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chopper-witch · 3 years ago

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Ritual 777 - Chapter 1: How I Get Myself Killed

Eddie Muson x female!reader; Jennifer’s Body!AU

Minors DNI. I will find and tell your parents or guardians.

Story title inspired by Ritual 777 by Temple Twins

Chapter title inspired by How I Get Myself Killed by Indigo De Souza

I will have a full playlist soon

WC: 3,500+

Warnings: underage alcohol consumption, drugging of drinks, sexual assault, literal usage of human sacrifice, no actual murder but there will be actual murder later; if you shouldn’t be watching HBO’s most popular shows you shouldn’t be reading my work. Like seriously.

This is like the only time I will use (y/n) I am so sorry.

A/N: This chapter has no Eddie in it at all, but it sets up the whole how did reader become tied to a demon thing. It deviates from Jennifer’s Body in several ways but it fits better to later plans. Also, I know some of the details are inaccurate concerning lining up with season 1 but frankly, I don’t care lmfao. Finally, I have like,,, mad bad dyslexia so please forgive all mistakes I put this through grammarly and like regular spell check and did all the other techniques I was taught. I can speak well, I cannot write for shit.

Masterlist

October 31, 1983

There is something about small towns in the middle of nearly nowhere and Halloween that mix just right. Every small town has its own verified monster, according to every citizen who lives there, and Halloween just brings something evil out of the ground that normally just lurks.

Some small towns refuse to participate. Too worried about that evil that lurks.

Others, it seems, openly invite it to dance.

Hawkins is definitely the latter.

Cherie, a friend since elementary who has a penchant for skirts that tend to get her sent to the principal's office and eyes so dark you’ve heard others wonder if she’s got something evil residing in her, slides an invitation on your desk.

Halloween Party at Tommy’s, apparently.

“It’s a Monday.” You toss the invitation back to her. “Should we really be going to a party?”

“Hell yeah. It’s Halloween. Come on.”

Behind her sits Ailise, not a hair out of place in her perfectly kept twists, as usual, popping her gum with wide eyes, awaiting your response.

“Alright, alright.” You shake your head. “Fine. You’ve convinced me.”

Cherie finally slides into her seat right as the bell rings but continues to speak as Mr. Jones begins asking for the weekend’s history homework.

“Yay! I’ll drive there, but there are like… no promises about driving back.”

“Yeah. I know.” You snatch her homework from her to send over to the left as always, and she rolls her eyes. How she stays in the honors classes is a miracle. “I know how parties work when we go together, Cher.”

“Pick you up at ten then.”

—

10 always means 10:30.

Always.

So you’re leaning against your front door, black jeans on, white v-neck with red dye dripped down the front, waiting for her. Nails have been painted black and red lipstick has been added as a little flourish.

Because vampires are always in style.

The familiar black Mustang that her brother restored for her after someone crashed it into a tree last year rolls up, blasting music far too loud for 10:30.

Cherie rolls down her window to her car and leans her head out. “Boo. That’s such a lame costume.”

“Vampires are never lame,” you insist, climbing into the car. “You’re just jealous. I look good in blood red, and you have to wear basically underwear.”

Cherie looks to Ailise for back up but she just shrugs.

“And turn it down. My neighbors will be on my ass again. You know it’s mostly old people here.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re leaving.”

For a small town, Hawkins has some of the largest parties, you’re convinced. Maybe it’s just a small town thing. When sent off to live with visiting a cousin in a Chicago suburb a few summers ago, the parties were large but not… Hawkins’ large. You suppose it’s because everyone holds them instead of just the few who actually can. People are spread out over ten or twenty instead of all gathered at the one or two that are happening.

Someone shoves a drink in your hand the second you cross into the house and you chug it without thought. Better to be drunk than sober at parties you learned long ago.

Cherie and Ailise are already gone in the crowd within seconds.

You follow the complaints about drinks to the kitchen, snatching an open bottle of vodka and filling the cup almost entirely.

Better drunk. Always better drunk.

The parties are all the same anyways. Someone cheats on someone. Someone is hooking up with someone else in the bathroom, the bedrooms, or the forest most of these houses have behind them. Two to five people are bound to get into a physical fight at some point.

Cherie will pass out on the couch. Ailise will probably walk home.

Some other junior saddles up next to you after a few minutes alone just drinking, some boy you vaguely know from a class last year, eyes trailing from your exposed ankles to the necklace dangling between your tits.

“No.”

And you walk out of the kitchen, deciding to wander through the crowd.

Steve Harrington, who hates you for some unknown reason, is dancing like a jackass with some poor sophomore who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else. He probably hates you because you let him fail on his half of a partner project instead of picking up the slack. Not your fault, really. You warned him. And given that normally you don’t follow through on such threats, he didn’t believe you.

But for the first time in his life, someone let him fail.

As you move into another room, you trip. The vodka that you haven’t had yet goes spilling down your shirt, turning the white shirt with red splotches entirely sheer. You aren’t a complete idiot, however, and it only ends up exposing the red bra you put on underneath, which doesn’t show through very much when it’s beneath sheer dyed red.

You move on. Somebody has to have some stupid party game set up somewhere. Something to do. It’s Halloween, after all.

The next room is boring. More dancing, making out, and a game of spin the fucking bottle.

Jesus Christ.

You trip again, but this time you can’t blame it on those dang strips of wood some houses have between rooms. Your eyes look down to find what the hell you could have possibly tripped on only to find your shoes doubling and blurring.

Strange.

When you look up, the heads of people begin tilting towards the right. Slowly but surely tilting. Your body follows.

Tilting, tilting, tilting…

Until you finally fall over.

A pair of arms catch you, strong and steady. A sharp contrast to the current cartwheels your head is deciding to do.

“You feeling okay there, madame president?”

Your eyes narrow to focus. But that voice… you know that voice. The senior who you’ve been sent to tutor for the test he has this Friday. Otherwise, he may fail out of school entirely despite it being only October. And a star athlete can’t be failing.

“Chase?”

“Yeah. You don’t look so good. You want to go get some air?”

“I should go find Cherie or - or Ailise. Tell… tell her…”

“Someone will let her know, yeah? Come on. Looks like you’re gonna be sick. The cold will help."

He hooks an arm around you and helps move you through the crowd of blurring colors. One person bleeds into another, costumes becoming nothing more than an abstraction of their original shapes.

Sexy zombies are Picasso's of brown and green; people’s faces becoming a surrealist’s wet dream as you near; the whole world spinning and twisting enough to make even Natalia Yurchenko sick.

A sharp wall of cold air burns your face as you finally make it out into the cold of an Indiana Halloween. Nothing gets clearer, but everything definitely gets colder.

Instead of stopping at the seats you know are set up in front of the fire someone started in the backyard, Chase keeps dragging you towards the tree line.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask through heavy lips, trying to turn your head back towards the party. But it’s growing dark and no longer are there shapes, just swirls of colors.

Your vision just jumped from Picasso’s Les femmes d’Alger to Benglis’s Baby Contraband.

Figured you’d at least have some more surrealism or another form of vaguely human abstraction before it became entire blobs of nonsense. But whatever hit your system hit it fast. Even the moon, a beautiful crescent, is nothing more than a giant blurry white blob hidden behind just as blurry scrawls of black.

“Don’t worry about it, madame president.”

You try to tell him something, something about wanting to be near the fire, by people, but all your lips do is open and close a few times like a damn goldfish.

“Her?” A second voice asks through the ever-growing buzzing in your head.

The crunching of leaves begins to grow distant, miles and miles away. Everything just seems so… so far. Like you are on the moon or maybe even Mars.

Chase has begun dragging you, your legs turned as heavy as lead but as weak as jelly.

You expect him to complain, joke about you being careful, but he doesn’t. He just keeps his grip on you tight and drags you through the forest.

“Dude, it’s not like anyone is going to miss her,” a third voice replies.

The top of your feet hit a root, a stretch shooting up the front of your legs. A gasp leaves your lips but it seems not to bother Chase and whoever else is with you.

“Isn’t she like student body president or whatever? People will notice.” Voice two.

“People won’t miss her though. No one even notices her most of the time and those who do are just annoyed. They voted for her to get her to shut up.” Voice three.

“I know I did.” Chase.

A barely audible scream rips from your throat before you even feel the electric burning up your spine and through your toes or the crack of your skull.

The sky clears a little. It’s still hazy, but the moon is a blurry crescent instead of just an out-of-focus light through a raindrop; the tree branches have some shape instead of all blending into each other; you can tell there are indeed four boys hovering over you.

“Sacrifice needs to be alive, dick.” A fourth voice.

Sacrifice?

Oh, fuck.

You thrash, the edges of the rock cruelly digging into your spine. While it would leave you terrified and scarred, you know you could crawl to that recluse and drunk of a police chief and explain what happened and something might happen to this group of dickheads if you get raped in these woods.

There will be no your side if you get fucking murdered.

Your body just twitches, however, and nothing more than a whimper leaves your lips. Limbs too heavy, face too numb.

“Shut her up and tie her down.” Chase.

Something is shoved into your already slightly gaped open mouth. Cottony, salty.

Hopefully not someone’s sock. Or underwear.

Just work to identify the voices. If you get out, you can identify them in court. Focus.

“Are we sure about this?” Voice two.

“We do this and it doesn’t work, someone who no one will even miss is gone. We do this and it works, we’re into our top choices with early admission, and full rides, we get it all boys. Come on.” Chase.

“Plus how easy will this be to blame on one of those freaks. Demonic sacrifice on Halloween?” Voice three.

“Are we sure about her though? What if she isn’t a virgin?” Voice two.

Virgin? No, you definitely aren’t one. But they don’t know that and there is no way to communicate that while gagged and drugged.

“Have you met her?” Voice four.

Sounds like they wouldn’t believe you anyway.

“Dude, just tie her down.” Chase.

One of them kneels by you, rope scratching against your right wrist first. It stings, burns, but you can’t even wince as your body refuses to react at all to anything. The best you can do is roll your head to where the body is beside you, making quick work of yanking your arms above your head to finish off tying them together.

Your eyes catch those of Greg, someone whose mom begged you to help him over the summer, as his face nears yours. Voice two you assume. He looks hesitant and you try to hold the gaze, beg him, but he looks away and focuses on finishing off the knots. Your head lolls back towards the sky.

Chase. Greg.

Which means voices three and four are probably Devin and Seth.

Who you assume must be Greg tries to pull your arms apart at the wrist as hard as he can. Another scream bubbles at your throat, rock clawing into your back and rope rubbing your skin raw as he does so.

Once again, nothing more than a moan comes out and it is muffled by the gag.

“All tied down.” Greg.

Ripping reaches your ears, ever so softly, through the growing haze you are falling back into. Shivers run along your front. It takes a few seconds, until after one of them has reached to grope your chest, to realize that your shirt and bra have been hacked off from the front.

Hands tied, body drugged, mind hazy.

All you can do is try to roll your head to see what they are trying to do.

But the world is becoming like that really shitty polaroid Cherie gave you of her eye, far too close and completely indistinguishable, all over again.

“Cute tits.” Voice four.

“Virgin, Seth.” Voice three.

The hand is withdrawn.

Not that it matters, considering how little you can feel.

Chase. Greg. Seth.

Definitely Devin too.

The four star-athletes on the verge of failing out of Hawkins.

“Alright, here we go.” Chase. “We come here tonight to sacrifice the body of (y/n), of Hawkins, Indiana. In return we ask for our desires to be returned in full - early admission into our choice colleges with full scholarships, perfect grades this final year of high school, for us to find and keep the loves of our lives, and to have rich and successful lives. With the deepest malice and most gracious thanks, we offer this virgin to thee.”

What? They’re sacrificing you to… to do well in school?

Dear god what the fuck.

There is a pause and the sound of leather rubbing against metal can be faintly heard. A knife, dagger, something sharp.

“Alright, how many times do I stab her again?” Chase.

“It says stab her seven times.” Seth.

“Seven times? Not six?” Chase.

“It says seven.” Devin.

“Seven deadly sins, seven kings, seven heads of the whore of a Babylon… seven makes sense.” Greg. “What? Revelation 17, one through eighteen. You know?”

“Oh, watch out boys, we got a biblical scholar over here.” Devin.

They laugh.

The four of the laugh as if they haven’t got you tied down to a rock, shirt torn open, god knows what shoved into your mouth, knife or whatever hovering over you.

As if they aren’t just about to murder a fellow student to try and make it big.

“Alright.” Chase. “I would say sorry but you’re about to make me very rich.”

It goes through so far that the blade clinks against the stone below you.

Heat like lava flows from your abdomen and cascades over you.

When did blood become this hot? It’s never felt this hot before. Never like fire leaving trails of desecration on your skin. Never like the devil choosing to dance on your skin in the cold of night, feet leaving a pattern of burns.

Never like burning alive.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

Somewhere else. Anywhere else. What else is there to focus on?

The moon? No. All you can see is one large white blur taking up nearly the entire sky.

The night noises? No. It seems all the critters scattered as soon as they realized what was going to happen.

The party in the distance? No. It’s like everyone left when you did.

All that’s left is you, the rock beneath you, the dagger they’ve now stabbed through you three times with, and the four boys who thought killing a fellow student was a genius idea.

Maybe Cherie and Ailise would at least miss you. That would be nice.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

It repeats over and over and over in your head with each stab, the unfamiliar voice soothing you and distracting you from the pain. An angel, you suppose, if they really do exist. Or just a final hallucination to get you through the horror of death.

The seventh goes right through your heart, your body tensing up one last time.

“I’ve got you.”

—

You wake vomiting.

On your hands and knees, rope burns on your wrist and mud matted to your head. It’s black and sludge-like and covers almost half the clearing.

When you finally stop heaving, you sit up and tilt your head to the night sky. The crescent moon tickles your skin awake. It feels gentler than a feather and warmer than a midsummer’s sun.

You cry.

Flashes of the night interrupt the clenching in your gut, in your chest, in your soul. A flash of a solo cup, the world tilting, Chase asking if you’re okay, colors swirling, Greg’s eyes as he ties you down, discussions of sacrifices,

“It says stab her seven times.”

Reflexively, your hands grab at your stomach.

No marks. No exposed muscle and fat. The blood is still smeared all over your stomach and even the rock you were left on when you glance back, the knife lazily tossed to the side, half-wrapped in strips of the shirt you had been wearing.

But no stab wounds.

Not even one.

Forget seven.

But… it happened. It had to have. The dagger is there; the blood is there; you’re here, not at the party.

You crawl and grab the dagger. The tip is dulled where it hit the stone seven times, just as you remembered. It has a few rope fibers from where they apparently decided to untie you once you were… dead?

No. You couldn’t have died. If you did you wouldn’t be here right now.

And that voice. That voice that spoke.

“I’ve got you,” it had said, getting louder with each one. Every time you were stabbed, it repeated the phrase.

“I’ve got you.

I’ve got you.

I’ve got you.”

The dagger cuts deep into your hand as you squeeze it tight in frustration. You hiss. Your fingers release their near-death grip to expose a long cut on both palms, running deeper than you expected.

In seconds, it seals shut as if it never existed in the first place.

“What the fuck,” you whisper.

A loud group of cheering echoes through the forest. It’s only 12:35 according to your watch.

It’s only been a little over an hour and a half.

You turn towards the party, where the music is loud and people are yelling in excitement still. Celebrating Halloween despite it now being November.

Were they right?

Did anyone even notice you were gone?

Did anyone even care that you were just murdered in the woods but a half-mile away?

You doubt it. Cherie would move on after holding some sort of dramatic vigil. Ailise would say she had dibs on your things. But then the sympathy would end and so would their care.

Instead of heading back to the house where your friends are bound to still be, you turn to the right, heading towards the major road nearby to begin the six-mile walk home, the dagger gripped tight in your hand.

The police chief wouldn’t believe this. Especially not without stab wounds.

No one will.

You’re just a dead girl walking with no proof but the knife and the rope burns.

Which proves nothing but being tied down and your clothes cut off.

Sexual assault, you could claim.

But not attempted murder. Not actual murder. No.

Someone compliments your costume on the way home. Another calls you a slut for having your tits out. A third asks if you’d suck them.

You just keep walking, dagger gripped tight in your hand.

“I’ve got you,” the voice says one more time as you fall asleep that night, buried beneath every blanket you could find after scrubbing your skin raw.

Only the scar above your heart remains, healed over already with skin so thick you aren’t sure anything could ever penetrate it again.

It’s a comfort. Whatever the voice is.

The last thing you see as your eyes close is the blade glinting on the night stand, blood still covering most of it.

—

You don’t go to school the next day. No one calls to ask if you’re okay.

Everything about you looks terrible, sick. Deathly even. Everything you eat turns into that sludge-like vomit. Everything hurts and everyone else seems inconsequential now.

The patch above your heart shrunk slightly. Like a top protective coat fading.

“Hey! She lives!” Cheri laughs when you do return to school on Wednesday.

“Like you would care,” you mumble, angrily switching your books.

“What was that?”

You tilt your head past your locker door, eyes staring deeply into Cherie’s.

You once thought them to be black. So, so dark. Now they don’t look as dark. There is more to them. A hint of sandy beach in one corner of her right eye and a sliver of burning fire in the left. They’re deep, full of volume. Not dark.

“I said like you would care. You didn’t see me leave the party. Didn’t even bother checking in on me yesterday. I could have been dead on the side of the road and you wouldn’t have cared.”

Cherie crosses her arms. “That’s not true and you know it.”

Ailise steps in between you and Cherie. Everything of hers looks different too. One or two gray hairs you never noticed. A stray hair that you would have never seen before.

“We’re sorry, okay?” She begins, the movement in her lips exposing tiny cracks you swore weren’t there before. “We were shitty to you. You know Cher has been way too into that dickhead track runner and I just wanted to hook up with anyone. We were distracted.”

“We swear to do better,” Cherie adds, voice having a slight quiver for the first time since her dog died when she was eight.

Your eyes carefully assess them.

For the first time in your life, you can actually tell if they are lying or not. It’s not just a gut feeling that is inevitably overridden by your need to be liked. It’s like a detector of some kind. An aura around them almost.

“Okay. But fuck up again, and I will kill you.”

You slam your locker so hard the lock bends.

You don’t notice until later, of course, when you return to switch out your books again and for the first time in years, following the first time in years you stayed home, you are late to class.

#ritual 777 #ritual 777 vibes #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #jennifers body au

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josefavomjaaga · 2 years ago

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Petiet goes to Naples

Again some snippets from the memoirs of Auguste Petiet, ADC to Marshal Soult. After the battle of Austerlitz, that brought so much glory to Soult and his entourage, poor Petiet had to cope with some setbacks: his marshal had a nasty falling out with Petiet's father. Soult demanded special payments from Petiet senior, who was one of the army's intendants, payments he was not entitled to and which Petiet Senior refused. Petiet Junior had to bear the brunt of Soult’s anger and found himself ignored in the upcoming round of promotions (the last such round in a long while), while his younger buddy Saint-Chamans received a captain's commission.

They were still stationed in Germany (Passau, to be precise), when Petiet learned that his father was gravely ill. Soult immediately sent him to Munich, so that he could ask Berthier for permission for a leave and see his dying father one last time. Berthier kept him waiting three days needlessly, and Petiet reached Paris too late, his father had already died. Napoleon refused to grant the family a pension (the senate did, though). Petiet at one occasion was mocked by Murat and Napoleon and, possibly because of a misunderstanding, sent to Naples in order to serve the new King Joseph.

Petiet actually was quite fond of this new master, but not enough to stay:

The king welcomed me with benevolence and distinction. [...] The king tried to sense my feelings and told me that, from that moment, he was attaching me to his staff. While reiterating to him my gratitude, I declared to him that my intention was to resume my functions as aide-de-camp to Marshal Soult as soon as he was called to command an active army. I then saw colonel Bruguière, first aide-de-camp of Joseph [...]. The colonel strongly engaged me to pass to the service of Naples and to attach me to the new court. If he had been able to shake my resolutions on this subject, the event which occurred eight days afterwards would have removed me from it forever: Colonel Bruguière, sent on a mission to Rome, was assassinated by brigands between Itri and Fondi.

Yes, thank you so much, guys, I’ll pass. Soult may be an old sourpuss but at least he isn’t deadly…

Petiet then spends some months in Naples, often on dangerous and tedious missions in Calabria, where the only option, as he says was »a cruel and unglorious death«, and all the while reads the newspaper because a new war against Prussia has begun:

I had read in Naples the bulletin of the battle of Jena and I still had no news of Marshal Soult. I thought I had been completely forgotten. [...]

Poor Petiet. However, he makes good use of the time he has to wait and literally jumps onto the feet of King Joseph during a waltz.

However time passed and the silence of Marshal Soult made me believe that my unjust exile would be prolonged and that I would not be recalled to Germany. I went to dine one day in an inn located on the edges of the sea [...] In the middle of the meal, an orderly brought me a parcel from the king’s chief of staff. Convinced, as were all the guests, that it was a mission to Calabria, I received condolences. But I soon recognised the handwriting of Marshal Soult and I read aloud an order from the Emperor to join at once the 4th corps of the Grande Armée. My preparations were soon made and I arrived in Berlin before the French had fired a single shot against the Russians.

As he states later, he was in Berlin before daybreak on 24 November 1806. As to that inn in Naples, I hope that dinner had been paid in advance because I have a feeling Petiet jumped up from the table, ran home, packed his bags and stayed the night at the post station just so he would not miss the next coach.

[...] Marshal Soult was to lead his troops towards Frankfurt on the Oder the next day. He seemed satisfied to see me again and embraced me cordially.

Awww! I guess that was all worth it then. 😊

#napoleon's marshals #jean de dieu soult #naples 1806 #joseph bonaparte

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alpacaparkaseok · 4 years ago

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Heartbreak Ave.

When they’re in love with you but you have feelings for a different member (Hyung line)

→ tags/warnings: SFW, angstyyyyy (like, I’m sorry but at the same time I wanted to write something sad), no, there’s not a happy ending really idk so read at your own heart’s risk, but like really. I was listening to “Manos de Tijera” while writing this so it’s a wee bit heartbreaking

→ a/n: I don’t really write reactions very often but this seemed fun when @sierra-fics brought it up! I actually have one of your suggestions in my drafts, just haven’t finished it up yet. Thanks for the push, though! I love exploring different styles!

read the maknae line version here!

Kim Seokjin

he’s not surprised

it’s probably the worst part for him, the fact that he’s not surprised when your eyes light up as Taehyung waltzes in the room.

he had been in the middle of plucking up the courage to invite you to try out that new Thai restaurant you’d been chattering about when Tae walked in

and you tried - you really did - to pay attention to what Jin had been saying, but you faltered a bit as Tae greeted you warmly and plopped down beside Jin

and Jin just watched, not surprised.

although what does surprise him is how much it hurts

that pain where your heart literally, physically hurts? it’s an exquisite pain, one that takes his breath away

and it doesn’t go away

it doesn’t fade

so he ends up in Namjoon’s studio later that night, and Namjoon knows to wait for him to open up

Jin just stares for a while, blankly at the wall

“Does Tae like her?”

Namjoon already knows who he’s referring to. He’s known about Jin’s helpless crush on you for ages, he knew before Jin himself figured it out

but it’s the way that Jin asks the question so softly, so carefully, that Namjoon realizes with a start that this is so much more than a crush

and Jin looks at him, misery clear in his eyes but also clear resolve visible even as unshed tears glimmer

“Would you really let her go?” Namjoon counters gently. Because he knows. He knows that if Tae got the green light, you'd be swept up in a matter of seconds.

and it’s the way that Jin stares down at his feet, and the tears begin rolling down his cheeks, that has Namjoon sick to his stomach

Jin nods, and when he speaks, his voice shakes but he sounds so earnest that it breaks Namjoon’s heart

“I’d do anything for her.”

no words are exchanged after that for a long, heart-wrenching moment. it’s just Jin, staring down at his feet and quietly sobbing, and Namjoon, pulling him into an embrace.

“I’m sorry, hyung.”

it’s surprising to Jin, just how much that soft phrase cuts through him. It sounds so final.

because at the end of the day, it’s the only solace that can be offered to him.

he lost.

he loved, and he lost.

Min Yoongi

you’re sitting beside him in his studio when the realization hits him like a freight train

sprawled sideways in your designated swivel chair while you stifle a yawn and rub your eyes, Yoongi wonders when he let his emotions get so out of hand

because you’re offering him a shy smile and asking him a question that he numbly answers, but on the inside he’s a total clueless mess

when did he fall in love with you?

it’s something that will haunt him long after you leave that night, rushing out when you get a call from Hobi

for the second time that night, he’s hit with another realization

he’s still reeling from the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s in love with you, so when you gasp and grin when your phone light up with a call, he falters

it’s like being doused with a bucket of ice water, the way you whisper, “oh, it’s Hobi!” and politely ask if you can take the call before rushing out into the hallway

“oh,” he mumbles to himself as the door closes. “it’s Hobi.”

and he laughs.

quietly, darkly. he laughs to himself, at himself, whatever.

because of course it’s Hobi. his best friend, his vitamin. you two deserve each other. of that much he’s certain.

he doesn’t waste too much time feeling sorry for himself; he’s logical enough to see that you two are probably a better match. it’s nothing personal.

so why does he stay in his studio all night, ignoring any calls or messages sent his way?

he’s not sure when he fell asleep, but next thing he knows he’s sprawled out on his little couch and you’re gently shaking him awake

“Yoongo? Did you stay here last night?”

his eyes crack open at the sound of your voice, just enough to be met with your sweet smile

and he, in his half-asleep state, smiles back. he reaches one hand up to gently brush back a strand of your hair, and he swears you lean into his touch

and when you mumble something about Hobi bringing breakfast up, Yoongi is hit with the third realization in less that twenty-four hours.

it’s startlingly simple:

he wants to cry.

so he excuses himself to the bathroom, and cries. sets a five minute timer so nobody gets worried and comes looking for him, and allows himself that time to cry.

then, with machine-like precision, he washes his face and puts some eyedrops in, and goes back out to pretend like everything is fine.

and whenever Jin or Taehyung bring up acting, Yoongi knows. He knows, deep down, that he’s the best actor of all.

because he still loves you

and you will never know.

Jung Hoseok

hobi has never been the most forthcoming with his emotions

he keeps them on lockdown

monitors them with military-like focus

so he knows the exact moment he begins developing feelings for you

(it’s when you brought Bang PD a bouquet for valentine’s day, just to make him blush)

and he knows the exact second when he fell in love

(it was when, after a grueling day at work, you silently walked through his door with his favorite goodies and left without a single word)

(you were wearing a yellow cardigan that day)

(he’s never looked at the color yellow the same way)

if he’s completely honest, he’s sometimes trying so hard to stay on top of his own feelings that he forgets to watch out for where your attention may be drifting

to be fair, you kept your own little crush on Jimin a secret

so when Hobi decides to get over himself and just shoot his shot, he decides he’s all in

and when you arrive at his apartment that night for a movie, you’re shocked to see a bouquet of yellow flowers in Hobi’s shaking hands

“hey” he breathes

you stare at the flowers, then at him

“hello...?” then, with a sinking felling, you point at the flowers. “are those for me?”

hobi smiles broadly. “yeah, they are.” and he hands them to you, allowing his fingers to brush up against yours

it’s electrifying, that small touch

and again, he’s so focused on how electrifying it is that he misses the way you look like you might be sick

pale face, concerned expression

he misses it all, because he’s so nervous but so stupidly in love that he’s just barreling ahead.

gotta get this out of the way

ugh, feelings

and so when he leads you to sit with him out on the balcony, he takes a deep breath and looks at you with wonder in his eyes

and that’s when he notices the way you’re fiddling with your bracelet

not a problem, except for the fact that it’s the one he saw Jimin carefully choosing from an online collection

so when you keep fiddling with the bracelet and avoiding Hobi’s eye contact, he gets it

he takes a long look at all those emotions he keeps in check, and allows himself a moment of self-pity before reaching out and laying a hand atop your own

you immediately stop fidgeting and look at him with wide eyes. he can see with a pang how you’re trying to come up with the best way to let him down easy

so he does the job for you

“I just wanted to say thank you for the other day,” he says, forcing a light tone. “when you brought me those goodies after work. It really meant a lot.”

you blink, confused. “Oh. uh, you’re welcome.”

“and,” he drawls, a well-rehearsed smile clawing its way onto his face, “I wanted to snoop and get the inside scoop about Jiminie. I know he got you that bracelet. did he finally cave and confess to you?”

you look shocked, but you burst out into relieved laughter. “how did you know?”

he didn’t. “how could I not? he’s absolutely whipped.”

and you blush under the stars and begin to ramble, lost in your excitement and joy.

and Hobi watches. smiling. supportive. laughing at the right spots and asking all the right questions.

later, when you give him a tight hug and thank him for the fun night, he lets the words sting as you call him “such a great friend.” he lets them sting, relishing in the pain.

he reminds you to take your flowers home, and you begrudgingly admit that they’re your favorite type of flower.

he didn’t know. but that hurts, too. the fact that he got it right.

Hobi never looks at the color yellow the same way again.

Kim Namjoon

he’s told you he loves you a million times now

every night, in every dream, he tells you how much he loves you

adores you with everything he is

you manage to find your way into his music, his musings, every piece of artwork he comes across

he's never been like this before

never, he’s sure of it

and everyone knows, except for you.

it becomes a strange game for the boys to play, dropping hints at every opportunity, laughing at your confused expression

Jungkook and Taehyung especially enjoy the chaos that they create, making Namjoon groan and grow embarrassed

but you have no idea

or are you just willfully ignorant?

all Namjoon knows is that he’s swimming in his feelings for you, completely lost and on the verge of drowning

but, oh, what a way to die

he’s never been able to stop himself when it comes to you

and he considers himself rather disciplined, but the way you make him feel he could throw caution to the wind and give it all up

so when you end up staying late one night at the apartment, the boys manage to convince you to stay

“there’s plenty of room” Jungkook muses, feigning deep thought. “besides, it’s too late for you to drive back tonight. just stay.”

and while Namjoon wants to kill them all for the way they offer up his bed to you, he thinks he might actually die when you reluctantly agree with a yawn

he knows he should offer to take the couch, but something stops him

it’s like he physically can’t

“I don’t mind sharing the bed” you state, squinting at him while wearing his basketball shorts and oversized t-shirt.

you look adorable. he’s unsure of how he’s even functioning right now, to be honest. he’s melting.

“just keep your snoring in check, loser”

and he’s back to laughing, turning off the light and hopping into bed

you’re so far away

why are you so far away?

“hey” he whispers, the sound so loud in the quiet. the only other sound is the muffled voices of the other members, no doubt down in the kitchen gossiping about the events of the night

“hey yourself” you whisper back, turning to face him

he can see you in the moonlight, his eyes having adjusted just enough.

and he wants to kiss you so badly

so he smiles, heart leaping when you smile back

and he reaches out, gently tracing your jawline.

you say nothing, heart thundering in your chest

because to be honest, you’re confused

why is he looking at you like that?

but you don’t ask as Namjoon takes a deep breath, steadying himself before propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at you with an adoring expression

your eyes flutter closed as he brushes his thumb against your cheek, and he can feel your heartbeat racing

your reaction gives him all the courage he needs as he leans down, lips capturing your own in a long, sweet kiss

and he’s going out of his mind because he finally kissed you, didn’t he?! finally!!

but those are your hands on his chest, and instead of pulling him in closer you’re gently pushing him away

“namjoon.”

he’s never hated his name so much.

“I’m so sorry- I- I thought that maybe-” he stutters, pulling himself upright as you do the same, and he launches out of bed, hands in his hair “I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-”

“Namjoon.” you repeat, and he notices now how utterly distraught you look.

because you’re still confused, but there’s one name rolling around in your head even as you can still taste namjoon on your lips.

“I...” you shake your head, unsure of what to say. “It’s just...”

and he’s looking at you with big eyes, taking in every single word you say. and you want to take it all back, want to let him kiss you until you’re breathless, but your heart won’t let you.

“Just what?” he asks quietly, afraid of the answer. so afraid

“...Jungkook.”

two syllables, and his world comes crashing down around him.

namjoon is silent, avoiding your gaze as he grabs one of the pillows off of the bed and a spare blanket, heading toward the door.

“I’ll sleep on the couch. I’m sorry.”

and he’s gone before you can utter another word.

sure enough, the boys are still downstairs, and they all fall silent as Namjoon appears, throwing the pillow down on the couch.

“Hyung!” Jungkook asks, scrambling over. “Hyung, what happened? What are you doing down here?”

Namjoon can’t bring himself to look at the maknae, not when he can still picture how it felt to kiss you. not when those few seconds of paradise are still on his lips.

“Didn’t wanna wake her up with my snoring.”

because how could he ever be angry at the boy that looks at him like he’s his savior?

m.list || buy me an orange juice?

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging so other people can read it! 💖

taglist: @baepsaetay @dreamcatcherjiah @kookie-vuitton @thecaffeinatedscribbles @moon-write @fangirl125reader @heishichoulevi@knjkitten @sacha-cff @vik7797 @eusticenatalie @hesmyphenominiall@miriamxsworld @kayahay @secretlycrazyhummingbird @marianeamine@hqtetsurou @protontippens @beginwithamin @limiworld @jeonyoongi-jimin @buttvi @yoontaethings @sunshinejunghoseokie @delacyrose224@jiminiesmagicshop @hitsussi @fanfictonreader05 @hyungieyoongi @lolalee24

#bts reactions #namjoon reaction #jin reaction #yoongi reaction #suga reaction #hobi reaction #bts hyung line #bts angst #bts maknae line #bts x reader #this is seriously a bummer of a post lol #bts fanfic #bts scenarios

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rosiehunterwolf · 3 years ago

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CONGRATS ON 100 FOLLOWERS FREN 💖💖 you deserve it and so much more

If you're feeling up to it (DONT FEEL OBLIGATED DO U HEAR ME MY DEAR) movie verse Jay my beloved

asfljdlkj tysm Amour! I'm so glad to have you as part of my tumblr family, ur one of my best friends on here 💕✨

i really needed to write something movie!verse because I LOVE movie!verse and haven't written anything yet, so I was excited for this one

(@fabro-de-omres you've said in the past that you would love to read it if I wrote something movie!verse, so here's ✨content✨)

I'll chase you to the moon and back

Summary: When you’re in a secret ninja force and are your city’s primary protectors, pulling your weight is important.

Jay tries to be an asset to his team, but it’s difficult when he’s viewed as the scaredy-cat who cracks lame jokes. He loves his friends with all his heart, but sometimes it’s hard to know if they return those feelings.

Jay wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t.

Sometimes, Jay felt like he was a burden to the team.

He tried not to, he really did- he knew the others liked him and cared about him. But standing next to strong Cole, smart Zane, brave Kai, determined Nya, or warm-hearted Lloyd, it was difficult not to feel… inadequate.

It didn’t help that Cole hadn’t answered any of his recent texts.

It could be anything, Jay told himself as he stared down at the unread messages, resisting the urge to send another text. He could have an appointment he forgot to tell me about, or maybe he’s just not looking at his phone right now, or he simply doesn’t share my urgency to answer a text message so quickly. Cole had always been much more laid back about that, raising an eyebrow as Jay always scrambled to answer the text from his mom, or whoever had sent it this time.

But Cole was also Jay’s best friend. He knew he got anxious when someone left him unread for too long. Because of that, he had always been good about answering Jay’s texts quickly, even as the others still groaned about the earth ninja taking ages to respond to them.

For him to go an hour without responding was… concerning, to say the least.

Jay pushed the thoughts aside. He was probably just overthinking this, like he always was. Cole would get back to him soon. It wasn’t like he was ignoring him, or anything.

Maybe the others are up to something. He opened the group chat, but although there were usually a hundred notifications at any given time- he had learned that the hard way the first day he had joined, turning on his phone after school to a whopping 785 texts- it was empty now. The last text was from Lloyd, asking Kai to meet him at his locker before lunch.

Jay felt his heart rate spike. The lack of an argument between Kai and Nya in the last five minutes alone was worrying- because heaven forbid they actually talk things out in person, even if they literally lived one bedroom down from each other- and his mind quickly spiraled into possibilities. Had someone kidnapped them? Had their parents grounded them? Or maybe they had committed a crime and gotten thrown into jail. He wouldn’t put it past Kai and Nya to pull something dumb- Cole and Zane would go along with it, and Lloyd would never speak up enough to voice his disproval-

No, don’t be ridiculous, they wouldn’t commit a crime.

Well… Kai might. But the others would stop him.

What if they made a separate group chat without me?

No. His friends would never do that. They’d be more likely to commit that crime.

But the thought wouldn’t leave Jay’s brain, and before he knew it, he was sending a text in the group chat.

jaybird123: What r u guys up to? Wanna hang?

He immediately regretted it. What if he came off as too clingy? Too overbearing? They probably just wanted some time to themselves.

That didn’t sound quite right to Jay, but he stuffed his phone in his pocket, forcing the thought out of his mind.

He decided to go to the park- watching the people there always gave him good ideas for inventions. He was too late to catch a bus down there, but it wasn’t too far to walk.

His phone buzzed, and he glanced down.

thegreendragon: sorry jay, got plans 2nite. maybe tmrrw?

Jay tried to stop the pang of disappointment. Lloyd wouldn’t lie to him. The others probably were just busy. It was no big deal. Tomorrow, things would be back to normal.

A couple of blocks away, he caught the sounds of annoyed shouts, the kind that usually hinted towards the presence of-

He stopped, blinking, as a boy darted past the onlookers and into the shop.

Huh. Lloyd?

Starting towards the store his friend had vanished into, Jay peered through the window, looking for Lloyd-

Jay froze. Lloyd was standing with the others, animatedly babbling something to them as they watched him happily.

Jay shrunk back. They really had met up without him, and had lied about it, too. He wasn’t being paranoid- his friends just didn’t want him around.

For a moment, the shock left Jay floundering. He had no other friends. The other ninja were his entire livelihood. What was he meant to do now?

He quickly wiped at the tears pooling in his eyes. I’ll go home. My mom will know what to do.

He had the worst feeling that this was something that even his mom couldn’t fix, though.

About halfway home, a buzz in his pocket interrupted him from his stupor. Pulling out his phone, he saw there was a new message in the group chat.

rock’n’cole: hey jay, something just came up, can u meet us at the warehouse asap?

Jay just stared at his phone for a minute, debating whether to actually show up or not. After all, the others had ditched him, why shouldn’t he do the same? And he still felt hurt- he wasn’t sure if he was ready to talk to them yet. He really should just go home.

jaybird123: sure, i’ll be there in 20

Jay had never been good at holding grudges.

Thirty minutes later (he had ended up stalling a little bit just for the spite of it) he pushed through the doors of the warehouse. It was pitch black inside, and as he fumbled around for the lights, he couldn’t help but notice that no one else was there. It was stupid of me to come. They just abandoned me. Again.

Suddenly, the lights burst on, and the others were jumping out from behind the furniture, cheering and hugging him. Jay stumbled backward, taken aback. “What’s going on?”

Kai looked at him like he was crazy, gesturing widely at all the balloons and streamers that Jay could see now that the lights were on. “It’s a party, dumbass, what else do you think?”

“What for? It’s not my birthday!”

Nya scoffed, as if he had just told her that men lived on the moon. “Of course not, this is for your Ninja-versary!”

“My… what?”

“The anniversary of the day you first became a ninja, stupid!”

“Oh.” He blinked around at all the decor. “All this? Just for something as simple as that?”

Kai wasn’t the only one looking at him like he had sprouted a second head, now.

“Are you kidding?” Cole said. “We’re not going to skimp on celebrating the day one of our favorite people came into our lives.”

Jay blinked at him. “I…” I’m so sorry for ever doubting you. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

“Now, what are we waiting around for?” Cole threw an arm around Jay’s shoulders. “Let’s go get some cake!”

As the ninja hurried over to the table, squabbling over who would get which slice, Jay squashed between the middle of his big, loud, bickering family, he couldn’t have felt more at home.

#:D #movie characters are so fun y'all #i'll definitely have to write something that explores all of them more not just jay #but i'll save that for something longer so i can do it properly #and coming up with their chat usernames was the highlight of this piece XD #i have more for the others as well and this is going to remain canon within all my movie fics #ninjago #asks #amourshipper393 #fic request #event #100 followers event #ficlet #my fic #rosie writes #movie!verse #tlnm #jay walker #requests open

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icantthinkofanythingcool3 · 4 years ago

Note

Hii I saw ur post about short blurbs and was wondering if you could do 5 or 13 🤍🤍

Well this did not end up being short 🤦‍♀️ but here ya go! Hope you enjoy!💜

It had been 2 years since y/n had moved away from Beacon Hills and half of her friends. Kira and y/n had ended up at the same college and in the same dorm. Lydia and Stiles both ended up about a half hour from them in different directions. The group was still close, but things were definitely different for all of them. Kira and Scott had grown apart and Scott and Malia had grown closer. Lydia and y/n had grown closer than before, they were always going back and forth on the weekends visiting with each other. Although y/n and Stiles were really close before, things had simmered down right before they left for school two years ago.

All their friends had sworn that the two were going to be together, even with college coming up. They were going to school close enough where they could totally still pursue a relationship. Somewhere though, Stiles and y/n had ‘grown apart’. At least that’s what their friends thought. In reality, neither of them really knew what had happened. It was like one moment they were falling for each other and the next it was just gone. Y/n and Stiles had both tried on different occasions to talk to each other, but something always got in the way.

Y/n walked into her apartment, that Kira was decorating...for Valentine's Day. “UGHHHHHH. Kira I thought we decided not to make a big deal out of this stupid holiday.”

“No...you decided that. Just because you’re still stuck on Stiles, doesn’t mean everyone else can’t be happy about love.” Kira announced.

“That’s not-no you’re. Ugh, whatever.” y/n replied, not having a come back, because what she had said was true.

y/n was still really hung up on Stiles, she was still so confused about what had happened to them back in Beacon Hills. There had been plenty of times since then that Lydia, Kira, y/n and Stiles had gotten together to hang out, even times when Scott and the others had come down to visit. However, their interactions were always strange and confusing. She hadn’t been able to date anyone else, and was honestly just making herself super unhappy.

“Before you make yourself too depressed, this was slipped under the door for you today.” Kira handed her a note, folded up with a huge heart on one side and y/n on the other.

“What...what is this?”

“I don’t know silly, clearly I haven’t opened it...since it’s for you…”

Y/n’s eyes rolled as the note was opened. It was typed and it read:

"When love is not madness it is not love." –Pedro Calderon de la Barca.

I have felt nothing but madness from the moment I laid eyes on you.

As she read it to Kira, she let out a screech, “y/n!!!!! Omg you totally have a secret admirer! This is so EXCITING!”

However y/n was doubtful, she left Kira to go to her room. Who on Earth could have sent this to her? Was it a joke? Was it real? The next day, nothing appeared under the door and it disappointed y/n, even though they would never admit that, especially to Kira!

The next day however, when y/n got home from work Kira was waiting impatiently by the door with a note in her hands. It looked exactly like the other one. She basically threw it in my face and stood over my shoulder as she repeated ‘open it, open it, open it’ in my ear.

This one read:

“Love is like an hourglass, with the heart filling up as the brain empties.” – Jules Renard. This, I can assure you, is true. I make dumb mistakes every time I’m around you.

“I literally have no idea who could be doing this. I don’t talk to anyone, no one even notices me around here!” y/n exclaimed, confused.

“Well, you must be wrong, because someone is DEFINITELY noticing you!!!!”

“No, this is just wrong. This has got to be a joke or something. I’m telling you. Throw away any other ones, I’m serious.” With that, y/n walked into her room and slammed the door, she was done with this.

The next day was normal, but y/n wasn’t hopeful that she wouldn’t get another letter, and the next day, the 5th of February, Kira was waiting again with another note.

“You are my heart, my life, my one and only thought.” – Conan Doyle. You are the only thing I can think about lately, you’re in my every thought.

y/n didn’t know what to think anymore. Was this person a freaking psycho stalker? How did they know where I lived? We’re they stalking me?

“Kira, I know that you’re sitting here thinking this is some romantic love story...but what if this is some crazy stalker that now knows where we live? Like what if they break in and kill us in the middle of the night?”

“y/n I think you’re being a little dramatic. I feel like this is someone that has to know you in some way. This is some intense shit.”

“We’re gonna die...watch.” y/n finished, over the anxiety this was causing her.

Two days later, y/n didn’t have class. She was going back and forth from the front door, to her room. She was stuck between being excited and worried. Half of her believed that this was some kind of cruel joke, the other half thought maybe someone actually did like her. By 4 o’clock, she thought maybe that it was over, but as she made her way out of there room, there was a note by the door.

"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back." - Plato. This one may be corny, but it’s true, I feel this with you.

This definitely sounded like someone that knew her. But how could she be so oblivious? How could there be someone this into her and she had no idea. That’s why she still believed that this could be a joke. Like clockwork, two days later she got another note.

“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” – Dr. Seuss. I swear since I started these notes, I haven’t been able to sleep at all. I know this is probably starting to creep you out, I promise that you know me and I know you. I’m not a random person.

“I’m sure that this is supposed to make me feel better Kira, but I feel worse. How do I not know this person likes me, if they like me this much?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking from the beginning of this, do you think it could be Stiles?”

“WHAT?” y/n asked incredulously, “Come on, there’s no way. First of all, that would mean he would have to drive a half hour here and back every other day to slip these under the door? There’s no way, that would be crazy.”

“I mean, you guys definitely had something and then suddenly you guys just stopped. You’re still awkward around each other, maybe this is the only way he can get you back?”

“No. Seriously. Stop that’s, that’s. No, that's crazy.” But later that night, what Kira said had gotten the best of y/n. She did something she hadn’t done in a while, she called Stiles.

As soon as he answered, y/n regretted it, “y/n? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No, no nothing’s wrong. Sorry, I’m not even sure why I called…...I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for calling, you know.”

“Yeah, sorry- shit I mean okay. I-I gotta go talk to you later.” And she hung up, she felt so stupid why would she call him? Kira and these damn notes have gotten her head all twisted up. She should know better than to think Stiles could have done this, she was getting her hopes up just thinking about it.

Two days later, y/n could hardly think at work. Her mind was all in a swirl and she kept making mistakes and dropping shit, by the end of her shift she was exhausted. As she had expected, when she got home, Kira was sitting on the couch, holding a new note.

“Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.” – Rumi. I haven’t known you forever, but when I met you it was like I had known you my whole life.

“There’s only three days left until Valentine's Day. What’s going to happen? Is this all leading up to something? Or are the notes just going to stop?”

“I guess that’s the fun part!” But when y/n looked at her pointedly she continued, “I know this is freaking you out and giving you anxiety, but this could be a good thing. Whoever it is, really cares about you. And I’m not getting creepy vibes from any of this, if someone was going to break in and kill us, I think they already would have.”

y/n knew that Kira was right, she shouldn’t be so freaked out about this. It didn’t seem like a creepy kind of thing, the notes were sweet and heartfelt, and they definitely, probably would have already been killed. So all y/n could do was wait.

As y/n made her way through the day before Valentine’s hazily, she could barely focus. She kept texting Kira, asking if she had found anything yet. Seeing as she was still in class, she had not. Y/n wanted nothing more than to leave her classes and go to the apartment, but she knew if the note wasn’t there yet, she would get even more impatient. So when Kira finally texted her that she got home and there was a note, y/n excused herself from her class and rushed home. Kira was waiting, almost as impatiently as y/n, with the note in her hand!

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” – Lao Tzu. Meet me at Hilton tomorrow, 7PM, there’ll be a note left at the front desk.

“What? Kira, am I really supposed to just go to this random hotel and meet this random person?”

“I mean they said you know them, so they’re not that random!”

“I know a lot of people! It could be the cute barista that gets my coffee everyday! I technically know him, but would I go into a random hotel room with him? NO.”

“Okay, then I drive you there, and you keep me on the phone. If anything funky happens I’ll run up and save your ass. I think you should go. I see the look in your eyes when you read the notes, you’re excited. I haven’t seen you genuinely excited in a long time.”

Kira had saved my life multiple times, I trusted her, and it was a good plan. I was excited, she was right, I was stupid for thinking that I would get it past her. And I wasn’t exactly defenseless, I had learned to fight through many years of fighting off the supernatural. I decided it couldn't hurt, if anything it would end up a good story to tell one day.

The next day was torture waiting for 7pm. Especially since y/n had no class and only finding an outfit to distract her. y/n called Lydia in the morning, while Lydia had been pissed that she’d only just heard about this, she insisted on y/n video chatting her to pick an outfit. Together, they had decided on a blush pink dress, with a small flower design. There was a belt that tied right under the chest, that accentuated the top of y/n’s body and flowed down nicely to a little above the knee. They picked out black kitten heels, which according to Lydia, y/n should have already had. It was 4:30 when she got home, already ready to start her makeup to keep her distracted. Kira helped her do her hair nicely and put on minimal makeup, to highlight her best features. By 6, y/n was ready to get in the car, but the drive was only 15 minutes. Kira tried to distract her with finding things to fix, like an out of place hair, or too much highlight. At 6:30, she couldn’t distract her anymore and they got in the car. She drove slowly, constantly trying to hit red lights. Although, y/n had noticed, she pretended not, too.

Freaking out at 6:50, y/n got out of the car by the entrance. Looking at Kira who gave her a thumbs up, y/n walked in and to the front desk.

“Hi, um, I was told there was a note going to be left for me here?”

“Ahh, you must be y/n, yes?” The desk attendant said to me, smiling brightly.

“Yes, that is me!” I said, nervously.

“Here is the note, don’t be so nervous. I think you’ll like what is waiting for you!”

She looked at the note that looked the same as all the other ones. The note said:

Go to hotel room #33.

y/n double checked that Kira was still on the phone and went up the elevator to the correct floor. She walked up to the door, but was hesitant to knock. It took her a full minute and many deep breaths to finally knock. When the door opened, she gasped at what she saw.

“Stiles?” She asked incredulously.

“Hi, y/n. I was nervous you weren’t going to come.”

y/n looked down at her phone to see that Kira had already hung up, “I-I, the notes were you the whole time?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, I didn’t know how else to do it. I was freaking out about the whole thing. I know things got messed up before and honestly, I don’t even know why. I didn’t want to mess up again, and I just thought this was the best way to get you to see that I was sorry.”

Y/n took a minute to look around the room. There were two queen beds, both covered in rose petals. There was a small, pink and red bag on one of them. There were actually rose petals everywhere. There were small candles lit all over the room, lights turned down. There was a bottle of champagne on ice and room service on a trolley that contained y/f/flowers in a beautiful vase. It was beautiful honestly, and clearly took a lot of thought.

“y/n?” Stiles started, as she had not said anything after his confession.

“I’m sorry, it’s- I mean this is beautiful. It’s amazing honestly. I can’t believe you did all of this.”

“I’ve loved you for a long time y/n. And I don’t know how exactly we got all fucked up, but I was nervous and scared about what would come to us when school started. I’ve wanted to tell you everyday since that whatever was going on was stupid and that we should be together, but I never could get it out and I’m sorry.” Stiles was nervous, not sure y/n felt the same.

“I don’t know what happened either, if I’m being honest..I felt the same. Scared and nervous. I’ve literally made myself miserable everyday, knowing that I should have done something about what happened. I love you. I’m sorry too, that I didn’t do anything to fix whatever happened. I knew from the moment I met you, that we were meant to be more than just friends.”

Stiles couldn’t hold back after he heard y/n’s confession, his feelings had been overwhelming for so long. He walked closer to her, placed his hand on her face gently, and placed his lips on hers. At first, it was sweet and slow, but y/n moved her hands to the back of his head, pulling him closer. When they both ran out of breath, they pulled away smiling at each other.

“Can I ask you a question?” y/n spoke first.

“Of course, anything.” Stiles answered.

“Why are there two beds?” y/n wiggled her eyebrows.

Stiles face turned red and his hand went to rub his chin, “I well, I mean I didn’t want to-uh...I didn’t want to assume anything, I just, I didn’t want to mess anything else.”

“Well I don’t think we’ll be needing it.” y/n said and pulled Stiles back to her, placing her lips on his again.

#stiles stilinski x reader #stiles x reader #stiles x y/n #stiles fanfiction #stiles stilinski #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf #stiles stilinksi imagine

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srbachchan · 4 years ago

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DAY 4831

Jalsa, Mumbai May 20, 2021 Thu 9:14 PM

Birthday - Ef Gopi Sheth .. Ef Aish TVM .. Friday, May 21 .. our greetings and love on this special day .. be safe be well and be protected .. ❤️🌹

A dear friend sent me this article .. I thought it was a very good read and so thought of putting it here :

Write Tight

What is poetry? Etymology provides more questions than answers.

T. S. Eliot, who once famously called National Poetry Month the cruelest, was also one of many to point out the hopeless semantic tangles that ensue because “poetry” has two opposites. Poetry can be the lined stuff, often with rhymes, as opposed to sentences and paragraphs; poetry can also be the good stuff, as opposed to the plodding or simply informational. But if good prose can be poetic, a novel can be “pure poetry,” and poems can be prosaic, then it’s not clear what anyone is talking about, really. Or rather, it’s clear except to theorists trying to come up with definitions. Poetry is what’s thrilling, while a poem is that poor thing with eleven readers, eight of them members of the poet’s extended family.

Etymology doesn’t help—it only highlights that the apples and oranges here are how the thing is made and how it moves. Poetry is from the Greek poiein, “to make”: a poem is something made, or in English we would more naturally say crafted. Yet everyone agrees good prose is well crafted, too. Prose means, literally, “straightforward,” from the Latin prosa, proversus, “turned to face forward” (whereas verse is all wound up, twisty and snaky, “turned” in every direction except, apparently, forward). Yet we all know that poems can be clear and direct, too, especially when they’re songs.

Sidelining sonnets and quarantining quatrains in the poetry ghetto does produce a certain clarity. But of course it also creates problems when translating from languages that gerrymander poetry differently. In German, for example, writer is a word even more literal than the English “someone who writes”: it’s Schriftsteller, a put-down-on-paper-er (Schrift = “writing,” stellen = “to place, to put”). Autor is a word used a bit less often for pretty much the same thing, unlike in English, where there’s a difference: author expresses a professional and financial identity (there are no “unpublished authors,” unless maybe the manuscript is finished and the contract is signed), while a writer is someone pursuing an activity (published or not, paid or not, read or not).

And then there’s a Dichter, usually translated “poet” but meaning a creator of poetry in the grand sense. The verb dichten means “to write poetry, ” and a poem is a dichten-ed thing, a Gedicht, but dichten means more generally to write poetically and well. The good stuff. The writer as hero of the spirit. How do you say that in English? We don’t have heroes of the spirit.

At least not according to Grimm’s German Dictionary—the equivalent of the Oxford English Dictionary, and started by those same Brothers Grimm who brought us “Little Red Riding Hood.” It gloats that dichten means “to create poetically, filled with a higher intelligence,” and that “the word does not exist in French and English: they work around it with s’adonner à la poésie, faire des vers; to compose a poem, to make verses, to versify.” The OED can fire back all it wants—pleading that dight had “an extraordinary sense-development” in Middle English from its original “senses of literary dictation and composition,” to become “one of the most widely used words in the language”—but its efforts are in vain. From that whole extraordinary range of meanings we use exactly none anymore.

“To understand the word,” Grimm’s poetically goes on, “we must go back to an earlier time …” Dichten originally meant to write something down so it could be read or sung, something that had already been worked out in the mind (from the Latin dictare, “to say, to dictate”). It swerved into meaning the mental working-out, too, the originating creative act. A sixteenth-century saying already plays on the same double meaning that causes ambiguity in English: “A good enough rhyme-smith, but hardly a poet” (Reimschmiede genug, aber wenig Dichter). But from there, the word left the confines of verse. In German, you can still call someone a poet in the grand sense without consigning him to the poetry ghetto.

So what is a Dichter in prose? I have caved on occasion and translated Dichter as “poet,” in cases where the character in question may or may not be a poet (e.g., Robert Walser’s story “Letter from a Poet to a Gentleman”), or happens to be a poet even if that’s not really the point. Goethe was a poet, so the title of his autobiography, Dichtung und Wahrheit, can be translated as it usually is, Poetry and Truth, even though the book is not particularly about verse as opposed to other forms. His topic is actually Imagination and Truth, but imagination set down on paper. To put it anachronistically: Creative Writing and the Truth.

Sometimes, though, “poet” risks being downright misleading. A twentieth-century German writer named Uwe Johnson, known as the Dichter der beiden Deutschlands (the Dichter of both East and West Germany), wrote only prose. Call him the “poet of both Germanies” and people will think he’s a poet. He is more like “the voice of divided Germany,” or even “the bard,” despite being neither a songwriter nor Shakespeare. In English, we can get the grandeur (voice) or the job (writer, author, novelist), but not both.

There are cognates of dichten, from the same Latin dictare, but they never took on the same soaring spirit in English, at least since the demise of dight. Very much on the contrary. Our closest cognate, indite, “to put into words, write, compose, give literary form to,” was more or less completely swamped by what was once the same word, indict, “to write up charges, bring legal action against.” (Probably under interference from indicare, “to indicate, give evidence against”; and indicere, “to declare publicly,” compare Italian indicere, “to denounce.”) To translate Dichter as “inditer” won’t do. Even our least sarcastic Dichter is sarcastic about that: “Perhaps my best moments I never jot down; when they come I cannot afford to break the charm by inditing memoranda”—Walt Whitman.

Coincidentally, dicht in German also means “tight,” as in watertight or airtight (from Old Norse þéttr, apparently completely unrelated etymologically to dictare), and the verb dichten is also “to seal, caulk, make impermeable,” as well as “to make more dense or compact.” Ezra Pound played on the pun in his second most well-known slogan for what poetry does (after “Make it new”): dichten = condensare. An imagist manifesto in twenty characters: to write poetry is to condense and supercharge language. (Pound attributed the equation to the poet Basil Bunting “fumbling about with a German–Italian dictionary”; actually, Bunting knew what he was doing, and wasn’t exactly fumbling. Pound = condescendere.)

This may not be a less ambiguous definition of poetry, but it is a good challenge for the Dichters in our midst, in poetry or prose. Don’t just make it new: make it tight.

with admiration for the ones that read and feel read ..❤️

Amitabh Bachchan

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river-bottom-nightmare · 4 years ago

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hi, I was wondering if you had any fic recs for dc? i dont mind what ship/character they might include so you can just go wild. also, I love your blog and writing!! thanks in advance if you answer this <3

oh but of course, babe! i’ve got so many fic recs dear lord. hopefully the ones on here will be ones that i haven’t already recced before. and also ahhhh thank you so so much!!

a heart just cant contain all of this empty space by TheMermaidLord (if anyone knows their tumblr, please let me know!) ~27k. the young justice universe, except after season 1, the canon events of the batfamily get woven in. you get to see dick leaving robin, jason joining then dying, how tim first meets the team, how they react to learning jason’s alive again all through the eyes of the yj team (mainly artemis, wally, and dick, but there are others.) this fic is beautiful and heartbreaking and oh so satisfying.

Candle Light and Plastic Bats by @jackdaw-kraai 10k. you know all those hc and concept fics about the relationship batman has with the city of gotham? well this fic is an absolutely gorgeous homage to that. told from the pov of the people of lower gotham, it goes through their relationship with this demon that seemed to haunt their city, going from mistrust and fear to acceptance and kinship. just a really really beautiful fic.

Detective Work by @bekkoni ~8k. i don’t actually ship superbat for a multitude of reasons, but this fic was so goddamn hilarious and cute that i can’t not love it. set in the jlu universe, wally discovers that superman and batman are acting a little ~odd.~ then he does a little more snooping and dear god the consequences are hilarious. featuring identity porn by the bucket-load.

It’s Your Right to Hurt Me Baby (If You Wanted To) by @pluckyredhead 8k. granted, jayroy doesn’t make much sense outside of specific rhato runs, but inside those runs its an actually beautiful ship, and this fic is just one of many testaments to that. smut with feelings, and jason gets the love and affection he sorely needs.

Little Talks by @theo-ography 26k. who here doesn’t love dumb boys in love finally talking about their feelings?? because i love it more than words, but this author somehow did the impossible and managed to put it in words. in this series, dick and wally have some important conversations, do some cuddling, and finally get together. gosh, i love birdflash so. fucking. much.

The Maybe Man by @dustorange ~48k. this is me, screaming about dustorange’s works again because i am such a fangirl for her writing oh my god. after dick leaves bruce and while jason is robin, dick gets abducted and tortured by the court of owls, and then is sent to kill bruce. and bruce fights with every fiber of his being to get his son back. also, jason and bruce’s relationship is so good in this jesus christ. i love reading fics that show just how close jason and bruce were before jason was killed, and this fic had that and more.

Those Who Wait by @last01standing 11k. in a reverse robins fic done beautifully well, this entire fic is written from jon’s pov, and explores damian and jon’s relationship over the years. (basically, jon just falling more and more hopelessly in love with damian.) also, everyone ships it because jon is basically all of the kids’ “uncle jon” and it’s hilarious and i love it. one of my favourite damijon fics, and the p i n i n g is just AHHHH.

un haeng il chi by @danishsweethearts 17k. i can’t actually put into words how much i love this fic, so everyone needs to just go and read it right now so you feel what i feel when finishing this fic. a cass centric fic, this piece of art has the literal best characterizations and metaphors for those characterizations i’ve ever read in my entire life. cass’ relationship with each member of the batfam is unique and beautiful and dear god i could reread this fic a thousand times over without ever getting tired of it.

Watch This by snackbaskets (again, if anyone knows their tumblr, please let me know!) ~2k. this fic is just a oneshot of pure adorableness. the league meets little baby robin!dick for the first time. hal and barry are, at first, terrified for the kid’s life, and then terrified of the devious little mastermind in bright green hotpants. this is just humor and fluff and i love it.

Yesterday’s Voices by @lemonadegarden 49k. oh god i cannot scream my love for this fic enough. bruce, in a time with most of the batfam (including up to steph, damian, cass), gets de-aged to a time where jason was robin and dick was barely speaking to him. and it’s absolutely heartbreaking, because the rest of the batfam get to see how open, kind, and less jaded bruce used to be. if you want a good cry but a happy ending, this fic is wonderful.

if it were deemed socially acceptable, i would build a shrine to all of these wonderful authors in the middle of the street, but unfortunately i have neither the time nor the resources to do that, so i guess screaming about how talented and brilliant they are will have to do instead. hope you enjoy reading these babe!

#fic recs #dc fic recs #batfam fic recs

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sly-merlin · 4 years ago

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C l a i r. De. L u n e

Pairing : angel reader x banished angel jaemin.

Genre : plotless comedy, fluff, mutual pinning

Words: 1.1k

Warnings: it's suweeeet. Mentions of fire, hell.

Prompt : mmm..it's warm

A/n : part of SEXC WRITERS COLLAB consisting of members - @raibebe , me and @ncteaxhoe

This fic is dedicated to the doyoung to this haechan, rai @raibebe ! 🤍💚🤍💚🤍💚💚

Thank you for beta reading @lofied . God bless whatsapp!

Perched on the soft and velvety enchanted cloud, you consciously fluttered your legs, letting your naked toes play with the flowing water. In the middle of the majestic ocean, the spotlight of the moonlight drenched your pristine white wings in the ruthless glow as if it had been waiting for your arrival only. It has been many moons since you last visited this entrance to the human world. Until last month,at the break of the darkness, every day, you and jaemin had been flying away from your home to this place to allow yourself a taste of thia foreign sphere that your serene, plain, disciplinary realm never provided and today you were here, waiting for the same boy just to see his face, a sentiment, that according to you,wasn’t worthy of being revealed.

Nevaeh realm was indeed and quite literally a dreamer’s paradise but for younglings like you and jaemin, it lacked the delight and colour that oh so beautiful underground Nrub realm's fires showed. You attributed your attraction for that fiery hell to the white and cream that engulfed you in tranquil and also because it seemed unattainable for you, just like the thought of underground was supposed to be for all the unsullied beings. All things considered, underground was forbidden for everything pure, including you and jaemin. But nobody remembers the last time jaemin had listened and the last time you had made any attempt to stop him.

Eyes lost in the depths of the sea, you felt your right wing folding itself into your waist. Pausing your movements, craning your neck, you saw jaemin flapping his grey wings, a captivating smile wrinkling his nose in some unknown shape.

Grey?

You tilted your torso a little more to look at his ruined feathers.

"What in the fairies have you done to these beauties?" eyes widened in disbelief, you queried.

Shooting you his infamous fake pouty bunny teeth, he responded as his hands danced every way to exaggerate his pain,

"The underground isn't a place for angels”, he spoke with a nasal voice, “The smoke spares none. You should be glad you are seeing me in full piece."

"I thought you would have been roasted by now but you look completely fine."

The sarcasm in your voice was nothing new for him but he had begun to miss it. Awfully! Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined being at the other end of mother angel’s wrath.

Of all the younglings, him only?

Jaemin had been banished to the gates of underground for a few months as a penalty. Penalty for throwing mystic snowballs at the youngest son of the devil, which resultantly had him sick for a week.

"Make space for me." He pleaded and rolling your eyes, you extended the cloud seat with one twirl of your finger.

Oh how much he missed his baby magic!

"No one makes better clouds than you!" He exclaimed before sitting on the squashy seat but the sigh of relief that escaped him was something unexpected.

"What is it now?" Annoyed, you questioned.

"Even the underground gates are hotter for my buttocks. I don’t know how Johnny survives being the gatekeeper of that hellish place. It’s impossible to breathe in there, my wings are dirty, i’m grey, my hair have ashes in them, I no more look pretty, the little spawns make fun of me at any possible chance they get and because I can’t get past the first door, they don’t even hesitate while calling me brutal names!” he cried out with a pout.

"who had told you to play with him in the first place. their souls are weaker than ours jaem. Just because we can endure a little heat doesn-

"yangyang shouldn't have been wandering on the common grounds in the first place so it’s not my fault that i forgot about their souls or whatever. Nobody said a word to him but this beautiful boy was sent off without any apology!”

A giggle left your lips at his dramatics. He really had the audacity of acting like the purest being, which he undoubtedly was but he couldn’t look at his broken record of being a nuisance to the whole realm. Along with you and jungwoo of course.

“This cloud is so fluffy. No wonder you make the bestest clouds y/n” at the repeated praise, you straightened your back. Spreading your wings in their full glory, you proudly addressed him,

“Angel y/n, division third and rank second, jaem.”

“WHAT NO! CHEATER. WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?”

“ha.ha. when you were busy being the assistant of johnny.”

Right then, you made a mental note for sending a gratitude gift for johnny. Had he burnt your letter, jaemin would have never met you today.

“THAT’S NOT FAIR. YOU ARE EARNING RANKS AND WHAT AM I DOING? EATING DUST?”

his statement turned your head towards his wings. The dirty ones. Raising your finger, you ordered him,

“get up. Let me clean your feathers first.”

“no!” he shouted again, “they’ll know I went out and Johnny would be in trouble with mother angel.”

Realisation dawned on your face and you slouched down, hands finding solace in your lap.

“I thought you were getting toasted. You seem to be happy with that johnny. Don’t you miss playing with us?”

The disappointment in your lyrics was patent and he felt something tugging his insides, something he had felt many times before and had chosen to ignore it each time.

A smile graced his lips watching your romantic face sparkling like the sheet of stars that he adored so much. ludicrous was his love for you, as jungwoo explained and he loved nothing more than being a fool for you.

“how can I be fine when that small place feels like those thousand firecrackers we once saw on this earth.”

“and you smell like that orange food place we visited once.”

“oh yeah? give me your hand!”

You screamed at him but he gripped your hand and planted it on his feathers instead.

“that’s how I feel when I’m toasting in there!”

“mmmh…it’s warm!”

Surprised, you immediately retracted your hand and hugged it closer to your chest.

“see! I’m not joking.” His lips were twisted grimly as he said those words. However tempting the other side was, he still didn’t belong there. it wasn’t home.

“let’s have a competition”

“what?”

Conjuring a few pebbles, you handed him half of them.

“stone skipping!"

Stilling the water just right for the skipping, you started with your stones and chuckles filled the quiet night with much needed happiness.

“is your butt cool enough now.”

Mindlessly, you asked.

“yeah. thanks to you, it is.”

Heaven: nevaeh , burn : nrub 😂 I'm not that creative plzzz🍿

A 🤏 feedback is always appreciated lovelies.

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silly-bean · 4 years ago

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Chasing Visions: Chapter 1

New fic!! Inspired by "Saving Subject C" by @aimeelouart, @im-totally-not-an-alien, and she_sees_in_the_dark, I present "Chasing Vision of Our Futures"!

Summary: Cloud didn't ask to be sent back in time by the planet to fix all its problems before they started. He certainly didn't ask to be de-aged into a literal child. At least he has Zack here to help share the burden and prevent him from having an existential breakdown. Too bad some SOLDIER showed up at Nibelheim and stole Zack away, huh?

Now Cloud's on a mission with a newly-freed Vincent to rescue his friend from the "evil clutches of ShinRa". But, just who was the mystery SOLDIER? And what does he have to do with Sephiroth?

Read on AO3

Word Cout: 6,113

Chasing Visions of Our Futures

Chapter 1: Our Corner of the World

~~~~~

Genesis was honestly at a loss.

He didn’t quite know what to expect when he arrived in the backwater village of Nibelheim, but a small, spiky-haired child swimming in a SOLDIER 1st uniform idly watching Phoenix burn the ShinRa mansion to the ground was not it. The boy didn’t notice him at first, seemingly content to watch the summon (how in the Goddess’s name had he managed to pull that off?) in its destruction. In fact, it wasn’t until Genesis stepped forward to stand almost abreast with him that the child turned his head and looked up at him. The boy’s eyes widened in shock for a moment before he grinned at the 1st.

“Oh, Genesis! I didn’t think you’d be here!”

What?

“Excuse me?” Genesis stuttered.

The kid’s smile faded slightly and his brow furrowed in thought before a panicked expression overtook the grin completely. It was then that Genesis registered the glowing mako-color of the child’s eyes. The SOLDIER reached out to grab the kid, but he bolted - or, at least tried to run. The boy had apparently forgotten that he was wearing clothing that was way too big for him and promptly tripped, face-planting into the snow. Genesis rushed to his side, helping the kid back up, only to jerk back when a small fist connected with his shoulder. The strike shoved him back enough for the child to get to his feet himself. Swearing, the 1st cast a Sleepel at the kid, cutting him off as he tried to shout something. The child’s face slammed into the snow for the second time in as many minutes and Genesis let out a long breath. What in Ifrit’s hell was he going to do now?

-_-_-_-

Cloud was annoyed.

He was tired, cold, achy, swimming in his clothing, and trekking through the Nibel wilderness in the middle of winter. He was stoically ignoring the bit of him that said, Just let Vincent carry you, he offered and you know he wouldn’t think less of you for it, because acknowledging it would be also acknowledging the fact that he was now probably under four feet tall. So, instead, he clomped through the snow and muttered swears that would make Cid proud under his breath as the unfairly tall man trailed him and watched on in concern.

Thankfully, their destination arose up from the rock in front of them: the Nibelheim reactor. Cloud let out a sigh of relief and picked up his pace, eager to get out of the wind.

“They don’t even have guards around their oh-so-precious reactor,” Cloud scoffed, wincing at how high his voice was.

Vincent merely hummed and readjusted Tsurugi on his back. Cloud had reluctantly given the man the sword - minus the two side blades that he and Zack were each wielding - to carry, seeing as his current height didn’t exactly lend itself to carrying a blade of its size. They ascended the stairs and pushed inside, leaving behind the howling wind for the silence of the interior. Cloud took a moment to shake the snow out of his hair and rub at his numb fingers, spying Vincent shaking out his cloak out of the corner of his eye.

“Come on, I don’t want to leave Zack waiting for too long.”

The man fell into step beside him as they pushed further in, his steps all but silent on the metal floor. Cloud could tell he had questions, more than the few they’d answered when they pulled him out of his coffin in the basement, but Cloud was content to wait until the man gathered his thoughts and asked them himself. Sure enough, Vincent spoke up as they entered the room full of Mako pods.

“Are you certain the other will be safe back at the mansion?” he settled on, voice echoing in the chamber.

“Of course,” Cloud answered, “Zack can take care of himself. Besides, wasn’t it you who was pushing for us to split up?”

Vincent fell silent, apparently not having a response to that. Cloud sighed and focused on making it up the stairs to the central chamber in his too-big boots. About half-way up, however, an arm snaked around his waist and hefted him up against a bony hip.

“Hey! What the fuck! Put me down!”

He flailed around, almost kicking one of his boots off as he tried to free himself from the hold. Unsuccessful, he tried to go for the blade in his harness, but couldn’t reach it with how he was being carried.

“Vincent, I swear to Odin if you don’t put me down right now-”

The man dropped him at the top of the stairs, cutting off his rant as he fell and barely managed to right himself to avoid face-planting into the metal. He whipped around, snarling as his hand clenched over the hilt of his blade, and barely manages to catch Vincent’s smirk before he dunks down behind his collar. The man moved forward and punched his access code into the keypad, the door swinging open after a soft beep. He stepped back and flourished at the entrance.

“After you,” he said, completely stoic.

Cloud snarled again and stomped forward, resisting the urge to flip his friend off (was Vincent still his friend?) as he passed. He continued until he reached the base of the pipe that snaked its way up to Hojo’s shrine. His emotions swirled into an ungodly mess in his chest, hate and anger and fear and contempt twisting around each other until they formed a heavy ball that threatened to choke him. His blood pounded in his ears and he took a deep breath to try and center himself. Vincent stepped up behind him, not quite hovering in reassurance.

Cloud straightened before speaking. “Let’s torch this bitch,” he said with a grin.

He heard Vincent’s huff of amusement as he raised his arm, summon materia glowing as he called on the entity sleeping within. Ifrit erupted into being with a roar before it launched itself at the effigy and into the tank hidden behind it, reducing everything to slag. Cloud turned, grabbing Vincent’s cloak and pulling the man back towards the entrance of the reactor.

“Come on! We don’t wanna be in here when this place comes down!”

They reached the top of the stairs just as the first explosion tore through the core, sending their clothes whipping in the generated wind and heat. Vincent didn’t waste any time, scooping Cloud up and leaping down the stairs before sprinting to the exit. The blond didn’t even bother to complain about the manhandling, too caught up in the thrill of the escape to think about what it meant for his current situation. The man moved through the door and cleared the stairs with a single leap, landing in the snow and continuing a few yards until they reached a safer distance.

Cloud continued to pump his mana down the connection between him and the summon, egging it on as it tore through the metal and caused the whole thing to collapse in a fiery show of power. He cheered and allowed Ifrit to create one final plume of flame to celebrate before it disappeared. Vincent sighed heavily but still didn’t put him back down.

“Uh, Vincent? You can put me down now.”

The man tightened his hold and struck out back down the path at a fast, but steady, pace.

“Vincent? I’m serious, I can walk. You don’t have to-”

“I thought you wanted to get back to your friend? It will take much less time if you allow me to carry you back down.”

Cloud seceded with a growl and crossed his arms, pointedly ignoring that he was pouting like the 7-year-old his body claimed him to be. Still, Vincent was right; he did want to get back to Zack as soon as possible. So, he shut up and tried to adjust himself into a more comfortable position for the ride down.

They made good progress back down the mountain, Vincent seemingly having no trouble with the large drifts of snow and winding pathways. They were crossing the bridge when Cloud caught sight of smoke rising from the direction of town. He frowned and shoved his knee into Vincent’s side.

“Hurry up, we wanna get back to him and get out of town before the civilians get over their fear and investigate the fire,” he said.

Vincent gave him a look but picked up the pace anyway. They were practically flying now, and Cloud was kinda enjoying the wind on his face. It reminded him of long deliveries when it was just him, the road, and Fenrir, which then just made him angry all over again. He gripped the hilt of his blade, the leather creaking under his hand and he took a deep breath, trying to settle himself. It took longer than it should have. Why did it take so long? Was it his younger body? He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Now that he wasn’t so worried about the immediate demise of everything he had failed to save before, he was able to focus on his current bodily situation.

He was a child, physically, even though his mind was unchanged from his 25-year-old self. He had his enhancements, but what was that worth when he couldn’t wear his own clothing, couldn’t wield his own Odin-damned sword? No one would take him - them, Zack was here too - seriously. He’d have to convince Vincent to stay around to travel with them to avoid attracting the attention a couple of kids would get for traveling alone and armed. It was the reminder that he wasn’t alone in his plight, that Zack was waiting for him back down at the mansion, that pulled him back from the rising panic attack. He could have a breakdown later, after they’d reunited and gotten the fuck out of this damn village.

They arrived at the burning mansion right as the roof finally caved in, sending a flurry of smoke and sparks swirling into the sky. Cloud wiggled in Vincent’s grip, wanting to be let down to go look for his friend, and the man obliged. The moment his feet hit the ground, he was moving, eyes peeled for a head of spiky black hair.

“Zack? I thought you were gonna wait for us to get back to set the thing on fire?” he called.

There was no answer other than the crackling of the flames. Cloud bit his lip. Zack was probably just on the other side of the mansion. It made sense; being behind the building meant that the people coming up from the village wouldn’t run right into him when they came to investigate. He started walking around, feeling Vincent fall into step behind him.

They reached the other side of the building, and there was still no sign of Zack. Cloud tried to shove down the building panic as he walked, stumbling more in his oversized shoes as he kept moving. They reached the front again. No Zack.

“Zack! I’m serious, this isn’t funny!” His voice cracked on the last word, his throat closing up. “You can prank me again later but we have to get moving! We, we have to…”

His breaths were coming in heaving gasps now. His vision swam and it was an effort to keep his feet underneath him. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and he tried to shake it off, only for his balance to finally fail him. He landed hard in the partially-melted snow, gasping at the sudden cold on his arms and hands.

“Zack…”

He couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. His head felt too light and too heavy at the same time. He should have been worried by how easily the panic overwhelmed him, how tears poured down his face and how he cried heaving sobs into the snow. But all he could think about was the glaring absence. Zack was gone.

-_-_-_-

Vincent was decidedly, thoroughly, and completely out of his depth.

He’d felt that way since two children tore the lid off of his coffin and declared their intentions to burn down the mansion, with or without his help. He had been justifiably skeptical until the smaller child had opened his mouth and started talking about Hojo and Lucrecia, how they planned to destroy everything the hated man had ever worked towards and save the woman’s son. He hadn’t believed them, not really, but the very knowledge of those people, of his own desires, had been enough to get him up and moving.

He’d gotten a better look at the two after that - noting their oversized clothing and the way-too-big sword that the blond was toting around - and had grown suspicious. The way they attacked the equipment in the lab proper and their eerie, glowing eyes had only cemented his conclusion: these two boys had been lab experiments of Hojo’s. There was no way the clear rage in their motions as they wrecked the lab was anything but personal. However, that meant that these two boys had been here, been suffering while Vincent was sleeping the time away in a gods-damned coffin only a hundred yards away. The self-loathing and anger that had filled him made his hands shake, tore his focus from his current task (he was already trying very hard not to think about the howling of voices not his own in the back of his head) so he’d shoved those thoughts into a mental box to be fully considered later.

He’d also been surprised that the reactor held a target of theirs, but considering the troubles the Jenova specimen had caused even back before his long sleep (how long has it truly been?) and the importance of it to Hojo, he was willing to humor the children and help them. His trek up to the reactor had gone on much too long, the blond child’s - Cloud, the other had introduced him as - refusal to be carried or to locate proper clothing hampering their pace. Their actual time in the reactor was negligible with the boy’s summon making quick work of the specimen and reactor both, and the trek down was significantly faster once he’d allowed Vincent to carry him.

Now, he stood there trying to decide if it would be appropriate for him to offer comfort to Cloud as he kneeled there sobbing in the snow. This was decidedly not in his skill set; being a Turk and then a science experiment didn’t require him to know how to comfort a crying child. Still, he had to try. The boy had risked his life waking him, going against the man who had hurt him so much, then making the trek up a treacherous mountain just to spend a few minutes destroying a dead body in revenge only to have his world ripped out from under him. He deserved to be comforted. Didn’t mean Vincent had any idea how to, though.

He shifted on his feet and flexed his hands before coming to a decision. Vincent knelt down next to Cloud, his cloak pooling around him, and set his gloved hand on the child’s back. The boy’s form twitches under his hand, tensing up before relaxing.

So far, so good.

Vincent starts rubbing his thumb in circles and shifts to get a bit more comfortable. “He could not have gotten far. Most likely, someone from the village came up to investigate and took him back with them.”

Cloud’s sobs have started to die off, the hitching of his breath calming down. “Yeah…” he mumbles, sniffing. He straightens from his hunched-over position and rubs at his face with his too-big shirt. “I’m a fucking mess.”

Vincent can’t help but chuckle a bit at the boy’s blunt words. “I would say it is perfectly justified, considering the circumstances.”

Cloud sniffled again, then growled and shrugged off the hand still rubbing circles into his back. Vincent took the hint and removed his hand, standing back up. “Let’s head into the village and see what we can find.”

“No, no I can’t.” Cloud was shaking his head, his whole body a bundle of tension. “You can go check it out but I can’t. I’ll just stay here.”

That was strange. The child knew that the village was the best bet to finding his friend. He should be charging ahead, barely waiting for Vincent to follow, not pushing the man to go alone.

“Are you certain? I assumed you would want to find your friend as fast as possible?”

Cloud was still looking down and he rubbed at his arms, the skin finally starting to redden from the cold. He took a deep breath, seemingly settling himself, and looked up at the man. His eyes shone with resolve.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want you getting chased out of town for child neglect if you walked in with me dressed like this.” He gestured at his unexplained, oversized clothing. “Besides, they’ll be talking to you about stuff anyways; you’re the adult.”

There was something bitter in his tone that Vincent chose to ignore for the time being. He resisted the urge to put his hand on the child’s shoulder, choosing to nod instead.

“I shall head into town, then. I will inquire about unusual happenings beyond the burning of the mansion and see what I can find.”

The boy nodded but furrowed his brow as well. “Why not just ask about Zack?”

“Considering you do not wish to enter the village, I am assuming that you wish to avoid as much attention as you can. By asking about a child fitting your friend’s description in town, it would be drawing attention to him. However, the village is small enough that anyone finding a child by a burning mansion would be news and I, a traveling hunter, would be able to learn of it by inquiring about any interesting happenings.”

Cloud blinked at him before he laughed, something close to fondness on his face. “I didn’t even think of that. Thanks, Vincent.”

Vincent found himself ducking his face behind his collar, unused to such warm reception of his ideas. Cloud laughed at him again, so he turned around, sending his cloak whipping around his body. He pulled the sword off his back and stabbed it into the ground before making to leave.

“Wait!” Cloud went digging through one of his pockets. “Get some supplies while you’re there. I’m getting cold and don’t really want to wait until we hit another town to get fitting clothing.” He pulled out a wallet and held it out to the man. “Don’t lose this.”

Vincent took the item and slid it into one of his own pockets, nodding to the boy. “I shall return posthaste. Please find some shelter; I do not want to have to treat you for frostbite.”

He set out towards the village, catching the child’s “Yeah, yeah” as he left. The wind sent his cloak flapping but failed to penetrate his layers of clothing. Not for the first time since waking up, Vincent wondered why Hojo had bothered to dress him before throwing him in that coffin. Of course, that thought started him down a long train of things he was purposely avoiding thinking about, so he strangled the vein before it could send him into a rage or fuel the things rattling the bars of their cages in his head.

Arriving in the village, he immediately spied a group of people clustered around the base of the water town talking in hushed tones. The moment he recognized their conversation, he found he could hear their words.

“-hope ShinRa won’t blame us for the mansion.”

“Why would they? That SOLDIER was here to investigate the monster attacks and he told us that the monsters were the ones to set the building alight.”

“He’s still ShinRa though. Those types are all the same.”

“Why do you think he was asking about a kid though?”

“Oh, I hope he didn’t find-”

Vincent tore his attention away from the conversation, walking quickly to the building with the worn sign proclaiming it the inn. He could still hear the people talking like he was right next to them.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it.

Luckily, the sound cut out mostly when he entered the building and he could refocus on the task at hand. He walked right up to the counter and knocked his knuckles on the wood, waiting for someone to help him.

“I’ll be right with you!” A voice called out from what Vincent assumed was the kitchen. It was a few more seconds before a woman poked her head out. “Oh, what can I do for you, sir? A room?”

Vincent waved her off. “I’m just passing through. I was wondering about the best place to pick up some trail rations and maybe some camping supplies? I lost my gear and I’m in a sort of a rush.”

She nodded and smiled at him. “Not the first time this has happened. The store next door should have gear and trail rations. If you need something warmer, I’d check there as well, though he might send you over to the Strife woman.”

He blinked. “The ‘Strife woman’?”

The innkeeper sneered. “The only seamstress in town. She does good work, but don’t let that fool you! She’s a witch and she’s passing it down to that little, troublemaking bastard of hers.”

The woman all but growled the last few words, Vincent recoiling a bit at the intensity of her opinion.

“Well, I thank you for your advice. I think I’ll be on my way now.”

Vincent left quickly, unwilling to get involved in small-town politics and suddenly starting to understand Cloud’s avoidance of the village. He walked next door to the store and began glancing over the shelves, looking for what they’d need to get to the next town. As he did so, he pulled out the borrowed wallet and opened it to check how much gil he was working with. To his surprise, there was more than enough for some basic supplies. He also spied what looked like an ID with a very familiar face on it, and decided to ask the child about it when he returned.

Unfortunately, the store did not stock clothing, which meant another stop for him. He sighed and began to gather up what he could find. When he was done, he brought his purchases to the counter, and the clerk only eyed him for a second before ringing him up.

“So… in town for a while?” He asked.

Vincent hummed before responding. “Nope, just passing through.”

The clerk grumbled under his breath, but Vincent was able to catch him say “No one stayin’ in this town these days.”

“A lot of travelers recently?” he asked, sensing his opportunity.

“Huh?” The clerk looked up, surprised, before he shrugged and continued. “You’re the second one passing through today. First was a bonafide SOLDIER 1st Class, on his way to and from a ‘monster elimination mission’, his words, not mine.”

Gotcha.

“A SOLDIER? That must have caused quite the stir.”

The clerk snorted. “You betcha. Handsome fellow, with that red hair and crimson jacket. I don’t remember his name, but he sure worried the lot of us with his asking about some missing kid.”

“Missing kid?”

“Yeah, he came back into town after the mansion had been burnin’ for a while. Was right frantic, in fact. He asked if anyone had a missing kid with ‘spiky’ black hair and a scar on his face, and, well, that certainly don’t sound like no kid ‘round here, so he got a few things from here and skedaddled.” The clerk narrowed his eyes at Vincent. “You wouldn’t know anythin’ ‘bout that, now would ya?”

Vincent raised his hands in a placating gesture, then quickly lowered his left hand when he remembered the gauntlet adorning it. “I’m afraid not. I’ve been out hunting on my way down south.”

The clerk hummed and finished wrapping his items up. Vincent passed over the required amount of gil and picked up the parcel. He went to leave but remembered he had one more thing to do in town. He turned back around.

“Would you know where to acquire clothing suited for this weather? My companion was not expecting how cold it would be.”

The clerk blinked at him, before getting a look on his face like he’d just smelled something foul.

“I don’t have any stock at the moment, so ya’ best bet is seeing if Claudia Strife has anything she’s willing to part with on short notice. You’ll find her house down main street to the left. It’s quite a small place and looks a tad rundown. You can’t miss it.”

Vincent nodded his thanks and left the store, tucking his chin down into his collar against the wind. He followed the directions, soon coming across a cottage that met the description. He approached carefully and knocked at the door. There was light shining through the windows, flickering in a way that meant lanterns or a fire. The door opened and revealed a woman with light blonde hair, something about her seeming very familiar.

“Yes, can I help you?”

Vincent cleared his throat. “Claudia Strife, I presume?”

She nodded. “Yes, that’s me.”

“I am traveling with my… nephew and I’m afraid he doesn’t have anything suitable for this weather. I was told you would be the best bet for acquiring children’s clothing?”

Claudia smiled. “Yes, you heard correctly. Come in, come in. I’ll see if I can find anything.”

She backed away from the door, waving him in behind her. He stepped into the cottage, wiping off his boots on the entrance mat, and took in the interior. It was small but cozy; a kitchen area to the right with a small dining area and a seating area in front of the fire to the left. A set of stairs was set into the wall all the way to the left, leading to what Vincent assumed was the bedrooms. Claudia had moved into the kitchen and was bustling around.

“Feel free to sit down, make yourself comfortable. I’ll make you some tea for you to drink while I’m looking for things for you.”

Vincent blinked. “That is quite hospitable of you, ma’am, but unnecessary.”

“Nonsense. It’s cold as Shiva’s scorn out there; you must be freezing. I sure hope this nephew of yours is out of the chill.”

The man moved further into the cottage, taking a cautious seat in one of the chairs by the fire to wait.

“How big is your nephew? If he’s the right size, I might have something of my son’s lying around that he’s too big for.”

Vincent thought for a second. “He’s about waist high on me… maybe around four feet tall?”

Claudia hummed and picked up the kettle just as it started whistling. “I think I have something lying around then. Speaking of my son, Cloud!” She directed the call towards the stairs. “Come down! And bring down some of your old winter stuff, please!”

What?

“Sure thing, Ma!” a familiar-sounding, young voice shouted back.

Vincent found himself reeling. When Claudia came around with a cup of steaming tea, he managed to pull himself back enough to thank her and blow on the hot drink before sipping it. He tried not to think about how this was the first thing he’d had to drink in years (perhaps decades). He almost choked on it, however, when a child bounded down the stairs with his arms full of clothing.

“I grabbed everything I still had, Ma. I hope this is enough.”

Claudia smiled at him. “It’s plenty, Stormcloud. I’m sure Mr…. I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name?”

Vincent realized she was asking him a question, but his eyes were focused on the boy. His hair was the same, if a little longer than that of the boy he’d left by the mansion. He was taller too, older, but without that old, worn look to him. In addition, when this “Cloud” turned to look at him, his eyes were blue but absent of the familiar mako glow. The kid was looking at him, head tilted in confusion and Vincent realized he’d been silent for too long. He tore his eyes away from the look-alike and back to the woman. He could see the resemblance now; the color of their hair was the same, and they shared their nose and face shape. He took a breath to steady himself and answered the question.

“Valentine, Ma’am.”

She smiled and nodded. “Mr. Valentine.”

The boy-who-might-be-Cloud stopped looking at him and smiled at his mother. “Where do you want these?”

“Oh, just set them down here on the ground, Cloud. We’ll go through them and decide what Mr. Valentine wants to take.”

The boy nodded and stepped forward, setting the pile down where his mother indicated, and stepped back. “Do I need to stay around, Ma?”

“No, sweetie, you can head back to your room. I’ll call you again if we need anything.”

The child nodded at her then turned back to Vincent. “It was nice to meet you, Sir,” he said.

Vincent swallowed before answering, “Nice to meet you as well, Cloud.”

The boy smiled at him - it was wide and open, not at all like the soft one of the smaller boy waiting by the mansion - and went bounding back up the stairs. Vincent refocused on the pile of clothing and the woman sitting next to him.

“Now, why don’t we sort through this mess?” she asked.

The man nodded in answer and picked up the first item to investigate.

It didn’t take long for them to work their way through the small pile, most of the items being deemed unnecessary for such a short time being spent in the current climate. He did take a couple pairs of pants and shirts, along with a jacket that would probably be just a bit too big. At his request, Claudia also produced a pair of socks and old boots for him to take. Vincent thanked her profusely and insisted on paying her, despite her argument that the clothing was old and would probably be given away anyways. He bundled the clothing up with his other purchases and made for the door.

“Thank you again, Ms. Strife. It was incredibly generous of you to give me these.”

“Oh, it was no problem at all, Mr. Valentine. Anything to help a man concerned for his nephew. Give the boy my well-wishes, will you?”

Vincent smiled at her and nodded before exiting the cottage. He spotted yet another group of people gathered by the water tower and looking at him, but he ignored their stares as he walked out of town, leaving them behind to whisper about his visit.

He mulled over what he learned as he walked, trying to order it in his head. A SOLDIER 1st Class showed up to town on a “monster elimination mission” and had returned after the mansion burned down, frantic and asking about a missing child matching Zack’s description. This SOLDIER had red hair and was wearing a bright red jacket. He was also most likely the one behind Zack’s disappearance, having found the boy at the site of the burning building and taking him. In addition, he had found a family in town with a young boy who looked remarkably like the enhanced boy he’d left behind at the mansion, going as far as sharing his name. This reminded him of the ID he’d seen inside the borrowed wallet, and he maneuvered his packages around until he could get the item out of his pocket.

He opened the wallet and stared at the ID. The picture looked like Cloud - both of them - but it was a man depicted there. He was wearing black clothing that greatly resembled the oversized outfit his Cloud was wearing, and his haircut also matched almost perfectly. In addition, his eyes had that strange glint that indicated mako glow in pictures. The name on the ID: “Cloud Strife”.

What have you gotten yourself into, Vincent?

He put the wallet away, taking a breath to settle himself before picking up his pace. Half-formed ideas and conclusions filled his thoughts. He felt his pulse rising as certain “less than savory” conclusions formed, his rage building and the things in his head growling and pushing at him to rip and tear the accursed man limb from limb. He has to wrench his thoughts away, toss his demons back in their cages with promises of later before he could continue moving.

He reaches the mansion relatively quickly and casts a look around to try and find Cloud. He finds the boy sitting in the partially collapsed stable by a crackling fire. He looks up at the man’s approach and waves.

“Took you long enough! I was starting to get worried!”

His smile faded as Vincent got closer and didn’t respond, a wary look overtaking the relief.

“Vincent…? Are you okay?”

The man took another breath, realizing that his anger was still boiling through his veins.

“I’m fine, Cloud.” He separated the bundle of clothing from his package of supplies and passed it to the boy. “Here, I found these for you.”

Cloud took the bundle, his brow furrowed in concern, and began going through the clothing. “I hope you had enough gil. I don’t remember how much I had on me.”

“It was more than sufficient,” Vincent answered, still standing.

The boy cast another look at him, then shrugged. “Where’d you get all of this, by the way? I don’t remember Nibelheim having that much in the way of clothing stores, and this all looks used.” He stopped at the boots, staring at them with a contemplative look on his face.

“They didn’t. I was directed to the house of the local seamstress and she was kind enough to sell some of her son’s old things to me.”

Cloud tensed up, his fists clenching, and reached for his sword. “Vincent…”

“Who are you, Cloud?” Vincent couldn’t contain his questions anymore. “I met a young boy who looks exactly like you, minus the scars and mako eyes, and shares your name. There’s an ID in that wallet that has a picture of a man on it, sharing his name with that boy and I assume you as well. He looks like you, wearing what you’re wearing, has equivalent enhancements.”

Cloud has gotten to his feet, his sword out in a ready position and eyes wild. His breathing has picked up, borderline hyperventilating, and his whole body a line of tension.

“Vincent-”

“Are you a clone? Did Hojo kidnap some poor SOLDIER and clone him to make you? Did he steal you from that village? Is that boy in danger of getting stolen now that you’ve escaped? Who is Cloud Strife?” He’s shouting now, all the anger and trepidation and revulsion he’s been feeling for the past few hours coalescing into something else in his chest. The things in his head snarl and scrape at their cages.

“I am Cloud Strife!” Cloud shouts back, tears gathering and falling from his eyes. Vincent stops, lets some of his emotions go as he observes the boy. The tension runs out of Cloud’s body and he slumps over, dropping the sword from its position. “I’m Cloud Strife,” he repeats softly. “But so is that boy in the village.”

Vincent stares at him, uncomprehending. Cloud scrubs at his face, snarling at the wetness he finds there. “Damn this fucking body,” he mutters, sitting back down.

“I don’t understand…” Vincent says weakly, all the fight having gone out from him.

“I’m from the future, Vincent. I’m supposed to be 25.”

Vincent stares at him more, processing what he’s hearing before something occurs to him. “...Zack?” he asks.

Cloud lets out a weak chuckle. “Him too, though he’d be 27 if he’d lived. Was probably supposed to turn up physically 21, considering that’s when he died.”

That… didn’t clear anything up. Still, there was one question forming in his mind that he was almost afraid to ask. “So… why did you two come back in time? Why are you children?”

Cloud heaved a world-weary sigh that wouldn’t be out of place on a man twenty years his senior. “That… is a long story. Might as well sit down, Vincent Valentine. If you want to hear all of it, we’ll be here for a while.”

#my fanfic #chasing visions #new fic!!#ff7 #ffvii #ff7 fanfic #genesis rhapsodos #zack fair #vincent valentine #cloud strife #crisis core #i'm really excited about this one guys

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chickwiththepurpleguitar · 4 years ago

Note

lukebobby + the song last one by the aces

Thanks for the prompt, friend! Ngl I don’t have a lot of experience writing based on songs but this one is a BOP so I ended up having a lot of thoughts about it, almost none of which ended up getting written lol. This song felt like a Luke and Bobby POV thing rather than one or the other, so maybe I’ll expand on this someday, but for now just have some Bobby POV. (This is based mostly on the first couple lines of the song because I didn’t want to do songwriting Bobby again). Hope you enjoy!

(Also if you’ve sent me a prompt, I promise I’m getting to it, I’m just slow and working on twelve different things at the same time and also trying to graduate lmao but I’m done with school in two weeks so starting then, I’ll be faster getting them out. And I’m technically still accepting more if you have them, just know they’ll take awhile)

Read on ao3 here:

—

Sometimes, Bobby closes the curtains on his bedroom window. When he’s got a lot of homework to do, or when his parents’ dumb friends are over, or when he has a migraine (usually, when he has a migraine). It covers his room in a cool swath of darkness that automatically calms him down, eases his pain, lets him focus. And it’s an unspoken signal for Luke to stay out in the studio—when Bobby’s curtains are closed, Luke knows that Bobby needs to spend the night alone.

He’s been closing them less and less often lately.

Bobby lies awake in bed on a Tuesday night, anxiously tapping his fingers against the bedspread. There’s a Metallica song stuck in his head, but for once there’s no music playing, in either his room or the empty guest room next door. He didn’t want to risk anything blocking out the sounds of knocking on the window or Luke’s soft, husky voice calling his name from the porch roof outside. Exhaustion weighs him down, making his stomach ache and his eyes sting, but he knows he couldn’t fall asleep even if he tried. And he doesn’t dare try. He stares at the ceiling, humming under his breath, and waits, and listens, so tired but wide awake.

When the sound finally comes—a sharp tapping on the glass too quiet for Bobby to hear if he weren’t waiting for it—he startles, sits up, and shoots a quick glance at the shadowed window before scrambling out of bed to flip on a light.

The clock reads 3:42am. Bobby has school tomorrow—a math test Reggie helped him study for that he’s still pretty sure he’s gonna fail. Luke has an early shift at the Music Store, and Mr. Schaefer always freaks out when he’s late, which just makes Luke grumpy the rest of the day. This will be the fourth night in a row where Luke’s come to Bobby's room in the middle of the night, the fourteenth this month (because yes, Bobby’s been counting). Bobby never gets any sleep with Luke curled up next to him, warm and solid and intoxicatingly beautiful, but it’s not like Bobby ever gets that much sleep alone. And Luke definitely sleeps better in Bobby’s bed than he does on that ratty old couch in the studio.

Still. It’s not like they’re dating or anything. Bobby’s more than a little bit in love with Luke, but it’s not like Luke knows that. Every second Bobby spends lying awake with Luke close enough to touch, close enough to kiss, is literal torture. He should stop inviting it. He should stop letting Luke in.

He pushes the window open, all his exhaustion flooding away in an instant.

Luke perches on the porch roof, crouched on the balls of his feet with his fingers splayed out in front of him for balance. He’s wearing plaid pajama pants that are too short at the ankles, a short-sleeved AC/DC shirt that Bobby’s pretty sure was Alex’s at one point, and a pair of shabby sneakers on the wrong feet. His hair is windswept and disheveled under his orange beanie. The smile he gives Bobby is a little apologetic, a little mischievous, a little coy. It makes Bobby’s heart skip a beat.

“You can’t keep doing this, Patterson,” he says, keeping his expression and tone neutral (maybe even a little annoyed), as if he hasn’t been up all night hoping Luke would come. “You know it’s 4am on a school night, don’t you?”

Luke’s smirk only widens. “Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep. You gonna let me in?”

Bobby should say no. He should send Luke away, back to the studio, claim he needs his bed to himself for once.

Instead, he steps back, grumbling, “This is the last time, you hear me?”

He says that every time. Luke doesn’t appear fooled.

“Wanna talk about it?” Bobby says into the darkness a few minutes later, once they’re both in his bed, lying on their sides facing each other.

“Talk about what?” Luke’s voice is quiet, almost reverent. Bobby can just barely make out Luke’s silhouette, backlit by the moonlight coming through the window, but he can feel Luke’s breath on his neck and it takes everything in him not to shiver.

“Your—your nightmare,” he stammers after too long a pause. “Whatever brought you here.”

Luke hums, shifts closer so that his feet tangle with Bobby’s beneath the covers. “Didn’t have a nightmare. Just didn’t want to sleep alone. Wanted to be here with you.”

Bobby’s breath catches. “Oh.” He tries to think of something, anything else he can say, but all his attention is locked on Luke’s warmth, so close it raises Bobby’s own temperature.

“But don’t worry,” Luke murmurs sleepily, rolling even closer to fling an arm across Bobby’s chest and press his face into the crook of Bobby’s neck. “Last time, right?”

Taglist (editing cause tumblr’s dumb and I don’t think these tags worked so sorry if you get them twice): @whenweremarried @sunsethimb0s @pink-flame @penguin0613 @fighttoshine @sunsetcurvecuddles @nickalicious @reggiescrookedteeth @brightattheorpheum @queenmolina @jandthephantoms @lexilucacia @sapphossidechick @acnhaddict @cest-la-vie-de-la-lee @sunset-bobby @lenacarstairspotterstewart @moreflowersthanweeds @conversationaltreestump @burntchromas @shellydominique

#prompt fill #500 followers aaah!!!#my fics #luke patterson #bobby wilson #lukebobby #lobby #asks #jatp #julie and the phantoms #fanfiction #jatp fanfiction

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sarroora · 4 years ago

Note

Headcanon that, contrary to their appearances, Magica and Poe actually grew up in poverty like Scrooge, but unlike him, only had each other to rely on. They took the opposite lessons from that experience than what Scrooge did; they indulged in greed and sadism, but they always knew family (and each other by extension) was the most important and dependable aspect of their lives.

(Pt2: Oh, and to add a bit more about the background of the de Spell twins in the ask I just sent, I meant to say they went about their greed in a way opposing Scrooge's; they mostly earnt nothing squarely, or by being sharper or tougher or smarter, but by force and intimidation. And magic, of course.)

Anon. Are you my secret twin? This is exactly what I was thinking.

I can definitely see them growing up severely deprived and neglected (by society at large), to the point that attaining wealth and power manifested in gluttonous and immoral ways.

It seems that they were each other’s only real source of love and support throughout their childhood, them as a unit against the world. Not that they actually grew up and ‘matured’ with age - they definitely show childlike attitudes as adults. Which makes me think these two literally raised themselves, with Poe pulling like 80% of the ‘raising’ and teaching by the likes of it. That subtext read pretty strong to me.

When the de Spells were born is another interesting concept with a lot of potential.

If they hatched around Middle Ages Europe, then that would be the time when magical folk were severely abused, feared and even persecuted and killed.

It’s extremely likely that superstitious aggression against magical people exists in some places in the Duckverse. And under certain circumstances, people living in oppression can become very corrupted and hateful themselves. Not everyone walks from an experience a better person, and a cause is lost when the oppressed sinks lower than the oppressor and validate their bad actions.

Seeing as how the twins put themselves in a league above everyone else, and considered it a kindness on their part that they only cursed the village's townspeople into animals and robbed them but did not outright kill them implies this.

#magica de spell #poe de spell #scrooge mcduck #dt spoilers #I didn't intend for things to get into Harry Potter magical politics but it actually makes sense in some contexts #de spell twins

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amenomiko · 4 years ago

Text

Linguist MC Gets Angry

Nobunaga - East Malaysia (Borneo)

It was that moment when he lift her chin during their argument with "You have become very bold in lecturing me, aren't you, fireball?" And he expect for her to pout, or maybe sulk, just like she always do, but..

"OI. Ko pikir ko siapa oh??" (Translated: Oi. Who do you think you are??)

He blinked. Thrice. "..What-"

"Lucky charm la, bebola api la. Sa sumbat nasi lemak dalam pantat kau biar ko jadi api naga sana nah baru ko tau apa maciam jadi fireball. BUDUH la ko sana!" (Translated: Lucky charm, fireball. I will shove nasi lemak in your asshole and let you become a fire dragon so you know how a fireball is! IDIOT!)

Then she roll her eyes, flipping her hair before stomping off angrily, leaving bewildered Nobunaga alone in his Tenshu. "As expected of my lucky charm.. She is very unique indeed. Hmph."

Somehow he is happy. Not knowing what he is called just now.

Hideyoshi - Indonesian

"MC! Stop running in the hallway!"

"MC! Don't carry those stuffs! What if you fall and scrap your knees??"

God..! Another day, another nagging. What is he? Disciplinary teacher??

"MC--"

She fumed, turning to him with a gritted teeth, "Iya udahlah. Brisik, lebay banget sih. Cerewet betul orangnya. Anjir." (Translated : Yes, enough already. So noisy-- you are overreacting. Such a naggy person. You dog.) then earn a very confused Hideyoshi.

He literally froze, even when she look at him, up and down, shaking her head and continue with her task in hand.

It took him few minutes to realize that she is somehow cursing him, ...in a weird language.

Masamune - Korean

MC is a lucky woman. She got a handsome lover, the most good looking warlord (as voted by the women of Azuchi town), which is Date Masamune.

She would always be happy and giddy around him. If this is an animated world, she could see flying hearts all around her when he is nearby. But today..

Is not the best day. EVER.

Everything pisses her off. Ah yes, it's just what you think. That damn time of the month. Oh gosh she is angry, she was so, so angry thanks to her mood swings, and was trying her best not to show it away. Which she failed miserably.

Masamune had brought her to the tea house, not knowing she was cursing the whole time when she was walking. "Let's get an anmitsu, shall we? They say it was good as they imported those 'ice cream' thing." She smiled (not reaching her eyes) and nodded.

He had realized this; it could be those time of the month again, he thought. But maybe with some sweets and kisses, she would be better. Ah..! Good timing. The dessert has arrived and he instantly let her have a taste first. And another perfect timing. There was a stain of vanilla near her lips.

"Kitten."

"..Hm-"

His lips pressed against hers, aiming for the vanilla, yet also a sweet gesture that makes the people around them gasped. However..

"....YA!!" (Translated : HEY!!)

SMACK!

"OPPA MICHYEOSS-EO?? AISH- JINJJA!" (Translated : Oppa (A way to call a lover other than brother) are you crazy?? Aish- really!!"

His only eye widen like plate, taken aback and rub his painful cheek that were smacked by her. "K-Kitten- I didn't mean to--" What language is that anyway??

"Wait..! Lass!"

She already walk away, back to the castle before he realized it.

Note taken. No affection should be given when she is in a bad mood. "Ahh.. That time of the month is horrifying indeed.."

Mitsuhide - West Malaysian (Semenanjung)

If Mitsuhide could choose one thing that he like about MC, it would be (obviously) her interesting reactions to his teasings. Her angry face, her pouting face, and her frowning is his favorite, yet there's one thing he always be curious about.

She never get angry. As in really, really angry. Especially towards him. Sometimes he think she is too pure for him, loving him to the point she won't do such thing no matter how hurt she is.

"AMBOI." (Translated : Interjection word used to express angry/admiration/wonder feelings. But in this case, it's for feeling angry)

'Amboi' what now? For as long as he live, such word is new to him. He read her gesture-- furious expression, hands on hips,.. Ah, it could be an angry word? "I believe I require for you to explain what does that mean. Is it a new language other than Japanese back in your time--""Hang diam." (Translated : You be quiet.)

Miraculously he stopped, somehow feeling uncharacteristically nervous to her unknown language. She huffed, shaking her head, "Hang ni memang dah takda keja ka hah? Dok asyik nak cuba buat aku marah. HAH tahniah pada hang la aku dah marah ni. Perangai poyo. Nasib hang hensem kalau tak dah lama aku hantaq hang ni pi kahwin ngan Hideyoshi. Hisshhhh!" (Translated : Don't you have any other work to do, huh? Do nothing but keep on trying to make me angry. HAH. Congratulations to you, I AM angry. You act like a damn show-off. Thankfully you are handsome or else I would've sent you to get married with Hideyoshi. Hisshhhh!)

"....." He watched her turn around with a groan, and couldn't bring himself to call out for her. Trying to understand what she's trying to say (which obviously NOTHING), all he can understand is the word 'Hideyoshi'. "Somehow I don't think it's a good thing."

Duh.

Ieyasu - Chinese

"How many times do I have to tell you to NOT overdo it?"

"But-"

He takes the bow and arrow from her, despite the adorable way she pouted; which is very hard for him.

...Not knowing she was not pouting, but being angry. Seriously angry.

"I know you are worried about me, but just give me chance to learn more about this..! Bow and arrow is way better than a sword itself don't you agree?"

"No."

"It is not for the purpose of killing, obviously. It's for me to protect myself! I'm determined to do it! H-hey wait..!"

He already walk away from her, giving the weapon to a nearby vassal before continuing with a grunt, "No means no. I've told you that there's no such need to do so as I will be the one to protect you, have you forgotten that?"

"Of course I didn't! But let me just--"

"No buts."

"Ieyasu--..!!"

"...No."

"Stop right there!"

He ignored her, and continue to walk yet about to give another answer when she suddenly shout on top of her lungs;

"Ni zhè wángù de háozū. Ni yiwéi ni shì shéi? Ni bixū ganxié wo méiyou zài ni yan li sāi jièmò!" (Translated : You stubborn porcupine. Who do you think you are? You have to thank me for not stuffing mustard in your eyes!")

...in a weird language.

Making the nearby vassal goes (　☉д⊙)?? until the bow and arrow in his hands loosen its grip.

"Hmf! Fine!"

Ieyasu swallowed the lump in his throat, he didn't know why but he got a feeling he will be sleeping in a different bedchamber tonight. Obviously.

Mitsunari - Romanian

Being a chatelaine; particularly appointed to be the tactician's assistant, is NOT easy.

Yeah, okay. He is the less complaining type. The one who is easy to discuss with, and the one who won't make your eyes roll. Haha. Ha. Ha. Nope.

Mitsunari as a whole is easy. But to ask him to eat is NOT easy. There were time when he mistook MC's hair as ramen, and her fingers as crab stick, to MC's misery. It will take half of her life to successfully feed him completely, making the bowl empty until there's no rice grain left.

Eyes glaring at the book in his hands, MC tried for another method. "Mitsunari. Look at me."

"....."

She take the book away from him. "Mitsunari. Look. Here."

"....Hm? Oh- oh..! Hello princess I didn't see you there-"

His cheeks were then cupped tightly with her hands as she said with a gritted teeth; "Hei! Vrei să-ți dau una peste față cu un dicționar sau cu un morcov. Alege!" (Translated : Hey! Do you want me to smack your face with a 1000 pages of dictionary or a carrot? Choose!) ...while squeezing her cheeks inwards until his face literally goes like this ( O)3(O ).

"Mmh- mmmh- mmm." He nodded, silently gulped to the flare of glare in her eyes.

"(눈‸눈)....(❁´◡`❁) Good!" And she hopped away happily, placing his meal in front of him before tossing away such book from his room (which got a handful of nagging session because the book accidentally knocked on passing Hideyoshi).

Kenshin - East Malaysia (Kadazan)

He is strucked with nightmare again. Nightmare of MC leaving him, but it was.......

Ridiculous.

"I saw an animal, similar to Motonari's pet. But bigger. We were about to get married, and it came. Placing you in its pouch, jumping away no matter how I've tried to reach to you. Even with my fastest horse-- I- I couldn't--"

MC watched as he cupped his face, being emotionally emotional, secretly pursed her lips to hold back her anger. Yes. Anger. It was not of pity but anger.

First, she had a rough day lately. Lack of sleep, that's for sure.

Second, when she FINALLY get some rest, certain good looking dragon shakes her in the middle of the night, telling a story about a kangaroo kidnapping her during their wedding.

Problem is--

They are already married for fu- fish sake.

"I see now. There there. It's just a silly nightmare. You will be fine."

"It's not MC..! You were kidnapped..! Just like those days when you were attacked and I wasn't there-- and--"

"Yes, yes, I understand. Now let's forget about it slowly and once you get some sleep those dream is nothing more than a dream itsel-"

"I can't forgive myself..! MC-- I--"

"Kada agagau, Avantang tanak laja do kusai! Siodop noh ku tih!" (Translated : Shut up handsome prince! I want to sleep!) She said under one breath, and with a grumpy huff, she takes all the blanket and sleep facing the other side.

Meanwhile, Kenshin: (　ﾟдﾟ).... (He was dumbfounded until sunrise)

Shingen - Tagalog

She had found herself being kabedon-ed again.

In any other normal days, this is how he start their daily routine - flirting session. Her eyes stared at those openly broad chest in front of her, ah that is so nice. That will be a very nice feeling if she could feel it with her palms now but--

Ah, she is tired. Her body feels like a log-- heavy and tired, and slumpy. It is as if all, ALL the fatigue in the world just slapped her-- no, just KICKED her on her lower belly area; yes, that time of the month is coming soon. There comes the usual pre-menstrual syndromes, she feels fatigued, clumsy, and most importantly,.... irritation. Irritated to the point his handsome voice couldn't reach her ears.

He then let out a chuckle, lifting her chin to kiss it, when her already bored eyes changed into menacing ones as she grunted, "Hoy! Dyan ka lang, poging oso na to. Subukan mo kong halikan, pagtatatadyakan ko kalamnan mo hanggang walang matira!" (Translated : Hey! Stop right there you charming bear, if you dare to kiss me I will kick your guts until there's nothing left.).

It instantly send jolt of cold shivers all over him, hands automatically back away from her and legs took a step back cautiously. "I- I'm.. sorry..?"

"Hmn (눈‸눈). You are lucky. For now."

Shingen gulped, lips pressed tight as he watch her go with the same scowl on her face all the way. "Somehow I... Escaped a death warning.. Maybe? Heheh. Heh. Uhm--" Feigning a cough, he pats his chest to calm his rapid heart beat of fear.

Yukimura - English (Just assume all this while they were speaking Japanese and suddenly she let out this language)

"H-hey wait-- MC..!!" He chased after her, who have been stomping her way off from another of their short arguments of the week. Yukimura realizes this, it's good for relationship bond they say, but he can't help but to be afraid of it. Usually it will be him to start it, but this time,...it came from her.

With "Get away from me, damn it!" As a morning greeting. All of sudden. Making him confused, thinking if he had offended her a day before, of which he just came back from long mission that took him a week. And to assume he will be greeted with a hug, or a kiss, or maybe a word of "I miss you" plus a cute smile of hers, is indeed wrong.

"MC please..! Just tell me what's going on?? Did I make you wait for too long? But I have informed you that I will be in a long missio-- hey MC did you hear me?? Just stop stomping off like a REAL wild boar will you--"

Ah. She stopped. That is definitely an ultimate magic word.

"Inform-- informed you say--" He stared at her trembling fists, but before he could hold her shoulders, he was startled to her change in language--

"(English) Informed MY FOOT! There's no single letter coming, NONE! I don't see any damn birds nor eagle or those pelican whatever bird that is assigned to send your letter! I've been worried sick, and you came back yesterday to just casually slipped into the bed to sleep?? To. Just. Sleep?? Even without KISSING or HUGGING ME?? YOU- YOU- *sniffs* EEEHHHEEEE ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥A˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚!!"

"Wha- wha- WHAT LANGUAGE ARE YOU SPEAKING AUDJSHDKSKSF (　☉д⊙) SPARE ME WILL YOU--"

Too late. Shingen and the others has appeared to separate him away from her, and Sasuke has made him feel EXTRA guilty after translating it.

Sasuke - Nepali

Sasuke blinked at his wife, who is currently glaring at him. "MC, you look like those meme with a bald man with hands on hips." He said casually, earning a loud sigh from her as reaction.

"I believe you are still injured from your previous trap check in the ceiling, and I believe I've told you to have a meal and rest, so why are you still here, sitting on your futon, and clean your weapons?"

"...MC, you will be a good inspector because you have a very detailed report (´・_・｀)👌."

"..Honey. I am NOT in the MOOD to be playing around now ʕʘ̅͜ʘ̅ʔ."

Pressing his lips shut in instant, he nodded at her while placing his weapon away. "I apologize, MC. I will eat my lunch now, as you wished. I wouldn't want to make my wife worried."

She huffed through her nose, pursing her lips before narrowing his eyes at him. "Really? You promise."

"Yes. ..But may I have the permission to clean another set of my shuriken and kunai, I will be rest assured if I do so--"

"...SARUTOBI SASUKE! TYO FERI GARA ANI MA TIMRO SISA SANO THUKRAMA FUTAERA TIMRO CHAMAL SANGA MISAUCHU (　☉д⊙)!" (Translated : Do that again and I will break your glasses into small pieces and mix it with your rice!)

"....." The box of weapon in his hands fell, despite having expressionless emotion on his face.

"EAT. NOW." She groaned before stomping away angrily, continuing to curse in any other languages.

Meanwhile, Sasuke who turned to his phone after MC stomped away be like

"...If only my phone is alive. I want to translate that (´◦_◦｀)."

#ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku ieyasu tokugawa #ikemen sengoku imagines #ikemen sengoku masamune #ikemen sengoku hideyoshi #ikemen sengoku mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku nobunaga #ikemen sengoku kenshin #ikemen sengoku mitsunari #ikemen sengoku shingen #ikemen sengoku yukimura #ikemen sengoku sasuke #ikemen sengoku mc #linguist

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