/ Wen Ruohan’s grandson ? it’s one of my fave headcanons since Wen Ning didn’t say which older cousin is Sizhui’s father.

I absolutely love Wen Yuan being either Wen RuoHan's son or grandson, Anon! It's a canon compliant headcanon or at least a heavily insinuated canon that Wen Yuan comes from his family branch.

Wen Ning says, "Y-You really l-look like a distant relative of mine..." to Lan SiZhui as they are traveling to Lotus Pier (ch. 83, ERS).

And earlier we are told that "[Wen Qing] wasn't a daughter of the Qishan Wen Sect's leader, Wen RuoHan, but instead the daughter of one of Wen RuoHan's cousins. Although they were far cousins, Wen RuoHan had always had a close relationship to this cousin of his." (ch. 60)

Plus a general: "Every day when [Wei WuXian] was free, he played with the toddler Wen Yuan, son of Wen Qing's cousin." (ch. 74)

I highly doubt the specification of distant relative/far cousin was used by accident or just a hand-wave since it's not used for any of the other Wen relatives. We have no idea how Uncle Four or Granny Wen are related to anyone else, for instance. I do headcanon Granny Wen being closer to Wen RuoHan's branch than to Wen Qing's since she is already Wen Yuan's guardian and caretaker when we first meet her. Imagine Granny Wen fleeing Nightless City with Wen Yuan after Wen RuoHan's death only for them to end up falling into the hands of the enemy anyway!? My heart! 💔

I will confess that, depending on what flavor I'm in the mood for, I headcanon Wen Yuan as either Wen Chao, Wen RuoHan, or Wen Xu's son lol

Wen Yuan is a toddler when Wei WuXian first meets him, making him around 2 - 3 years old. The Sunshot Campaign lasted three years, which means Wen Yuan was born either right at the start of the Campaign or a full year later.

Anon may have excluded him on purpose since he's the least popular choice, but I will say that I kind of prioritize Wen Chao as being Wen Yuan's father since we are explicitly told that Wen Chao has a wife. While it's described that him picking a new lover every six months is his routine, that he goes from honeymoon phase to being tired of them during that time is just his norm, I like to consider that him picking his wife's servant this time around wasn't merely out of natural rotation of lovers.

If his wife were pregnant, it's not illogical that a young man under twenty would go for the pretty woman batting her eyelashes at him while she holds back his wife's hair during another bout of morning sickness. Morning sickness traditionally lasts the first trimester, so the specification that Wang LingJiao will be dropped after six months matches well with the projected due-date. Wen Chao sending Wang LingJiao ahead of him to Lotus Pier could easily be because he was taking care of business (and a heavily pregnant wife) at home before he dashed out the door again.

That Wei WuXian then gives up everything to repay his debt to the Wen while at the same time protects and entertains the son of Wen Chao, who turned Wei WuXian's life to hell in the first place, is delightful to me lol

The second person I headcanon as being Wen Yuan's father is actually Wen RuoHan! This is my favorite option and warms my heart ♡ although at the same time it makes me very sad.

MDZS focuses a lot on characters losing siblings and parents and friends, but barely touches upon losing a child. Madam Jin and Jin GuangShan are described as having wasted away before they finally died over the loss of Jin ZiXuan, but we all know Jin GuangYao was done humoring them by then and their deaths were likely caused by poisoning (Jin GuangShan was weakened before his grand finale send-off and Madam Jin's cultivation was strong enough to maintain her in her youth and thus inedia should have preserved her longer even while depressed. These two did not die of grief.)

So Wen RuoHan gives us room to explore the grief of losing a child and having to restart a family, whether it's for the sake of protecting Clan lineage or for his own need to have a family. This also paints a rather intriguing picture of Wen RuoHan's position within his sect that he was comfortable and supported enough to have a child after such a great loss (Wen Chao and Wen Xu's bodies were vandalized and then never returned to him) and in the middle of a war (baby booms happen after wartime).

We're never told if Wen RuoHan's policy to attack the Sunshot Campaign changes after Wen Chao and Wen Xu die. It's both sweet and sad to imagine him playing with and caring for his little son while the Sunshot Campaign knocks on his door.

(Wen RuoHan should not be blamed for centuries of Wen Sect policies. Upholding family tradition is as true for him as it is for Nie MingJue and Jiang Cheng. He is never shown to have conspired to take over anything, much less the world. Let him have a family to love!)

There is also the question of who is Wen Yuan's mother in this case. Same mother as Wen Xu and Wen Chao? Another wife? A lover? The Qishan Wen Sect is not short of people wanting to cozy up to Sect Leader Wen, as we have seen. Wen Chao reveals to us that there is some fear of assassination, but Wen RuoHan seems rather negligent of that threat. Although the other sects might hate them, the inner-workings of the Qishan Wen appears to be a safe and supportive one. Wen Yuan was born from at least an agreeable union, but ideally a happy one~

Although you mention him first, Anon, Wen Xu is the last of the three that come to mind when I think of Wen Yuan's father! Which is amusing because I also know Wen Xu is considered the popular fandom choice whenever I see this topic come up. As I mentioned in another post, there is something poetic in the circular way Wen Xu destroys Cloud Recesses and tells the Lans that the Wen will help them rise from the ashes followed by Wen Yuan raised from ashes of the Wen Sect to find new life in the rebuilt Cloud Recesses.

But whether Wen RuoHan was his father or his grandfather who took the role of father after Wen Chao/Wen Xu died, he would have been the first and only father Wen Yuan truly knew. Wen RuoHan looks like he's in his twenties, so calling him father rather than grandfather wouldn't be unexpected for a child to do, either.

Which brings new insight into this moment when Wei WuXian brings Wen Yuan out to play with him in Yiling. Wen Yuan calls Wei WuXian brother (Brother Xian), so he's definitely not calling out for him in this scene...

When children were scared, they always called out to those they were close to. And so, sobbing, [Wen Yuan] called, "Dad! Dad..." (ch. 74, ERS)

Crying out for Wen RuoHan!? My heart! 💔

#anon #asked from above #wen yuan #wen xu #wen ruohan #wen chao #mdzs thoughts #mdzs quotes #wen fam #i have a lot of feelings about this topic lol #idk if i've already brought up that last scene before #but give me any excuse and i WILL bring it up

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jtrbluv · 4 years

Text

hell-ish | pjm

summary: can be read as a separate oneshot or a continuation of ‘we’re not really strangers’“

“But do you remember when we went on a field trip to that amusement park in 8th grade? Around halloween time? … Yeah, I think that’s the moment I pretty much fell in love with you.“

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: fluff, humor, establisedrelationship!au

word count: 7.7k+

warnings: profanity (they are beyond terrified), inaccurate depictions of amusement park shenanigans, neurotic clowns (but they’re acting)

A/N: IM SO SRY ITS LITERALLY NOT EVEN HALLOWEEN ANYMORE GOODBYE DD; in my defense they typically have these typa things open after halloween ends... miss rona just isn’t allowing it this year ofc ;w; a special thanks to @viopera , @koushiningg, and @bangtans-peaceful-piegon for letting me use their likeness, i love u all. and i hope you enjoy this late halloween fic right before thanksgiving break!

The car rolls to a smooth stop. The man in the driver’s seat puts the car into park—turning towards you while placing a reassuring hand on your thigh.

“Hey,” he says, a small close-lipped grin painting across his features, “you excited?”

You reposition in your seat so you can face him, or more specifically, your best-friend-turned-lover—the sight of him smiling causes you to elicit one of your own, your nerves slightly subsiding.

“I am actually,” you admit, “how long has it been? Six? Seven years?”

“Around there I think, but we should probably get going. The lines are probably going to be stupid long like always,” he suggests, his hand leaving your thigh only to ruffle the hair on top of your head, "Here's to new memories Y/N."

You step out onto the pavement—the crisp, cold night air nipping at your cheeks and nose. The cooler temperature serving as a reminder that winter was yet to come and autumn was about to come to a close. You form an O-shape with your mouth, exhaling sharply and seeing your own breath swirling and blending into the air around you.

Footsteps approach you from the side as you shut the car door. Your head whips around to see Jimin walking towards you with a dopey grin plastered on his face. In response, your eyes playfully loll back, a stream of air huffing out of your nose.

You shift your focus back towards in front of you, eyeing the roller coaster that intimidatingly loomed beyond the fence of the park, the drop tower that appeared just as high, and the other neighboring attractions that towered significantly enough to be seen from afar. The whole stretch of the park emitted a red glow, from what you could assume was from the large-scale lighting and technology that was spread out across the expanse.

A soft hand slides its way from your forearm down to your palm, intertwining all in one smooth motion. It was warm and comforting much unlike your frozen, almost entirely numb ones.

“Someone’s a little cold aren’t they,” he teases, using his other hand to attempt to rub more warmth into yours.

“You know my hands are chronically cold,” you pointedly whine, causing small clouds of air to shoot out of his mouth and nose due to his laughter.

He locks the car and you two begin making your way towards the entrance—from what seemed like a mile, in reality, was only a block away. There was practically no gap in between the two of you the entire time, taking advantage of each other’s body heat amidst the numbingly cold weather.

The wait wasn't too shabby, but you knew it was because time always seemed to pass by so much faster when you were with him, most of the pastime consisting of talking about how your past week has been, the fuckton of assignments you two had gotten, and the dangerously high intakes of caffeine you two had consumed as per usual.

The conversation ceased after a while, and it was just the two of you pressed side to side in comfortable silence, hands still intertwined. It was interesting to see such a vast variety of ages all around you—the most common age range were teenagers or people of the same age as the two of you, which wasn’t a surprise. After getting past the ticket booth and security check, you

two finally make it inside.

The first thing you notice is the large, antique carousel that hadn’t changed in the tiniest bit since the last time you were here.

The meticulously decorated entrance—brought to life by the fire torches, heavy-duty fog machines that didn't allow one to see after 10 feet ahead of them, bright lights that were replaced by either no lights at all or a faint red tint, and just the whole ambiance—had greatly juxtaposed the simplicity and familiarity of the carousel that stood in the eye of it all.

The heat of the fire torches allow you to regain some warmth back into your body—you create a small gap in between you and Jimin, in which he pouts and lifts your intertwined hands up to his face, pressing a kiss into the back of your hand.

“So, where do you wanna go first?” He asks, swinging your arm back and forth after passing through the gates.

“I’m fine with whatever,” you enunciate a bit loudly, the usual noises of amusement park shenanigans hindering your hearing.

“You sure about that?”

You click your tongue, “Jimin please, I’m a college student now, not a puny 8th grader anymore,” you argue, watching him turn away as he tries to stifle his laughter, “I swear!”

“Alright! Alright! I’ll believe you,” he eventually caves, frantically waving his hand to dismiss your concerns, “But I won’t believe you until I see it.”

“Oh, so we’re gonna play that game huh,” you retort, brows furrowing as a smirk creeps across your face, “Alright, so what do you think about riding that?” You ask innocently, motioning up towards the drop tower that forced one to crane their neck all the way back just to see the top.

You break your focus as you look back down and turn towards him to gauge his reaction. His jaw dropping down to his knees—eyes widened in complete bafflement and horror.

“Y/N. I am literally going to fucking die if I ride that shit. Oh my god.”

“What do you mean? It’s totally safe! I’ve been on it so many times.” You attempt to console him, knowing it’s futile because of the piercing glare he gives you right after you say that.

“And that’s supposed to make it better how?!"

You soothingly rub the back of his hand in an attempt to ease his nerves, “Of course I won’t push you if you don’t want to, you know.”

He sighs, “Well, now you’re just making me sound like a puny 8th grader.”

“I can assure you that you very much, are not Chim.” And he smirks at that, tightening his grip on your hand, making you wish that you didn't give him that ego boost in the first place because he surely didn’t need any more of that.

You take some time to mull over your options, but instead, go with whatever your gut feeling was initially leaning towards, “Okay, so what if every time you take me to a house, I have to take you on a ride. You get to choose the house and I get to choose the ride.”

He nods in acknowledgment, “I’m listening.”

“Does that sound valid?” You inquire.

He bites on his bottom lip, taking a moment to quickly cogitate between the options you had given him, and at last, he nods, "It sounds like a win-win."

"Or a lose-lose." You chuckle, and he mirrors.

He shakes his head, “I know you like rollercoasters and all that scary shit, but there’s also a ton of stuff that they’ve added since we’ve last been here.” He replies, thinking out loud, while making you feel more content with your decision, “You got a deal ma’am.” He affirms at last—releasing his grip to offer you his hand to seal the deal, in which you confirm resolutely by shaking it.

Just like he said, the amusement park most definitely stepped up their game ever since you both were middle schoolers, navigating the large expanse with a bunch of other measly and equally puny peers.

The deeper you two make your way into the park, the more themed attractions lined the path. At this point, you could barely make out the bottom half of your legs due to the thickness of the fog. Actors were running around left and right—faces decorated with FX makeup that you could barely discern because of the dim lighting—effectively scaring others, clear by the amount of ear-splitting shrieks you've heard in the past ten minutes that was enough to make your eardrums burst.

Jimin takes note of your slight tenseness. He wasn't oblivious and he knew that you were trying to feign nonchalance—but the razor-tight grip on his hand and lack of chatter on your end was saying otherwise. But just like everything you do, he thought it was cute anyway.

He promptly squeezes your hand, making you turn to face him, "Do you want the first pick?"

You hum, "You can have it if you want."

"Are you sure?"

"Yess," you drag out exasperatedly, "how many times do I have to tell you that I'll be perf– !" You abruptly halt as a zombie (that very much isn't real is what you keep reminding yourself) whizzes past you, brushing against your shoulder and making you jump and trip over your own two feet.

The man beside you is quick to react—leaping in front of you with his arms out so you could fall into his grasp. And you do, gripping his arms to better steady yourself and stand up. As you attempt to straighten yourself out, your head sinks into his chest, laughter erupting out of the two of you to the point where his knees almost give out.

You detach yourself from his chest, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes from laughing so goddamn much. Finally regaining your poise, you immediately slip your fingers back in between his. He cards a hand through his locks with his remaining hand while taking deep breaths.

While tugging him away from where you two were standing to avoid another ruckus... granted that you were at a haunted amusement park, you shout into foggy air, "I'm fine, I'll be fine Jimin! Let's go!", hoping that maybe if you spoke it out into the world, you could manifest it into being true.

Well, weren’t you wrong.

A rare and near impossible feat is what you were able to accomplish: forcing Jimin to make a decision. Despite him already being a trademark libra, you always believed that one of his most standout and consistent libra-esque traits was the fact that he was so indecisive. To which had resulted in him forcing you to make decisions instead of him most of the time, whether they had been trivial or not.

The moment you realized that this "feat" wasn’t much of a feat, after all, was when you two had finally reached the entrance of the first haunted attraction he had chosen, his impulsive and most likely ulterior-motivated driven decision causing you to retract all preceding moments in which where you were being stubborn and indignant in him making the first pick.

Just your luck, his explanation behind his decision (and your almost near-death experience) is that he says and you quote, “Start off with a bang! We get the worst over with now so it’s all smooth sailing for the rest of the night. Trust me.”

For some context, you had a very rational fear of clowns. The year of 2016 was already bad enough as it was—a time in which you had gotten out of your first serious relationship, afterward giving yourself the most horrendous haircut in your entire life because you were emotionally strung and the scissors… well they just happened to be within an arm’s reach.

Later on in said year when you had become a junior and assignments had been piling up higher and higher without any shits given whatsoever, your minuscule fear of clowns had been blown out of all proportions—ultimately fueled by the number of clown sightings around your town and one altercation that you still think about until this day. Four years later, you can still vividly recall the time where you were coming home after studying all day at the local library and on the other side of the street, you had spotted a clown—feet planted to the cement sidewalk, body immobile besides their head that would keep its focus on you as you continuously made your way down the street. As you began to quicken up your pace, the clown began to reciprocate your actions from across the way, and you came to the conclusion that you didn’t really wanna die that night so you sprinted the entire rest of the way home.

And here you two were, at the front of the line standing behind the black curtain entrance—next to a rugged wood sign with the words, CLOWNEUROTICS, inscribed with a dripping, rich red liquid which you surmise was fake blood and not Kool-Aid.

“I cannot believe I let you have the first pick and you do this to me” You quip, chewing the chapped skin of your lips, breath shallow and bated.

“Y/N, you’ll be just fine. I’ll be here right beside you, remember?” he assures you once more, giving you another tight squeeze on your hand.

The curtains swish open, the employee in a simple all-black ensemble motioning the two of you to come inside. You close your eyes, taking one deep and steady inhale before stepping in.

You can barely make out your surroundings, let alone Jimin, who was standing right beside you. The worker’s voice hollers over the deafening noises of the tent. “Follow the path, don’t go backwards, or else you'll hold up the line. And you see that green light?” He asks while pointing to the tiny green bulb that was down the hallway in front of you, “Take a right from there.”

Jimin replies, knowing that you’re too fear-stricken to form coherent sentences at the moment, “Alright, thanks.”

The man nods, and Jimin tugs on your hand as he begins to walk forward. You follow closely behind, reminding yourself to take breaths before you flat out lose consciousness.

As you reach the end of the hallway and the green light bulb the man mentioned, Jimin pauses and turns around to stand in front of you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Y/N, I know you hate my guts right now, but I’m sorry in advance and just know that I love you, okay? You have full permission to torture me after this.” He reassures with a wide grin.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too,” you grumble, lips downturned and head hanging low.

You feel his soft lips graze over your cheek, leaving a chaste peck before giving you an airy, irresistible smile that you can’t really help but relent, even though it already feels like your heart is about to implode on itself.

Taking a right, the setting of the attraction comes into periphery. White walls and floors—reminiscent of a hospital, are tainted with blood, a disarray of medical equipment, and severed body parts. You take notice of the vacant hospital beds, sheets crumpled and stained with red. Framed pictures of medical staff were hanging by loose nails, glass shattered, bloody splatters and smears all over the frames, walls, and white tile.

You two reach a doorway, next to one of the hinges was a sign that clearly said, Psychiatric Ward. Well, I guess that explains the neurotics part.

In an attempt to swallow down some of the fear in your throat, you tighten your grip on Jimin’s hand while opting to slither your remaining hand around his bicep.

He takes notice of your actions that were propelled by your increasing fear, and naturally, he can’t help but feel bad, “Hey, you know I’d never let anything happen to you.” He tells you, shaking you out of your slight daze, “You can hold onto me the whole time and stick your head in my shoulder just like you did years ago, I won’t mind,” he teases while booping your nose.

“Alright, let’s just get this over with, please.” You huff out, determined to somehow put on maybe not a brave, but a braver face than what he expects from you.

You manage to fail in a whopping, record-breaking, ten seconds of going inside.

The first jumpscare was so entirely predictable—the thunderous pounds against the wall, the trudging and supposedly neurotic clowns (although clowns are already neurotic enough as they are) had all built up suspense until a head of a clown had shot up from around the corner. Their usual clown features distorted with gashes in their skin and blood dribbling out of the corners of their mouth, clothes ripped and stained. Your entire body violently spasms, a shrill shriek, and an embarrassingly long string of curses leave your lips in a matter of mere seconds.

You don’t even notice the man you’re holding onto folding over in laughter because the clown is still very much still following you even after you turn the corner, but before you can recalibrate and trek forward another clown materializes just sparse inches at your side. Your entire body forcefully jerks back, knocking into Jimin, but the force doesn’t phase him in the slightest as he swiftly brings his arms around your frame to prevent you from falling back.

Next to you, the man’s laughter hasn’t ceased a bit the entire time, and as you quickly dash forward and away from the clowns that you oh-so-wanted to knock a tooth out of, while clinging onto his side, he presses a kiss to the top of your head, “Hanging in there?”

“I think I’m gonna murder you before I murder any of these clowns.”

“Noted!” he chimes while playfully bumping his head into yours.

As you two turn another corner, the sight of more clowns banging against vacant windows on either side of you has you wincing, and you could swear you could feel your left eye start to involuntarily twitch. You come to the indubitable realization that amidst dozens of clowns, you are evidently the biggest one here.

The sounds that blaringly elicit from your lips are the nearing equivalent to keyboard smashes with a variety of curse words in between. In short, if you had a swear jar, you’d be practically penniless at this point.

The clowns are quick to take note of your cowardly conduct, using it to their advantage and targeting you specifically—reaching and intruding so eerily close that you’re almost convinced that they’re actually touching you. You cower in their presence, squirming and sinking deeper and deeper into Jimin’s hold as you make your way down the path.

Beads of cold sweat began to assert their own path down your forehead—heart ricocheting against the walls of your chest, straining the cords of your throat because of your never-ending shouts and shrieks of terror upon terror. Your whole body was convulsing and shivering without fault, even when accompanied by the body heat of the man next to you, the harsh lighting of the overhead lights, and the lack of ventilation in this shoddy tent proved to be no match against your bodily functions that were going completely haywire. If you were an Amazon package, you would have a large ‘Caution: Handle With Care’ sign slapped right onto the box.

The pea-sized amount of pride that remains within you is the only thing stopping you from completely losing your shit.

Jimin's laughter—airy and unwavering, tickling the shell of your ear was the only thing keeping you grounded, serving as a constant reminder that at the very least when you might have lost all your pride and composure, you still had him by your side.

Without much forethought, he continues to lay kisses along your temple, clutching you close to his chest and keeping you upright as your knees constantly buckled under the weight of your looming fear, crumbling composure, and the grisly clowns that were most definitely preying on your downfall.

The ten-minute duration—which to you, had felt like a whole lifetime-and-a-half had finally come to a close. Once you were able to discern what you thought was the exit of the tent—the small opening leading to what had looked like signs of civilization, you booked it without hesitation, hastily tugging Jimin with you to the point where he nearly tramples over his own feet and crashes to the floor due to the sheer and sudden force.

You two finally pass through the exit. Feeling as if you had just ran a timed mile in five minutes, your body caves immediately—hunching over, briskly bringing your hands to your knees to support your deteriorating physiological state. The sound of your heavy breathing gets disrupted by Jimin’s laughter. You stand up, straightening yourself out when you realize that other people were starting to make their way towards the exit too, and you two were clearly blocking the way out.

Jimin takes you by the wrist and swiftly pulls you aside as more people start to trickle out of the tent. You two lean against the metal fence, comfortably silent as he lets you catch your breath.

You huff out, taking deep exhales as you speak, "Holy fuck, what even was that?"

"The funniest thing I have ever seen," he shoots back with a smile, slightly breathless as well.

You blink rapidly, body slumping against the fence, still completely cynical and disbelieving in what you had experienced. Biting the inside of your cheek so hard you're pretty sure you left teeth marks, you wipe your sweat with the hem of your sleeve.

"You okay?" he asks softly, closing the gap in between the two of you.

You nod, affirming your composure in hopes that it would solidify it for real. Giving him a smile to ease the nerves you knew he had, you visibly saw his smile widen, and with that, you ruffle his hair, take his hand into your own, and walk a few steps forward before announcing brazenly into the chilly autumn wind,

"Drop zone time."

"Y/N PLEASE—!"

"Don't do this, anything else but this please." He pleads, lips jutting out while childishly tugging on your sleeve.

You groan, "Bub, we had a deal."

He presses his lip together, "I know... but just look at that! How does that even look remotely safe enough for one to ride?" He tries to reason with you, staring up at the attraction that he believes should not even be labeled as an 'attraction' in the first place.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head, "If it was that much of a safety hazard, it wouldn't even exist Chim."

"I will never understand why people ride this out of enjoyment and pleasure. This is insane," he says, his eyes trailing to the long line of people behind the two of you.

"It's three seconds, I swear. Three seconds compared to my ten minutes of cussing and wanting to punch a clown in the face is very reasonable in my opinion. You’ll be just fine, I’ll hold your hand the whole time," you add on.

He quietly freezes in place—eyes fixated on the tower, hands leaving the fabric of your sweater. You feel his warm hand come in contact with yours, the back of his hand grazing your knuckles. Lacing your fingers in between his, he meets your eyes, giving you a timid, lopsided grin. A silent affirmation that had said more than words could’ve. I trust you but I’m still scared shitless.

“You guys are next,” the worker announces, opening the gate and gesturing you two to come inside. Jimin’s smile dissipates, face contorting into a look of mortification at the man’s words—eyes widening to the size of what would be considered as utter shock and lips curling into a form of disgust.

Tugging lightly at his hand, he whips his head towards you, waiting to speak until you two have passed the gate, “Y/N, I’m literally gonna piss my pants like I’m not even joking.”

“Jimin!” you say in a hushed yell, “Please don’t, I know your pride is too precious to you for you to annihilate it by pissing on a ride that even kids go on.”

He scoffs, “Okay fine… but we’re getting churros after this.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, smiling at his tone, “Why would I argue against churros?”

“Hello, miss? Come this way, please,” another worker greets, leading the two of you to two vacant spots of the ride where you presume were going to be yours.

You nod, making your way towards the two seats, hearing Jimin splutter incoherent words and sounds from behind your shoulder.

He immediately plops into the innermost spot, refusing to be on the outermost seat that only had one accompanying seat on one side, albeit it truly didn’t matter. And of course, you don’t tell him that.

Smiling at his overt signs of apprehension, you slide into the spot next to him, beginning to put on the seatbelt over your lap.

Drumming his fingers on his knees, he already has his seatbelt buckled and his over-the-shoulder restraints locked and secured into place.

“Ugh, can these things go any tighter! I can still move under here,” he tuts, vigorously trying to push the restraints closer to his body, yet his attempts are proven to be in vain.

“Bub, they still want you to be able to breathe,” you remind him with a small giggle, your head popping out of the U-shaped bar to look over at him—his brows knit in concentration, nose scrunched, lips tucked into his mouth.

In a final attempt, you hear the man beside you take a sharp and deep inhale, only to hear a tiny click emit from the restraint shortly afterward.

He releases his bated breath, only to come to the realization that he can’t extend his stomach all the way forward, the bar forcing it to come short. He splutters, bringing his hand to cover his face while he coughs only to realize that his arm can’t fully reach around the bar to meet his face.

You watch this entire scene unfold out in front of you—wishing you could do something to help the poor guy, but you already knew your attempts would be pointless in the end as your arms are physically incapable of extending that far. You sink back into your seat to make sure he doesn’t see the fact that you were trying so hard not to laugh.

“Jimin, deep breaths, in and out,” you instruct him as the worker starts to make their rounds around the ride, double-checking for seatbelts and secured restraints.

“Y/N, that’s the problem, I can’t.”

“Try scooting back into your seat,” the worker suggests to Jimin, giving him an empathetic smile.

“What do you mean–oh, erm, thank you.”

She nods, shaking Jimin’s restraint a little more energetically to reassure the man of his safety.

As she leaves, he says to you, “Y/N, I can’t believe you convinced me to go on this.”

“Me too, honestly. I’m really proud of you Chim.” You admit, reaching out a hand towards him in which he takes.

“Three seconds, right?” He reiterates.

“Give or take, yeah.”

“Y/N—!”

Your seats suddenly clatter, signaling the start of your long ascent. Jimin’s grip on your hand tightens substantially, causing you to groan out in pain.

He quickly takes note of the noise, loosening his grip ever so slightly, “Oh my god, sor- oh fucking hell, there’s no going back now?!”

You chomp down on your bottom lip before another sound could escape your mouth—his grip on your hand tightening the higher you two go, “No, no you’re fine, it’s okay..”

“HOLY SHIT WHY ARE WE ALREADY THIS HIGH UP?!” He yelps, kicking his feet against the air—people’s heads starting to look as small as ants, the rest of the park coming into view as if you were experiencing it from a drone’s point of view.

“Dumbass, don’t look down!”

“It’s too late–what the hell, why can I see the whole damn city from here?!” He sticks his head out of his restraint, looking up and trying to find the top, “wHen the FUCK does this shit stop please, Y/N, I cAn’T do this?!?!”

“Chim. Breathe. Deep, steady breaths, okay?” You say while audibly taking breaths so he can do the same.

“Okay, okay,” he says, voice cracking but following suit.

After you think that he finally manages to get a grip on himself, you decide to try to take his mind off the situation at hand, “Jimin, look at the view.”

His breath softens as he begins to take in his surroundings. He could see everything. To him, it feels as if he had the city in the palm of his hand. The rollercoasters that reside next to the tower were practically reaching eye-level to him, and despite the lack of color due to the theme of the park, he thought it was mesmerizing anyway. He marvels at the fact that he could even see past the park—catching a glimpse of the cars zooming on the main highway, minute specks of light emitting from the windows of skyscrapers, people living in their own little worlds in each one, And of course, the envy of it all, the night sky—the dark depth littered with a multitude of stars in their own little patterns and worlds of their own as well.

The overhead speakers trumpet, ripping Jimin out of his trance-like state, “Welcome to the drop zone brave newcomers. I hope you’ve had an enjoyable trip on the way up here. And I hope that your descent is just as enjoyable as well. We will be dropping in... “

Jimin heaves out, “Now that’s just plain rude at this point.”

“Ten.”

“Are you okay?”

He scoffs. “What kind of question is that Y/N?!”

“Nine.”

“Jimin, you’ll be just fine,” You reassure for the umpteenth time.

“I swear if this is longer than three seconds–”

“Eight.”

He frantically kicks the air. “Fucking hell! I can’t believe I’m doing this right now, I miss the ground.”

“Seven.”

“We’ll be back down to earth sooner than you think, I’m telling you.”

“Six.”

“Oh my fucking god, oh my fuck–!”

“Five.”

“Oh fuck, holy shit–!”

“Jimin, I’ll be right beside you–”

“Four.”

“–the whole way.”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD?!”

“Thre–!”

Before the countdown can finish, you two plummet, plunging down at great speeds—a feral-sounding squawk leaving Jimin’s lips when it all happens.

He squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to see what was going on—letting go of your hand, he opts to hold onto the other handlebar on the restraint instead. His breath is caught in his throat, the ride is moving so fast that he can’t even produce any noise, let alone move his body.

Just like you have been saying this whole night, the ride ends in a blink of an eye. Or more specifically, three seconds, give or take.

Jimin slumps in his seat—fingers still curled so tightly around the handlebars that his knuckles turn pale.

You stick your head out of your restraint, craning your neck to look at him beside you, “Jimin, it’s done, it’s over.”

“Are you sure?” He mumbles.

“Open your eyes.”

His head slowly rises, eyes remaining shut. Cracking one eye slightly open, he loosens his grip on the handlebars before opening his eyes and letting out a deep sigh of relief.

"That wasn't so bad, right?" You beam, waiting for the restraints to be lifted.

"I wouldn't know, I had my eyes closed the whole time," he shyly admits, lifting the restraint off of him and unbuckling his seatbelt.

You two jump out of your seats, heading towards the gate and bidding the drop tower goodbye, juxtaposing afterthoughts lingering in the air.

"That felt so weird, I don't know if I wasn't able to move or if there wasn't enough time for me to react," he chuckles dryly while twining his hand with yours once again.

You smile, "Probably a little bit of both," you suggest, eyes scanning the park for any signs of a churro stand, "but hey, you survived!"

He smiles at that, teeth out and all, "We both did," he assures earnestly, "and now as an incentive, we are getting churros."

Your eyes light up—the sight of the bright neon sign being the next destination of the night. Jimin notices your sudden reaction, quickly looking in the same direction as you and pinpointing the small churro stand from afar.

To your luck, the line isn't very long—people are most likely preoccupied with the multitude of attractions that are only going to be available for this appropriate time of the year, taking advantage of the opportunity before having to wait for an entire year before getting to experience it all over again. But you and Jimin weren't like most people, and you two strongly believed that churros should be indulged in at any time during any situation. And right now, it was being utilized as a form of consolation, just in the shape of a deep-fried pastry sprinkled with cinnamon sugar.

After obtaining your consolation desserts, you two resume your journey around the park. Too preoccupied indulging in your churro, you’re temporarily able to block out the commotion that was occurring around you, keeping four out of five senses focused on said churro and churro only.

“You feel better?” You ask, taking a brief moment to dust off all the cinnamon and sugar off the corners of your mouth.

“Mmhmph,” he incoherently mumbles, after shoving half a churro into his mouth. He abruptly pauses, cheeks puffed up and eyes wide, realizing he can’t talk and instead he nods with a grin as wide as his mouth would allow him to stretch out.

You giggle at his actions, taking your focus off of him to take another bite.

A few moments later, when most of your churros noticeably nowhere to be seen, you ask, “Where should we go next?”

He cinches his brows together, “We probably shouldn’t go on anything to extreme, considering we just ate. How about the ferris wheel?” He suggests, pointing to the attraction that was standing in front of the two of you.

You nod, “You’re right, these workers already go through enough. And we shouldn’t add cleaning vomit to the list.”

He chuckles, “Agreed. Let’s go, the line is pretty short!” He exclaims jubilantly, flashing you a mega-watt grin while pulling you along with him towards the gated entrance.

Leaning against the gate, you two wait for the round of riders that were currently riding to finish, mindlessly scrolling on your phones to pass the time.

The gate entrance opens, tearing your focus off of your phone and back to reality. The enormous and dazzling neon wheel that stood boldly enveloped your vision in replacement of your dim and dark-mode setted phone screen, making you blink a few times to adjust to its harsh hues.

One of the carts comes to a halt, doors releasing as the group of friends inside it begin to grab their belongings and head out. The worker in charge motions you to step inside after they leave, the two of you following suit. When you two become situated and seated, they press a few buttons on their control panel, the doors promptly swinging close. A few brief seconds after, the cart jolts before moving just enough so the other people behind you could board onto the next cart.

The carts reminded you of the teacup ride at Disneyland—built in a circular shape, seats lined around the border with a small gap made for the entrance door, but of course, it was void of steering wheels in the middle. Now that would just be a recipe for disaster, and a solid segue into Jimin vomiting all over you.

He nudges your leg, “It’s so funny to me.”

You turn to him, “What is?”

“Out of all things to do while being here, and we’re riding the ferris wheel,” he beams, a light chuckle leaving his lips, “I don’t know whether to pity us or not.”

“All my pride has left me already and I’m okay with it,” you tut, lips unwillingly curling upward as you replayed the scenes of what had happened earlier at the drop zone, “I wouldn’t talk too much if I were you Mr. ‘I’m gonna piss my pants.” You tease, poking him in the side.

He scoffs, squirming slightly where you poked him, “I am still proud of myself, I didn’t think I was gonna make it up there.”

You turn away, holding in your laughter, “I didn’t think you were either.”

“Hey! Don’t even get me started on you,” he says, nose scrunching and brows furrowing, “those poor clowns were about to get their noses punched in if it wasn’t for me being there. I think your screams and threats were starting to scare them more than they were scaring me.” He fires back, giggles erupting in his throat and interrupting his words.

“I’m not even gonna argue against that. We are so sad,” you say—laughter flaring up in your chest as well, the two of you keeling over so hard the cart begins to swing back and forth.

“Woah! Woah! Woah! Easy there,” Jimin yelps as you two take notice of the movement and immediately cease your actions, hands grabbing the ends of the cart to try to stabilize it.

Just as your cart has moved up enough for you to start seeing an overhead view of the park, he whips his phone out before saying, “Lemme take a picture of you, the view is so nice here.”

As he whips out his phone, you scoot to the other end of the cart as he brings his phone up to his face and focuses it on you. Naturally, you bring your hand up, hand changing to a trademark peace sign as you flashed a smile for the camera. He brings his phone down many lock screen worthy pictures later, happy with the result evident from the grin etched onto his face.

“Your turn,” you say, motioning you two switch spots as you take your phone out of your pocket.

Jimin, infuriatingly photogenic, simply sits while staring off into the distance, jaw on full display as you begin to rapidly snap pictures. Hearing your camera clicks he changes his position—turning towards you as the chilly wind blows through his hair, eyes crinkling and dazzling smile on full display that you can’t help but smile at the familiar yet all too breathtaking sight.

Placing your phone in your lap, you scoot closer to him—leaning your back against his shoulder, you prop your legs up onto the seats. Turning towards you, he snakes his arms around your waist as his chest comes in contact with your back. You let yourself sink deeper into his grasp, conforming into his body as warmth spreads to your fingertips. Your head lulls back, falling into the space right below his collarbones as you stroke the back of his hands gingerly with the pad of your thumbs. He rests his chin on top of your head, the two of you simply admiring the view below.

The ride still hasn’t started—people still boarding the ride as the carts momentarily halt and move from time to time.

Not long after, your cart reaches the very top.

Head peering over the edge, he turns back, “See, why did we have to go on the drop tower when we could’ve went here instead,” he grumbles, the peak of the tower standing nearly just as tall as the highest point of the ferris wheel to the point where you could stare directly ahead of you without tilting your head.

“Well that takes all the fun out of it,” you tease, making him frown, “Hey! You keep forgetting what you made me go through before that. Don’t think I’ve gotten over it that quickly.”

Looking displeased at your answer, he quirks a brow, “You seemed to be fine when we were riding the tower.”

“What can I say, you make a very good distraction.”

“I think I could say the same for you,” he proposes, “I swear I saw some of those clowns turn away and start laughing every time you threatened them. I was like ‘Yes! That’s my feisty girlfriend!” he cheers, pumping his fists into the air. You cower down in embarrassment, grinning to yourself while trying to swat his arm away.

“I feel so burned out already though,” you say, head falling back into his chest, “I think it’s ‘cause we’re here at night.”

“And because you track-starred your way through that entire maze,” he adds.

“That too.”

“I feel it too, we did more walking than anything else to be honest.” He says, which is very much true. The drop tower was all the way on the other side of the park and the churro stand took you guys a whole twenty minutes just to find.

You hum, “Should we head out after this then?”

He rests his cheek on top of your head, “Yeah, if you want to.”

“I feel bad though, it feels like we just got here,” you admit, chuckling into his arm.

He shakes his head, hands reaching over to play with the ends of your hair, “Don’t feel bad, I think we’re still hungover because of midterms. And besides, I’m hungry and I don’t wanna eat a ten dollar hotdog after just eating a stale ten dollar churro.”

“Yeah, we can just eat one dollar ramen, we’re still college students above everything.”

And you truly couldn’t argue with that. “Of course.”

Taking your hands off of his, you prop a hand onto the cart to sit yourself up onto the seats. He releases his hold on you, his arms returning back to his sides as the warmth of your body dissipates to his dismay.

You adjust your sitting position so you could face him—reaching out to take one of his hands into your own. Your eyes bore into his, gazing into the pools of honey that were his irises. The view is slightly obscured as his eyes crinkle.

He smiles, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You don’t even register that he’s speaking to you until he leans in slightly, his features starting to appear bigger as he starts to close the gap between you two. You shake your head once he gets so close in proximity that you could see each crinkle that etches themself on the sides of his eyes each time he grins.

Your eyes flicker to his lips, taking notice of the action as you quickly revert back to his eyes. He smirks

“Thank you for taking me here,” you say as your eyes intently gaze into his once more, “above all the trepidation we’ve put each other through tonight, at least we’re here together.”

He nods, gratitude evident without him having to utter a single word. It’s as if time is frozen, everything around you stagnant and still, eyes boring into each other because nothing could just quite compare to this. Not even the surreal view of the city or the ability to see all the bustle within the amusement park or even the stars that littered the sky.

You press your lips against his. Although you initiated the action, the sensation of his lips against yours, regardless of how natural, sends a flurry of shockwaves down your spine. Your body tingles—as if you’re floating and the cart you were sitting on wasn’t even there to support you.

And he kisses you back. His lips are warm, welcoming, and comforting—like wrapping yourself in your favorite blanket in the comforts of your bed, the indescribable bliss as the fabric consumes your body and runs over your skin.

Kissing him felt even more blissful than that.

The kiss isn’t fervent, but it’s full of longing. It’s as if he’s communicating to you, through the way his lips mesh against yours, that he plans on making up for all the lost time. Time that could’ve been spent doing things like kissing you, loving you wholeheartedly and unashamedly, was spent pining for each other with the label of being ‘best friends’ standing in the way for far too long. He wants to make up for it just as much as you do.

He slides his hand under the crevice of your knee, pulling you closer to him as he continues to kiss you. You bring your hand up to his neck, entangling your fingers into his hair as you lightly scratched at the surface of his scalp.

He kisses you like he’ll never get to again, which isn’t completely false—the fact that you two were so high up in the air to the point where the stars look tangible, basking in each other’s presence and each other’s presence only.

Frustrated at the abnormal layout of the seating, he hooks his arms under your legs—hoisting you up and placing you in his lap so you were straddling him—incognizant of how the cart was starting to dip due to the unequal distribution of weight.

The gesture makes you squeak, and you can start to feel him smile against your lips. Before you could do anything else, the cart totters—rocking a few times before moving, signaling that the ferris wheel is finally beginning its journey.

“Oh fuck—!”

“Oh shit—!”

The two of you immediately detach from each other as you take notice of the unbalance, hurriedly leaping onto opposite sides of the cart while gripping onto the sides for dear life, the cart rocking back and forth at a concerning extent. You sneak glances at each other, your faces painted with the same expression of shock and distress.

Seconds pass and the cart steadies—laughter instantaneously taking over the two of you.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” he says, a little breathless while his body hunched over his seat.

“Remind me the next time we kiss to check if we’re less than a foot above the ground first,” you tease, playfully swatting his knee.

He grabs your hand, pressing a kiss onto your knuckles before shaking your intertwined hands up in the air—obnoxiously shouting into the frigid autumn wind, “Yes chief!”

MASTERLIST

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theyscreamjade · 3 years

Note

A Headcanon for Midoriya, Bakugo, Todoroki & Shinso when they see their Fem Reader with and without makeup?

Woah

I changed this request up a bit, I hope it’s okay. What I did was change it from them wearing everyday makeup to an important event and your makeup is on point 🥵

——————————————

Izuku Midoriya

* You two have been dating only for five months. The relationship was steady but recently, it seems fate wants to constantly bring him to your house.

* His things started to slip from his pocket or backpack and it’ll lead him to your home late at night which henceforth.

* It wasn’t his fault that he forgot to grab something from your place...

* (Even though, it technically was.)

* As much as he hated to just randomly appear at your door, unsure of you having company or even awake at this hour. It was damn near midnight and he was knocking at the door because of a limited edition wallet that slipped from his pocket.

* He honestly felt guilty to come to your place at such a late hour.

* He was even more surprised when you opened the door, seeing a barefaced you at the door while you wore his shirt along with a pair of joggers. He couldn’t help but admire how adorable you were looking at the moment.

* He wouldn’t even know what to say because he’s always seen you with makeup on that it’s like seeing a lunar eclipse, he’s infatuated by it.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

* He’s seen you wear makeup before, on more than one occasion. He’s seen you look as great as you normally did.

* It was the day of All Might’s anniversary party of the date when he saved those people years ago and lost his quirk for good.

* It was such an important and grand event for the former Pro-Hero as a dedication for his sacrifices and hard work.

* Since it was such a formal event, Izuku wanted to take you as his partner.

* Here’s one thing I do see his ass doing, he’s going to fucking show up almost an hour or two early because he wanted to leave at this SPECIFIC time and would prefer to have to pick you up out of the way.

* He’s sitting on the couch, staring at his phone before he heard your heels softly click over to him, catching his attention.

* From your dress, hair, and lastly that bomb ass makeup. Your eyeliner on point, the dress is gorgeous.

* The mere fact that you decided to even wear some of All Might’s colors from his costume was something he enjoyed even more.

* He’s a blushing, shuddering mess and he can’t keep his eyes off you. Even while people asked him thousands of questions, he couldn’t stop staring at you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Katsuki Bakugo

* He randomly texted you, after you said you were hungry but didn’t feel like cooking.

* Next thing you knew, he was standing outside your door with his car keys in his hand, calling your phone.

* This man DIDNT even give you a chance to even answer. You knew you were going to get a long sermon from him about you not eating at the right times.

* Honestly, it was rather shocking that he was up so late...

* When you finally walked downstairs, you wore a loose hoodie so you attempted to cover your face by having it on.

* During the rather random car ride to your favorite fast-food restaurant, the street lights gave him a slight glimpse of you without your makeup. The bright lights of the restaurant gave him a view that he could honestly admire.

* He’ll never understand why you waste your time on something you never required to have on your face at all.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

* So, What day when he saw you look gorgeous, sexy, and amazing all at once because of your makeup?

* Your wedding day, of course!

* He’ll remember, seeing you walk down the aisle. The way your dress/pantsuit hugged your body.

* Your hands gripping your favorite flowers, while your guardian walked beside you to hand you off.

* When you handed your flowers to Mina and touched his hand, he felt all his worries go away.

* Your eyes connected with his and he could tell the amount of detail you had.

* It was such a natural look even though it wasn’t even noticeable.

* The whole day was something he’ll always remember, it’s a day he’s often thinking about.

* You looked flawless to him and he knew from that very day, you were his.

* And he was yours. Forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hitoshi Shinso

* He was ready to see your natural face by date three.

* He just wanted you to be comfortable with him, he hated seeing you so uptight about your makeup. He noticed how you’d always check it and make sure your eyeliner never smudged or anything.

* He never liked seeing you so worried about something that’ll never change his opinion of you.

* So, While you two were on a date one day, and it suddenly began to rain.

* When you two finally found dry land, your makeup was smudged and started to make you look like a melting painting.

* He had a flannel shirt that was around his waist, so he snatched it off and handed it to you.

* With the eyeliner melting into your eyes, you quickly take it and wipe your face, not even caring anymore.

* When he finally sees you barefaced, he can’t help but stare.

* The rain just increased your beauty. While you stood underneath a closed cafe’s roof, the way your eyes sparkled even though dark clouds scattered the sky.

* He smiled softly, looking at you while you tried to see if the rain would ever stop before you’d look towards him with a confused look as to what the hell was he looking at.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

* The one time your makeup looked completely flawless and gorgeous?

* For Halloween, you two were invited to Denki’s party at his home, so he dressed him as his mentor, Shota Aizawa.

* Unsure what to wear, you just decide to go as your boyfriend but in a gender blended version. You wore a long purple wig and customized yourself while thinking as if you were him as a girl.

* While you were finishing with your makeup, he was downstairs waiting, looking at his Apple Watch.

* When you walked in and declared you were ready, he had to take a double-take at you.

* If he imagined himself a girl, he wouldn’t have done half of the effort you did!

* From your eyeliner to even your costume change you did, he was astonished because of it.

* I guess that why you always wanted to practice on him, luckily his arm did the trick.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shoto Todoroki

* The poor man was just trying to be a good boyfriend.

* The reminder about your birthday being the next day, he simply planned to do a surprise party for you later that day.

* Denki...Denki would go on to suggest that he should surprise you early that morning which also earned a small agreement with Deku. (Even know they’ve never been in a relationship.)

* You and Shoto were dating for a few months, almost a year. After a few threats from fans, you gave him your home key so he could come in if she never responds to his calls or messages.

* Here’s a lovely reminder, this is all new to him. HOW WAS HE TO KNOW THAT SURPRISING YOU WAS A BAD IDEA?!

* This poor man was knocked in his nose by you, thinking he was an intruder, at least he knows you can kick ass.

* After stopping his nose bleed, you questioned his randomness while your face was oily and bare. Your forehead shined a bit on the light while you held a wet rag to his nose.

* You looked so cute in your pajamas and he couldn’t help but compliment your cozy appearance.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

* The one day he’ll forever remember was the day you two had to walk the hero’s red carpet.

* It wasn’t more of his style, but he technically didn’t have a choice because he was supposed to receive an award of some sort that night for his investigative hero work.

* This was even more important because this was going to be the debut of you and his relationship. You two kept it under wraps for a while but you two are engaged now.

* He couldn’t hide his ring anymore and he knew for sure you couldn’t, he wanted to tell the world about you two from the beginning.

* He didn’t want his hero status to interfere with your life though.

* You made him realize that it didn’t matter what he was, all that mattered that you were his and he was yours. Nothing was going to change that.

* You made him realize that even more when you stepped from the vanity in your room.

* You have him a soft smile with your beautiful dress that matched with your eyes, the way your eyes sparkled along with your eyes.

* Shoto blushed in front of you for the first time and almost couldn’t believe he was engaged to a phenomenal person like you.

——————————————

#my hero academia #my hero academy fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #my hero academia fanfiction #my hero academia scenarios #bnha bakugo katsuki #i hope you like this #bnha shoto todoroki #bnha hitoshi #bnha headcanons #bnha imagines #bnha izuku #izuku midoria x reader #bakgou katsuki #bnha bakugo x reader #bnha shoto x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader

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hatchetfieldtheories · 3 years

Text

Return to Hatchetfield-Town – The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals Part 1

Alright settle down kiddos. Get comfy, find a warm blanket and hug your favourite fwendy-wend as we start our Return to Hatchetfield-Town series.

I’ll be rewatching all the Hatchetfield scripted content (i.e. not livestreams or interviews) and jotting down what happens, explaining some concepts and delving into some of the key theories in the series (and using the word “implications” that often it will cease to have meaning).

Even though I’ll be doing the rewatch by show in order they came out, there will be spoilers for all Hatchetfield content that is available as of the rewatch.

I’ve also linked to a number of other blog’s theories here because they are amazing, but if you aren’t happy with your theory being included I will be more than happy to remove it! Just let me know.

[Part 2]

The Guy Who Really Hated Brigadoon

TGWDLM starts off with the greatest song ever to feature dancing zombies… at least I can’t think of any other notable ones.

In the title song, the cast of singing and dancing zombies explain to us that all great stories have to have a hero, someone who knows right and wrong and that the best way to do this is through singing and dancing in musicals. This with the later line of “they evoke the philosophical” make me think that Pokey took a class in Campbell’s Hero Myth in College and became that guy.

Hatchetfield Challenge: try not to shrug your shoulders along with the music at the chorus. Its impossible. No wonder the Hive spread so quickly. Literally killer dance moves.

So then they introduce us to an awful Grinch named Paul and we hit the first point in the show where I laugh out loud every single time I watch.

I know TGWDLM was not originally intended to be the first Hatchetfield show but starting this series with a song which sets up the story so well is truly spectacular. And is there anything more Starkid than introducing your main character by having other characters sing about how awful they are?

One thing I have noticed while writing, reading and collating Hatchetfield theories is that while most Black Friday and Nightmare Time theories are usually about the overall Hatchetfield lore, most TGWDLM theories are usually quite self-contained and focused on this one show. TGWDLM – while so fully within the Hatchetfield extended universe, is definitely the show that can best stand-alone without the others.

It’s the end of the world, Paul

If you don’t sing

This is the bridge, Paul

Where we globalize everything

And the words will come to you

We swear we will teach you

What it means to love

What it means to obey, Paul!

On a first watch this is very funny. On your 10th watch this is terrifying.

CCRP Technical: No-one here knows how to use their printer

Following the absolute bop of a title song we find ourselves in CCRP Technical and all feels very… normal. It’s very weird following all the revelations in subsequent Hatchetfield media, to be watching a show where there was genuinely nothing obviously fishy about CCRP. We’ll obviously discuss CCRP more when we get to Nightmare Time, but for now all we know is that Paul works in the technical department of CCRP – an unknown corporation, with some key characters, Charlotte, Bill and Ted.

We also find out more about Grinch Paul’s personality and honestly, Paul is me pre-pandemic just outright avoiding social interactions and suddenly going for coffee in the middle of the work day. (I have become a changed woman in lockdown – someone please invite me somewhere… anywhere!)

For all the dark humour and death in the Hatchetfield series, Starkid do know how to bring the joy – I love how excited the town of Hatchetfield are for a touring production of Mamma Mia.

Fake Fact: TGWDLM is actually an allegory for Europe in the 1970s, when we all became mind-controlled by Abba’s Waterloo. (Find me a better explanation for Eurovision, I dare you! The sequins were just too shiny!)

“The idea of sitting there… trapped in a musical. That is my own personal hell.”

Two words: Emma Perkins – need I explain any more?

Ah Hot Chocolate Boy. I really look forward to finding out more about him. Where does he come from? He just appears out of the ether. What’s his story? How old is he? How many hot chocolates does he have per day? I know we have since had some confirmation on who he is, but they raise more questions than answers. For now I will just point you to a gorgeous Mood Board by @hatchetfieldmoodboards which features a bit of a spoiler.

For real though – is it just me who would love a full version of “I’ve been brewing up your coffee”?

Hatchetfield Challenge: Try not to sing “Shut the f*ck up” along with Emma.

“Watching people sing and dance makes me very uncomfortable”- oh boy Paul… you’re not going to enjoy the next hour and 40 minutes. Also, Paul, you’re making me uncomfortable watching you throw your brand new coffee around as if you’ve just been given an empty cup. There’s imaginary coffee everywhere. Hopefully, HCB won’t slip on it before it’s cleaned up… he’s already having a bad day.

“Thunder and Lightning… very very frightening. But a big rock hurtling through the clouds is no biggie.” – all the residents of Hatchetfield apparently.

The next sequence happens so fast and we get introduced to a lot of characters. Notably Greenpeace Girl, Alice and Deb, Sam, and Hidgens (though we don’t find out his name until much later). This scene impresses me because they do such a great job of very quickly bringing out so many characters who nonetheless are memorable when they return later in the show.

Peanuts the Hatchetfield Pocket Squirrel is an Eldritch Being. I won’t go into Peanuts theories here as that could be a whole post in itself – and many a person more brilliant than I have written some fantastic theories on this. You can learn all about how a Squirrel took over the fandom in the following posts:

@dahlialupine : x

@frombothofmyhearts: x

@abiimaryy: x

And finally mine which is definitely a serious theory: x

It’s… A… Musical!

Now to remember we are actually watching a musical. La Dee Da Da Day is such a happy joyful song performed spectacularly by a throng of the undead.

The song is about the Hive singing about how much of a great time they are having now they are tap-dancing zombies, and trying to find ways to convince Paul he should join them too. So the grins on all their faces are not at all terrifying.

It’s worth noting also that according to the laws of the TGWDLM world, only those infected by the Hive can hear the music in the background. This becomes important later when it becomes clear some characters have started being infected before they are fully turned into zombies, but for now it just paints quite a funny picture of what Paul must be witnessing. I definitely think for him, this whole scene just sounds like this clip of Greased Lightning without the music: x

The important thing here however, besides Mariah’s singing, is that the Hive leave Paul alone. They don’t actually attempt to turn him at this point. I have a theory on the implications of this, but note this has big spoilers for the end of the show and Black Friday. It was written before we knew that the Hive (Pokey) was related to Wiggly but the content still stands: x

Charlotte, Honey, you don’t need that much sugar – you’re sweet enough

For reference:

@melchron noted that the lyrics for La Dee Dah sound very similar to the incantation for soul transferal read out in Jane’s a Car, which leads me to two possible implications.

The Freaky Furbies have a language other than English that they use for their incantations so this is why they sound similar.

There is soul transference happening to the souls of the bodies the Hive take over.

Or it’s just Starkid using similar sounding words for their content…. Three! There are three possible implications…

Paul – just print off another copy of the report

From this point on the musical numbers really do come thick and fast. We move on to the first instance of Jeff Blim encouraging Paul to talk about his feelings, which I am sure is not important and isn’t worth discussing. Paul goes through a musical rendition of a promotion interview, which is actually the Hive attempting to find out if he will be the “hero” of their story. They picked out Paul for the role from the start. That he was chosen was inevitable.

What do you see for this company? I'm looking for someone with strong ambition Someone to sell their specific vision Someone to share with precise precision their thoughts 'Cause I want you to want…To want

So it turns out these will be looooong, so I will end here and see you in part 2! I’m not sure yet what the upload frequency will be. It takes quite a while to go through the show like this but it is a lot of fun!

Hatchetfield High Homework:

Where do you stand on the Peanuts the Hatchetfield Pocket Squirrel debate?

Why do you think that the Soul Transference Spell and La Dee Dah sound so similar?

Go follow all the lovely people mentioned in this post!

Bonus points if you know the reference in the post title.

[Part 2]

#the guy who didn't like musicals #tgwdlm #return to hatchetfield town #starkid #team starkid

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dreamiesdotcom · 4 years

Text

slow | n.jm, l.hc

summary: Jaemin likes some things slow — slowly walking from your houses to school, slowly drinking warm drinks, slowly putting puzzle pieces together, slowly dancing to Jisung's upbeat playlist, slowly baring yourselves of masks, slowly learning to trust — but slowly falling in love, he's not very sure.

word count: 2563

a/n: this is based off this post of mine (as per @flirtyhyuck 's request) and im here to say that im sorry this wasnt supposed to see the light of day

"Can you please tell Jeno to tell his best friend to stop staring at mine?" Jaemin almost growls, pulling your chair over nearer to him. You whine a little at being closer to the scent of his coffee, scrunching your nose up and pulling away. He gasps at the rejection but you smile at him and reach for his hands instead. He rolls his eyes and faces Renjun, "Please."

"Na, you know I don't talk to people. I'm allergic." Renjun grumbles. "Talk to Jisung instead, he's been hanging out with the music kid for a project."

"He's older than you, and he has a name," Jisung grimaces over a cup of hot chocolate. "His name is Mark. Mark Lee."

"See?" Renjun shrugs as if to prove a point. "He even knows his 'name'."

"But this is so unfair!" comes the inevitable whine from the younger. "Chenle is friends with Hyuck-hyung!"

"Chenle is friends with everyone. Whatever, one of you needs to do it." Jaemin sighs, turning his chair to face you. He raises a brow, "What're you thinking?"

Your hand still loosely wraps around his, and he slowly entwines them together.

Warm. It's warm like a cup of whatever the hell it is Na Jaemin is drinking. What were you thinking, though? A while ago, there was a lot — random numbers, other subjects, an article you read yesterday, the way Jisung's eyes shined at the mention of Mark. Right now, there's only one; Don't catch feelings.

Those thoughts are regular and they were haunting. These days, they're not as incessant as the past few months, but they still come and they are unbelievably strong — don't catch feelings. Something tells you that it's too late and you already did. Something tells you that you are stupid.

But, what if things worked, right? He's soft and kind and he's lovely. You fit in a lot of things and you disagree in some but that's just perfectly balanced, isn't it? He won't hurt you — oh, how he won't do that. He never will. Na Jaemin, this magical boy — what if?

"Damn, Lee Donghyuck is really in love with you," someone chimes loudly, and you don't even need to see who's rushing to your table before Jisung groans in disdain and makes space for this odd friend. Chenle makes a vague motion, asking people to look away. "He talked my ear off about how pretty you looked while painting at Art's class. He's whipped."

What if, huh? You turn away from the idea with a smile. Don't be silly...

"No, he's not, Chenle." You reply to the boy but keep your eyes at Jaemin, smiling still. "I wasn't thinking about anything. That was me spacing out."

Jaemin rolls his eyes again, seemingly moodier than usual. His soft giggle later makes you laugh, though. Oh, how weak this boy was. How weak he became when someone smiled at him. Or maybe, only when a specific someone does it.

"What do you mean 'No he's not, Chenle'?" The brat refuses to get the hint and live him down. He makes a quick show of turning around to the other side to check Lee Donghyuck and his friends' table, then pointing at them, "He's staring at you."

"He's not!" You hiss, glaring at the people who are either eavesdropping or watching or worse, both.

"Is, though." Jisung shrugs. "I bet he writes you love songs."

"Does not!" you glare at the duo, begs Jaemin through your eyes to tell them to stop. Unfortunately, Jaemin is already gushing at the two. You stomp your feet to get their attention, "We don't even know each other!"

And that was a lie. Renjun's eyes read those words, he must've known. He probably knew about the accidental bumping into each other at the playground, or the awkward laughs you two share at the convenience store; maybe he saw him helping you with Mathematics at the library, or he stumbled upon most of your accidental meetings; those were by coincidence, right? They had to be. Renjun's eyes also read another set of words: Don't break his heart.

But how can you not? You weren't in love with him. You were in love with somebody else, and you wished that the sunshine boy didn't adore you like that. Why does Renjun care about Hyuck? They haven't even spoken to each other. You sigh, and at that very moment, you hear the door open and close. Donghyuck and his friends left. The room mourns the lack of the warmth of their muffled laughter.

"You know what, I'll just go see Lee Donghyuck." You huff your cheeks, palms slamming on either side of the table. Jaemin startles, tries to speak, but you're already cutting him off with a much more determined gaze.

"I have his number from when Chenle got it for me. I'll go home, change clothes, ask him to meet up and I'll prove you guys wrong." you stand up, tearing away from his stare. "It'll drive me crazy if I don't."

"But we—" he bites back a sigh, but you notice the way his hands attempted to reach up and pull you back down to your chair. It seemed like a quiet plead to hang around. He smiles, "Do you need a ride?"

That day you told him no, and you pinched his cheeks instead of your usual kind of goodbye; that one where you pout and tug at his sleeves, wishing for fifteen more minutes without words but only your eyes, knowing you'd meet each other tomorrow but not quite wanting to even part.

If Jaemin knew that it will be the moment where everything begins to change, he knows he would have held you tight and never let you go.

You officially got together with Donghyuck on the 24th of December. Jaemin isn't interested in knowing how it happened, but he briefly remembers the next few days after that: everyone talking about Donghyuck's sweet voice, Mark and Jeno playing the guitar, and a kiss under a mistletoe. Renjun and Jisung gave him as many sweets as they could manage to find, though they quickly realized that he isn't gonna give up on his little role of a boy not broken. Chenle was the one who talked him down, smacked his head, hugged him tight, and told him to snap out of it.

It was sure as hell disrespectful and he got an earful after that, but it did help Jaemin. At that moment, there was a silent agreement between the three that it was all that mattered: Jaemin accepted the pain and knew that he wasn't alone in all of this.

Heartbreak felt bitter and it wasn't kind, but Jaemin knew that much. Chenle's been saying those things to him for a while now — especially if it's because of someone you're close to. Even more if you haven't confessed yet, hyung. Damn it. It hurts so much — he said so many times Jaemin couldn't bother count. He never learned this, though, and he never even thought that he'd be in this situation: right now, he should be making a homework. Right now, he just realized that a heartbreak is even more extremely cruel if you never even realized that you had feelings until the moment you're hurting.

He looks down on his open notebook, glares at the unanswered question before ultimately giving up. Beside him, Renjun lost himself in a book and Chenle fell asleep. He searches for Jisung only to find him with a very familiar-looking boy — Mark Lee — shyly talking behind a bookshelf. Jaemin grits his teeth and wonders what the hell it is that this group has that he keeps losing his friends to them.

Sometimes, Jaemin falls into the ways of an escapist, as Renjun said once. He and his big words were normal. What's not normal is his daydream — it wasn't the two of you and your friends in Neverland, and it wasn't his imagination of how future plans would unfold — because sometimes he tends to do that, imagine how things would go. Right now, he's not thinking of that sleepover at Chenle's. He's not drinking up the image of a long, aimless drive (that will certainly happen. Jisung won't allow it not to happen), stargazing and exchanging theories on extraterrestrial life (that will definitely happen once again, because of Jisung as well, but now with the help of Renjun). His daydreams center on rain clouds today.

In his mind, you're both in some comforting cottage in the woods and there's a thunderstorm. The scent of petrichor and deep wood mixes with a calm and cozy atmosphere. You're tucked safely in his arms and he has you all to himself; right now, in his mind, he can be as selfish as possible. You're talking and laughing over sweet little nothings, and Jaemin has to catch himself a little so that even if he continues to fall, it wouldn't be as fast. He likes some things slow. He likes soaking up certain moments just as much as he likes the other events' turbulence. With you, he loved everything slow.

Slowly walking from your houses to school. Slowly drinking warm drinks. Slowly putting puzzle pieces together. Slowly dancing to Jisung's upbeat playlist. Slowly baring yourselves of masks. Slowly learning to trust.

Slowly falling in love, he's not very sure. More often than not, he would ask himself in his mind: 'Would it all be different if I fell in love faster?'

Maybe there were some things that needed to be rushed. Some things that needed to be instantaneous. He laughs inside his mind and asks again, 'Can this heartbreak be quicker, then?'

The false memory is ruined.

Jaemin comes back down to reality at the scent of roses. His shoulders ache a little from leaning at the lockers, so he stands properly and meets your confused expression. Roses. Chocolates. Letters. You. You look awfully flustered and the pink hue in your cheeks becomes bolder and bolder each phrase your eyes read. Jaemin smirks and takes a peek.

I don't know what went through my head or whatever hopeless romantic spirit decided to posses me today, but I love you. And I miss you. Let's have a date?

Cheesy. His grin grows wider but he promises himself that it's the last. He won't look at you so lovingly again. He won't feel like this anymore. Donghyuck is bratty and headstrong but he was kind and he cherished you, ready to give you the world — Jaemin finds that he can do that, too. Except that it's Donghyuck whom you intensely love. He promises himself that he'll get over you but only because he knew that he's bad at promises.

"Against Hyuck?" he drawls as if to make a joke. His laugh sounded way too wounded for it to be funny, though, and he leans to the lockers again because his knees buckle at your gaze, the one that slowly makes him melt all the damn time. "There was never really a chance for me, huh?"

He thinks you'd run away and go as far as possible from him from then on. He thinks you should — he implied that he liked you. He implied that he wanted a chance. He implied that he hoped for it. When you didn't do anything but tear your eyes away from the lovely note, he assumed you've taken it as a joke, that you were dense — that you were dense again. Instead, you tilted your head to him, "This is where it gets painful."

He aches to ask what it is that you meant, but he found that he couldn't speak. He's tongue-tied and he couldn't move, couldn't find the right words to say. It's as if his ability to make a sound was stolen from him. He's unaware of the world because all he can see is tender gazes and all that he can listen to is a gentle voice, then the words he never thought he'd hear — you were staring at him and then you sighed.

"You did, once."

A series of unexpected events have already unfolded, but this probably was one of the top three. He doesn't know where he gets the strength, but he stands straight again. He tears all the what if's and what could've been's and what will never be away for this moment, and he doesn't dwell on the fact that you loved him. That there was a chance. That he completely missed that chance because he was so afraid, so scared of falling in love and ruining all that you both have slowly built together. He doesn't understand how he even got to crack up at that realization, but he does — "And that was a perfect exchange. Jisung would love that."

You wink at him in quick humor, but you laugh at him with unrest, "Why Jisung?"

"He's into this kind of thing these days." He shrugs. "Speaking of, isn't it weird how Jisung all so suddenly likes sappy movies? Is he going through something?"

"He hasn't said anything. Maybe he's not yet ready to share with the class, Jaemin." You reply, smirking, "Are you playing detective, or are you nosy?"

"I'm concerned." He lights flicks your forehead. You giggle as he does that, eyes fluttering shut, and his heart stings again. When you open them, he's staring at you.

The look in your eyes screamed of honesty and pure truth. Jaemin understands, he always does. And he knows too, he knows that you're aware as well. He knows that you saw the same sincerity in his eyes and you knew that every single bit of that intense moment was true. At that, he swings an arm at your shoulders and led the two of you to the exit, opening a talk about your other friends and plans of meeting at 12 pm at the usual for lunch, then he cracks a joke, and you genuinely chuckle.

"I used to daydream about us," used to be said to prompt a laugh. On a normal day, that was the joke that makes you fall over and not the multiple bizarre versions of "Why did the chicken cross the road?". On a normal day, you two would talk hours and hours about daydreaming about each other, some sappy and some downright comedy. On a normal day, that's the topic you both center around as you walk your way to your other friends.

Today wasn't a normal day, though, because today you shine under the sun brighter than others, and you look very stunning in yellow. Today wasn't a normal day because you didn't take the normal route, instead, you made a turn to bid someone a quick farewell. Today, "Do you think there's another world where we're together?" doesn't feel like a question elicited from Renjun's multiverse theories and "If you knew, would you try?" isn't just a verse from Jisung's surprising secret stash of self-written poetry. Today, "You were a dream that shined brightly above me and just like the fate of a gazer and a star, you are so far from my reach" isn't just something he read out of the book Chenle reads.

Today, Jaemin watches you fall in Donghyuck's arms like it was all you were meant to do, and his heart breaks.

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theprophetsaid · 3 years

Note

What do you think of ‘Some Day One Day’? The lyrics lend themselves easily to a gay reading, imo. Brian made this comment on the song: “[It] was born of my sadness that a relationship seemingly couldn’t be perfect on Earth, and I was visualizing a place in eternity where things would be different ... the acoustic ‘tickling’ and the overlaid smooth sustained electric guitars were intended to paint a picture of that world.” That sounds startlingly similar to ‘Another World’, 20+ years earlier.

I have listened to this song before and thought exactly the same things as you, anon. Its themes of longing for a different, happier place where you can be with the one you love is strikingly similar to 'Another World'.

But I hadn't seen his comment. Wow. Ok. One of the most remarkable things about Brian, I think, is his feelings of being trapped and limited in regards to romantic love. He's often used his songs to talk about how he wishes that he was 'freer' to express his feelings and that everything was 'different' for him, which is just... not very Straight™, I'm sorry. Especially when you consider that Brian grew up in the 40s as the son of conservative parents.

"Together took us nearly there, The rest may not be sung."

What is "the rest", and why may it not be sung? To me, it implies that the relationship in question is some sort of taboo. It makes me think of something Brian said about 'Another World': "It's [about] secret thoughts. It's things we can't talk about, you know?" Yeah... Many thoughts, head full.

Brian's tendency to talk about his romantic dreams as taboo is interesting, to say the least.

"No star can light our way In this cloud of dark and fear."

It's also noteworthy that a thing that's described as a hinderance to this relationship is fear. This makes me 👀 because 20+ years later, Brian screamed "I'm scared, I'm afraid," at the top of his lungs in a song where his love interest is explicitly gendered as a man (or a 'bad bad boy' if you wanna be specific). Food for thought?

Similarly to 'Another World', there's also this:

"But someday, one day We'll come home." It implies that this 'eternity' in which Brian can be open about his love is where he's supposed to be. But he isn't currently there. He hopes to get there 'some day, one day'. This reminds me of him saying that he was trying to get to 'another world' while he was making the album of the same name in the late 90s; that he was trying to get to a different place with a 'better kind of truth' [for him].

Y'all can hate me if you want, but the kind of journey that he's describing (and that he's apparently been writing about since the early 70s!) screams, "I'm closeted, I'm stuck! And I don't how the hell I'm going to get out of here because of my fear, but I know I'm not supposed to be here."

#answered //#not tagging this for reasons lol

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thephantomofthe-internet · 4 years

Text

Read Into Me Chapter Two: The Importance of Being Earnest

Steve Harrington x Reader

Catch up on the series HERE

Word Count: 2,030

Warnings: Swearing, death illusion

Author’s Note: This chapter is a bit shorter than I’d like, but I promise that the next one is longer! Also, some of the tags aren’t working for some users, so I’m so sorry if you aren’t getting notifications for this series! If you know how to fix this lemme know!

Tags: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @herre-gud-nej @clockworkballerina @maddie1504 @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary @banjino-in-the-whole @buckysarge @wildcvltre @stanleyyelnatsiii @t0rment0 @10blurredsmoke10 @unussuallchild10 @n3wtscaseofniffler5 @alwaysstressedout @peterparxour @linkispink1995 @asharpknife @a-big-ball-of-idk @used-avocado @mochminnie @sledgy14 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect

Steve was so very fucked. He’d been sat at his desk since he got home from school and could not think of a single fucking thing to write. He’d had his notebook open, his typewriter loaded with paper, pen uncapped and waiting to be used, and the most work he’d done was chew on its blue cap. He just couldn’t think.

Writing was not his thing. Reading was not his thing. School was not his thing. He had lines of trophies on his nearly empty shelf-swim meet, track and field, basketball, and baseball for one summer in fifth grade. He could understand how to play a sport. That was competitive, improvisational, and had a core outcome-you won, lost, or tied. The same three outcomes with a million ways to do it, a million variables to get in the way. Math and science were the same, he could swing Cs and Bs in those classes, but English was the opposite. There were too many opinions. Too many options. When he managed to read one of the assigned books for class and not merely the Cliff’s Notes, he found he had nothing to say about it. Everything the author said felt true, even when his teachers were telling him to look for specific things in the narrative. Sure, if someone told him that the conch shell in Lord of the Flies meant something, but if you asked him what he wouldn’t know. And he would believe you if you said that the conch shell didn’t mean anything. His essays were all crap.

He thought about calling Nancy. Nancy would know exactly how to help him, she always did. But Nancy was with Jonathan now and he wasn’t confident that they were still friends at all. If they were ever friends. He didn’t think that they were. They weren’t really friends before they dated. Still, his hand hovered over the egg shell white rotary phone on his desk, a gift from his eleventh birthday. He lifted the phone off its hook, dialling the number off by heart. It took three rings for someone to pick up.

“Eleven?” Mike Wheeler’s frantic voice came through the other end. Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes, the boy was far too attached to that girl, it was honestly concerning.

“Nah dude it’s Steve, your sister around?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“She’s out with Jonathan.” Mike’s voice dropped into one of boredom. “You know, her boyfriend?” he was such a little shit sometimes.

“Yeah, I know dipshit, you wanna tell her I called when she gets back?” Steve huffed back.

“If I remember.” With that, the call went dead. Steve groaned, rolling his eyes as he slammed the receiver back onto the hook. What a fucking waste of time. He’d never hear back now, that kid didn’t like him from the start and would do whatever he could to keep them from being friends.

What was to be done now? He didn’t have anything to say about his spring break! Mr. Lawrence was a bastard for even asking him to write about it. Nothing happened! His parents went to Miami Beach to rekindle their marriage for the hundredth time and left Steve at home alone. He tried to throw a party but almost got busted by the cops with a fake ID at the Pick n’ Save and Tommy’s brother wouldn’t give them any weed to supplement what would’ve been a pretty dry party. He cancelled the party after that and sat at home alone. Nothing much to tell about and definitely wouldn’t fill a page, even if he used the longest words he knew.

Steve stood from his desk, looking through his shelf till he found the heavy yellow pages he’d put on the bottom of his shelf to weigh the sucker down so it wouldn’t fall over as fast. He flipped it open, searching through the numbers till he found what he was looking for, lifting the receiver off its hook again.

Across the street, you were sprawled out on your rose printed bedspread, your head in your hands with Samantha sat on your desk chair, laughing at your pain. “You know it’s not that bad, right? You could’ve gotten stuck with someone way worse.” She said, mindlessly digging through the black jewellery box sat dusty in the corner of your desk. Your mother had sent it from Spain and had filled it with different things she found across Europe. You didn’t care much for the stuff yourself but you kept it on your desk to show that you used it, not that she was ever home to seemed to notice.

Your bedroom was clean and stark white. It used to be pink, to match the rest of your white iron rod and pink padded furniture. You didn’t like the pink that much, and you didn’t adore the white, but you could hide it behind the art you tacked to the wall. Every portrait, still life, and landscape painting you’d been proud of hung proudly in your home gallery. You’d done recreations of your favourite album covers, and splatter art with balloons, and a few charcoal drawings of your grandparents and your father. You’d painted clouds and stars on your ceiling when you were in middle school, and while they had a lot of room for improvement, you left them above your head as a comfort to you. Your father had helped you scrape the popcorn ceiling down flat and helped paint the ceiling sky blue. It was your last project together.

“Oh yeah totally…” you said through your hands, refusing to look at her, focusing instead on the yellow sun spots floating under your eyelids.

“I mean, you could’ve gotten stuck with Tracy Lords again, she’s in that class.” Samantha replied easily, pulling out a green sea glass bangle from the top drawer, running her fingers over the red velvet interior of the box. Tracy Lords was a menace to productivity, at least she was according to Samantha. They had issues, which meant that you did too by association, but she’d done nothing to you except glare and pop her gum at you.

“At least she does her work!” you sat up, letting your feet dangle over your bed. “I don’t think he’s ever done his work on time, he’s always late with stuff!”

“That’s not your problem; as long as you do your work then Lawrence won’t care.” She flashed the bangle in front of your face “You should wear this more it’s nice.”

You shrugged “You can have it if you want.” You didn’t really care about what your mother sent you, it didn’t change the fact that she didn’t care enough about you to be home for more than a month out of the year. Besides, where on earth were you supposed to wear any of it? Your mother loved to spend your father’s riches on random, useless crap and you hated the idea of showing off the money your father died for. It wasn’t anything to brag about.

“Nah, not my style, it won’t match any of my stuff.” She put the bracelet back, closing the box with a metallic thump. “But anyway, you’ll be fine. Steve’s completely harmless.” You weren’t exactly sure if you believed her.

The phone on your desk blared loudly. You begrudgingly jumped off the bed, pulling it off the hook. Your grandmother was still at the hair salon and if you didn’t answer, one of her little friends from the old folk’s home might think that she died again.

“Hello?” you asked, motioning for Samantha to move over a bit, closing your white curtains closed again, your eyes scanning the streets with a bored expression.

“Hey is this Y/N?” Steve asked cautiously. He couldn’t quite remember your voice but he had double checked your last name in the year book and the phone book.

“Yeah, who is this?” dread filled your stomach the second he spoke, you were hoping against hope that it wasn’t Steve. You could see him pacing his window from across the street.

“Hey it’s Steve from English?” Fucking hell. You wanted to slam the damn receiver onto its hook. But if you did that, Samantha would think that you were crazy and you didn’t want to seem like such a baby.

“Oh hey what’s up?” you asked cautiously. Samantha was pulling at your sleeve, mouthing ‘Who is it?’ at you. You pulled your arm away, pushing her chair away from you with your foot.

“Oh nothing much, I was just wondering how your paper’s going?” Steve didn’t really know why he called you, he wasn’t certain that you’d even help him if he asked. He hardly knew you, he couldn’t name two things about you. But you seemed smart, you could be of some help if he had the balls to ask for it.

“Oh um…it’s fine. How’s yours going?” your hand came to the back of your neck, rubbing it awkwardly. You wanted to run away, to utterly disappear into another dimension. You didn’t like strangers, especially the whole small talk part. You didn’t feel like you had anything interesting to say about yourself and you hated silence. Your mind just didn’t come up with questions to ask.

Steve’s face burned. He couldn’t admit that he was stupid now; he was hoping that he wasn’t the only idiot in the class. “Oh um it’s good! I’m almost done.” He said, mentally cursing himself for saying that he was anywhere near finished.

“Oh cool. Do-do you want to switch them off tomorrow?” Now you had no idea what this phone call was even about. In the back of your mind, you assumed that he just had a question about the essay, but now you had nothing to grab onto.

“Yeah sure, that works for me.” He said, looking to his empty paper. He was so totally screwed now. He couldn’t admit that he was an idiot to you, not when you already had everything so clearly understood. You spoke so confidently, it made him feel small and pointless.

“Okay…I’ll see you in class then.” You said. Steve bid an awkward goodbye and you both hung up unsure what the hell had just happened.

Samantha was on her feet, jumping on your mattress “Did Steve Harrington just call you?!?” she cried, following it was it a giddy scream. You hushed her, rolling your eyes.

“It’s nothing to freak out about, you weirdo!” you countered, turning to face her fully with a sullen expression. Your heart was still pounding hard in your chest, adrenalin pumping through your veins.

Samantha landed on her knees, looking up at you incredulously “What? He’s cool! That’s cool! Boys never call you!”

“Way to rub that one in.” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. Talking to people wasn’t your strong suit, and while for the most part you were okay with not having many friends, you lack of experience with relationships made you very insecure. “You crushed one of your spikes on my ceiling.”

Samantha reached up and touched each individual black spike with the tips of her finger, finding the dented one at the top of her head. “It’s true! God, I’ve got more guys calling me and I’m a lesbian.” She lowered her voice at the mention of her sexuality. You both knew that your grandparents wouldn’t be kind to her if they knew, their homophobia a mark of their small mindedness.

“Yeah, well, the guys at this school are all idiots.” You looked back to your paper, pulling your red pen out from behind your ear and crossing out a word on your essay.

“You didn’t think Jonathan Byers was an idiot.” Samantha replied. You cheeks flashed cherry red. It wasn’t fair of her to even mention him. He was a dickhead and Samantha knew it.

“Yeah, well now I know that he’s just as big of an idiot as everyone else is.” You muttered, pulling your desk chair over and taking a seat once again. You didn’t have the time for stupid boys, anyways. You had work to do.

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thenameisel · 3 years

Text

Origin Stories Part Two: Sunshine and Ghosts

I exist.

Hrm.

Weird.

The sky is such a lovely color of blue. There’s not a single cloud in sight. Something rings my peripheral vision. It shifts slightly.

Time passes.

Wait. How do I know what a cloud is? I’ve only seen this empty sky. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. But it is literally the only thing I have ever seen.

A soft breeze caresses my face. Or at least I know it does. Weird sensation. I feel it, but not the way I feel like I should feel it. Does that make sense?

That’s when I realize there is a whole host of sensations to be felt. Some feel right, others don't. I can feel the ground I’m lying on. Firm yet soft. I realize it’s old hard ground covered by deep grass. Huh. Wonder how I know that. There's a whisper of sound as the breeze moves through the grass. Or was it always there and I just noticed it now? Birds are chirping somewhere.

Wow there’s a lot going on. I close my eyes and notice another sensation. Warmth. From the sky. The sun baking everything it touches. It’s glorious. I revel in it.

More time passes. Just existing. Just feeling. Just listing.

Eventually I notice something else, a tickle in the back of my mind. Unlike anything I can describe. Love? Devotion? Joy? As I concentrate on it, it swells up to meet me, a depth of feeling so vast, so…

Something shifts on my chest. I hadn’t noticed anything was there. A weight, truly miniscule, lifts and I realize I’m capable of motion too! I lift my head. The scene shifts and there’s forest in the distance, and rocky outcrops like ridges cut through with a hot knife. Long snaking roads run either side of the meadow I’m in. They look unused for eons.

More things I don’t know how I know.

But all those thoughts are chased from my mind as the source of the weight floats front and center of my vision. I sit up all the way, stunned.

“HI!” it goes. Exuberant. Ecstatic.

“Um. Hello?” I didn’t know I was capable of speech either. My voice sounds weird. Synthetic.

I look at the little flying robotic… thing. It's white surface glitters slightly in the sunshine, its singular eye changing colors rapidly. Almost joyously.

Suddenly I realize this is the source of that indescribable sensation.

Scratch the sky. THIS is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

“You seemed to be enjoying lying there, so I thought I’d do it too. I’ve… been looking for you for a very long time, never stopped really, so when you were reveling in being alive I thought I’d try too for once. It was nice!”

It, no, he? He spun leisurely, the white facets rotating around his eye. Happy. Content.

“What are you? I… don't know you. I know the sky, the sun, the grass… somehow. But you. You’re new.”

“I’m your Ghost!”

Wait what? Ghosts aren’t real. And even if they were I don’t think they’re supposed to look like this stunning creature.

“You’re a Guardian. A Hunter, specifically. Let me tell you, I had so hoped you'd be a Hunter!”

“I have questions. Many, now that I think of it. How can you be a ghost if you’re a robot? How can you be my ghost? I’m not dead. I think.”

“Oh not that kind of ghost! I’m a Ghost,” that time he accentuated the ‘G’ “And I’m your Ghost cause we’re a pair now! I will always be by your side. Always. Also. Uh. You WERE dead.”

“WHAT?”

“Well that’s the thing. You died. A long, long time ago. Car accident I think.” he turned quickly, looking left and right, a beam of pale blue light jetting out towards a nearby heap of twisted metal. “Yup. Definitely car accident.”

“Again. What?”

“And I finally found you! And brought you back! And I’ll do it many more times as long as we’re together. And I'm never, ever, leaving your side.”

“Why… don’t I remember?”

“Oh. No one remembers their past life. Some say it's so you can be your best now, without a past weighing you down. I figure it’s because I didn’t know you then!”

I feel so confused. The answers don't make sense. Or maybe they do. I want to ask a thousand more questions. But the marvelous creature continues.

“Wait. You should remember your name at least! You’re an Exo. You have it hard coded into you.”

“My name?”

I think hard. Name. Name. Something lurks below in the depths of my mind. Like a forgotten memory. I reach for it. A name leaps to mind. It BURNS. Something about it is so horrifyingly WRONG to me and I don’t know why. I HATE it. Starts with a J and ends with a 4. I blurt it out. I feel sick. A weird shock sets in.

After a few minutes the beautiful miracle of a thing flies up real close and gently taps me in the middle of my face with one of his facets. It makes a metallic ‘clink’ sound. Pulls me back to reality.

“Boop.” It goes. “Hey, you ok?”

“Yea, I… Uh. Can I… Not go by that name?”

“Can’t see why not!”

“Thanks, that feels important somehow. Wait. What’s your name? And what’s an Exo?”

“Oh, well! My name, that’s up to you! But I had Pip last, and it felt right.”

“Did you like it?” I ask. One ought to like their name.

“Oh yes! Short for Pipsqueak apparently, might have been an insult. Also it was too long. I like Pip though! Pip! Pip! Pip! So cheery!”

I chuckle, the day gets brighter again.

“Oh and you, you’re an Exo. Remove your gloves and you’ll see.”

After a slight hesitation I do, unsure what to expect. I pull off grey leather gloves revealing metal fingers with dark rubbery musculature. Pip hits them with the blue light. It tingles.

“Yup yup.” He makes a weird but adorable burbling noise. Laughter? He proceeds to hit the rest of me with that light. It tingles still, but oddly comforting at the same time. “You’re an Exo all right! Older model, but not outdated or anything. You should have a decent number of ‘Humanisms’. Weird thing that. I can fill you in on those later. Height 147.5 cm. If I include your boots. Hrm, I see traces of a green paint job that was removed with acid. That’s not something I can fix but we might be able to see about getting a new coat back in the City. But still, quite pretty.”

Odd comment that. Paint job? Who paints their skin? Then I remember my metallic hands. Something occurs to me and I hesitantly reach up and touch my face. It's hard. Metallic. Solid. There are very few moving parts. Lower jaw, eyelids, that’s about it. I have no nose.

“I'm… a robot?"

"Kind of. It's a really long story but we have time! It's a long way back to the City. Especially since we have to walk! Or, well, float in my case. Anyway. Want to get going?"

I am not ready to get going. This place is beautiful and I don't feel I've spent enough time appreciating it. Need a delaying tactic.

"What's this City? Is it far? Why not just stay here?"

Pip burbles again and darts off. A heartbeat later he's back. I don't think my tactic is working. He repeats the motion two more times, as if wanting me to follow. I lay back in the grass stubbornly.

"C'mon! I'll answer anything on the way! But trust me. You'll get mighty hungry staying here! And there SO much to see. You'll love the Last City! Promise!"

I ignore the splendid creature. I feel bad about it. After a moment Pip settles back down onto my chest.

"Seriously! It's HUGE. Well. Not as big as old world cities of course. But it's safe! Oh and the Hunter Vanguard, that's what they call the leader of the Hunters, you'll like him! He's an Exo too!"

I don't care. I close my eyes and enjoy the sunshine.

"Ok. Fine. Five more minutes. But then we gotta goooooooo. There was a Golden Age facility about three hours walk from here. Might be a good spot to stay the night."

That piqued my interest. I have no idea what Pip is talking about.

"Golden Age?"

"Oh yes!" Elation. Oh no. He's realized I'm interested. "They referred to them as 'Truck Stops'. All kinds of weird Golden Age things in there."

"What kinds of weird?"

"Nick nacks. Odds and sods. Thing a ma jigs."

Alright. Time to cave.

"Ok. Ok fine. Fine."

"Woo! But first. You need a name. A new name!"

He lifts off my chest and I stand up, dust bits of grass and debris off my grey leather outfit. It's lightly armored. Plenty of mobility. A dark grey cape with an oversized hood over top everything. And while it's nothing special, it feels right.

Pip is looking quite intently at me. Excited. Expectant. But there's also joy there. Innocent childish joy. It's infectious. I chuckle again.

"What did you say earlier? When you tapped my face?"

Pip, this beautiful adorable miracle that I've known for less than a day and already I'd die for, flies up close again and taps a facet against the flat space where a nose should be.

"Boop!"

I can't help it and double over in hysterical laughter. He flies in dizzying circles around me. Burbling the whole time. After a few minutes I'm spent and force myself to take big gasps of air and try to collect myself. Weird, that. You wouldn’t think an Exo would need to breathe. One of those ‘Humanisms’?

"Allright. How about Boop? Can I go by Boop?"

"I like it!" Pip exclaims. I hear him from behind me. I spin around, but his voice stays behind me. "Boop! Boop! Boop!"

More burbling laughter. That's when I realize there's a weight in my hood. I reach back to feel his form through the fabric. He twitches and burbles.

"You going to stay there?"

"Can I? For a bit? Please?"

"Go nuts. Now. Which way to this 'Truck Stop'?"

Pip gives me directions, and off we go.

He was right. It was one hell of a long walk. Took a little over a month to reach the Last City. But he was also right on another thing. I loved it.

#destiny 2 #Destiny #hunter #ghost #fanfic #sorry not sorry

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