#writing nonsense at 11 at night | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chenfleur · 1 year ago

Text

the long way home

summary. in which park sunghoon decides that nothing is more important than having you in his life.

pairing. sunghoon x y/n ft jake genre. high school au, fluff, angst word count. 4.8k released. 11.05.2023 author's note. experimented with writing style so sorry if this is bad and makes no sense 💔 enjoy 🙏

masterlist

"Two cotton candies, please."

The first time Park Sunghoon speaks to you, you're dressed head-to-toe in a blinding, neon pink.

The fundraiser uniform was your co-president's idea. She'd suggested it offhandedly in a delirious, late-night planning session, and in a rather unserious fashion, you'd agreed. It's hilarity overruled any embarrassment bundled with it.

When Park Sunghoon is the one standing in front of you, embarrassment crashes into you with the force of an eighteen wheeler.

His presence is overwhelming. It looms over you as you prepare his order. It sends a shiver down your spine, which is absurd when you've never even met him.

Someone could tell you that Sunghoon lives on a completely separate plane of existence and you'd believe them without thinking twice.

He's the basketball team's star player. He adorns the number twenty-three with poise and grace. He's the principal actor in people's dreams and fantasies.

To you, Park Sunghoon is like the moon.

Beautiful, and so, so far away.

The two cotton candies you hand him are less than perfect. Without much thought, a mumbled apology falls from your lips. He still accepts them with a polite smile. It sends a nervous jolt to your chest.

You watch him as he walks away and joins Jake Sim's side, handing him one of the cotton candies.

You know Jake Sim from your physics class. He catches your eye and sends you a friendly wave. You shoot him one back before hastily turning around.

A second later and you would have noticed Sunghoon's gaze, lingering.

Tuesday after school, Sunghoon agrees to meet with Jay and Jake in the East Wing.

He leans against a locker, watching his two friends bicker with each other. Occasionally cracking a smile when one of them says something particularly nonsensical.

Someone rushes past him. His breath hitches. Gaze flickering. When they stop in front of a classroom door, Sunghoon realizes it's you.

You knock on the door. While you wait, he takes you in.

The way your yellow sundress hugs your body in all of the right places. The way the pearl barrettes clipped to your hair reflect the afternoon sun. The way you tug the sleeves of your cardigan down over your hands. Sunghoon has the urge to roll them back up and interlock his fingers with yours.

Each second Sunghoon spends taking you in, his chest grows tighter.

The metal behind him is suddenly freezing to the touch. It bleeds through the fabric of his shirt. Pierces his shoulder blades. Is he shivering? He doesn't know.

The classroom door is opened. Another girl appears in the threshold, an easy smile on her face. The two of you exchange words before breaking out into giggles.

Park Sunghoon takes notice of you.

There’s a part of him that finds it unbelievable that he hadn’t done it earlier. There’s another that is deeply unsettled about it happening at all.

Either way, he takes great care in memorizing the outline of your figure. Grasping onto each note of your laughter.

Sunghoon bails on this week's team outing. His reason is that he has an important language arts assignment due at 11:59PM.

He isn't lying. His teacher had carved the words ‘no excuses’ into the very core of his being.

When the words on his page start looking like globs of nonsense, Sunghoon’s mind drifts.

The basketball season begins soon. Who is the first game against?

He searches up the school website intending to find the season schedule.

He pauses when he sees a photo of you.

It’s from the other day. The same day Sunghoon saw you in that pretty sundress. You’re watching the other people in the photo strike funny poses with a soft, tender smile on your lips.

The list of names goes left to right, top to bottom. Sunghoon’s eyes dart around.

L/N Y/N.

That night, Sunghoon has an important language arts assignment due at 11:59PM. His teacher had carved the words ‘no excuses’ into the very core of his being.

That night, Sunghoon spends his time learning about you.

Curiosity spared no mercy for the cat. You pray it's kinder to you.

There are three other water fountains located around the school, all perfectly capable of refilling your water bottle. Yet, their existence escapes you when you realize the person using the one you'd chosen to go to is Park Sunghoon.

You try to leave. You can't. His presence binds the soles of your feet to the tiles of the floor.

The first game of the season is a few, short weeks away. The air is full of the distant screeching of basketballs. Sunghoon's hair is damp with sweat. His arms and nape glisten under the fluorescent lighting.

Sunghoon's lips leave the jet of water. A loud exhale follows. You watch as he wipes harshly at the corners of his mouth.

When he turns around, his eyes widen. He looks surprised to see you.

Why wouldn't he? The two of you are strangers. Mutuals, at best.

Yet, he doesn't move from his spot. He doesn't cast his eyes away or walk past you.

His stare is heavy. You feel like he's peering into your soul. Judging it. Tearing it to shreds.

He silently moves to the side. You realize he's making way for you to use the fountain. Embarrassment floods your system.

The sound of running water ceases when your foot lifts off the pedal. A double twist ensures the cap of your bottle is screwed shut. You're set to leave.

But a hand encircles your wrist, stopping you. Spinning you around.

You're inches away from Park Sunghoon.

You're shocked.

You don't tug away.

Your eyes dart around his face, searching for an explanation. His expression is indecipherable. He suddenly won't meet your gaze, only unravelling your closed fist with gentle fingers.

You notice a slip of paper clasped in his hold. You watch it as he places it into your open palm.

His voice is near silent. Words evaporating when they leave his lips and hit air. You manage to catch them before they're completely gone.

"Call me."

When Sunghoon is sure the slip is securely slotted in your hand, he leaves.

There is an unfathomable amount of things Sunghoon's worried about. You throwing his number away. Laughing at him. Thinking he's a freak.

But in the deepest part of his brain, where he keeps his muscle memory of how to ride a bike or snap his fingers, the voice of his first ever coach resounds; something about missing one hundred percent of the shots he never takes. Sunghoon thinks he's heard it more in his lifetime than he's heard his own name.

It dawns on him that you being in his life, as even just the smallest of features, was not a shot he was willing to ruin.

You call Sunghoon at a quarter past midnight.

The clock on your wall ticks loudly, mocking you for taking so long.

You don't expect him to pick up at all. You don't need him to. Hearing his voicemail would be enough to assure you that what had happened was real. That it wasn't a figment of your imagination.

Park Sunghoon had left you paralyzed. All of your work had been neglected because of that crinkled slip of paper.

It's been on the edge of your desk for hours. It taunts you.

When you will yourself to call him, you had climbed onto your bed. The slip of paper stayed on your desk, untouched.

You didn't need it to call him. The digits of his phone number were already engraved in your head from how many times you thumbed over them on the way home from school.

The line rings. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Hello?"

You finally breathe.

"Sunghoon?"

A pause. Shuffling sounds from the receiver. "Y/N?"

"You told me to call you."

"I'm happy you did."

You hear the sound of birds singing.

You wonder if it's coming from outside or the other end of the line.

"Sunghoon?"

"Mm?"

"It's nearly six. We have school soon."

A huff. "Shit."

You break out into a smile.

Sunghoon makes hours feel like seconds. Conversation flows between the two of you with the ease of changing seasons. You don't think you could ever grow tired of listening to his voice.

There's a certain playful lilt to it. Teasing, yet kind. Each syllable spoken with a gentleness you can't quite grasp. Each boyish laugh that leaves his lips sweeping you off your feet. When periods of silence dotted your conversations, his slow breaths filled them in.

He had yawned, here and there. You told him to go to sleep. He refused. You didn't protest. Selfishly, you wanted to have him for a bit longer.

You can't discern what about him makes your insides turn upside down. He makes you feel vulnerable. All he'd have to do is ask and you'd be willing to bare your soul to him.

You decide you're okay with that.

"Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"Talk to you soon?"

"Yeah."

Your friendship with Sunghoon is a quiet one.

It's found behind small actions that seem to communicate everything.

Candies slipped into lockers. Split-second eye contact in the halls. Candid photos of each other in the courtyard. Your eyes searching the cluster of players during games from above, his searching each row of the bleachers from on the court.

It's hidden away from prying eyes, and that makes you cherish it even more.

At the first game of the season, Park Sunghoon scores a tie-breaking basket just as the countdown hit zero.

The gymnasium erupts into a thundering ovation. His teammates roar with victory. Tackling him to the ground. Clapping him on the back. Hoisting him into the air, tossing him up. Your heart lurches at the absolutely radiant smile on his face.

Chants of his name fill the entire venue. The commentator's voice booms through the speakers. Ladies and gentlemen, number twenty-three: Park Sunghoon.

You silently watch the scene, a ghost of a smile on your lips.

The difference between the intensity of a crowd and the stillness of the night air is jarring.

Park Sunghoon confuses you. You don't know how he has the opportunity or the desire to meet you after the game. He should be out with his teammates celebrating.

Instead, you receive a message to wait by the West gate.

Tonight is colder than usual. Icy wind grazes your bare knees. As you wait, anticipation knocks at your front door. You let it in when you catch sight of Sunghoon making his way towards you, a golden medal dangling from his neck.

He's glowing. Victory looks good on him.

A gasp escapes you when your feet leave the ground. Sunghoon spins you around in his arms, adorable giggles falling from his lips. Blissful warmth sprawls across your chest, seeping in every crevice.

"Tonight's MVP and you still have time to spare for me?" you tease, eyes shining.

"I have all the time in the world for you."

Sunghoon recounts the game with fervor. Galaxies swirl in his irises. You wonder if you'd ever feel as elated as he looks.

When he embraces you again, head slotting into the crook of your neck, holding you like he never wants to let go, your wonders are answered.

Park Sunghoon does not idle.

He walks with a destination in mind. He gives courteous greetings to those who he passes by in the halls, but his movements never stop.

The only thing Sunghoon willingly stops for is the sunset.

On days where he leaves school late, he takes the long way home. Down a street lined with yellow ginkgo trees, a left turn too early. Across the bridge bound for the city centre.

The long way home never really takes him home.

Sunghoon ends up on a pier in the harbour, letting vermillion and marigold rays of warmth soak into each pore of his skin. Unwinding with a low puff of air.

Recently, Sunghoon stops for you, too.

Whenever he sees you, there's a stutter in his strides. A stiffness in his fingers. A clog in his airway. The world around him starts to spin, yet he himself freezes.

The next time Sunghoon takes the long way home, he stays with the sunset for longer than usual. He sits instead of standing, letting his feet dangle off of the pier's edge. It makes the sloshing sound of the water below him even clearer.

Sunghoon closes his eyes. He inhales the salty, sweet air. Feels his teammates hugging him. Hears hundreds of people chanting his name.

Sunghoon closes his eyes, and sees you.

It takes ten games for defeat to seize Sunghoon by the throat.

Under the dim light of the locker room, Jake eyes his friend warily. He searches for any sign of emotion in the lines of his stone cold face. If he didn't know him any better, he'd believe he's simply reserved.

But Jake Sim has spent too much time uncovering Park Sunghoon to be ignorant to his character.

He’s torturing himself.

"Jay," Jake whispers. Caution laces his voice. "I feel like we should do something."

Jay's eyes flit over Sunghoon's figure. The air is heavy before he responds.

"I think it’s best we don’t pry."

When the sound of their steps fade away, Park Sunghoon drives his fist into a locker door.

He knew something was off. When their score plateaued while the opposition's climbed. Frowns painted themselves on his teammates' faces. Shots kept getting fumbled. Intercepted. Rolling off the rim.

Sunghoon feels his knuckles throb as he lets his hand fall to the side.

Anger and guilt are a dangerous pairing. They swirl in the pit of his stomach like a storm and render him feeling weak.

He hates how badly he's taking this.

"Sunghoon!"

Peace of mind reaches out to him in the form of anxious footsteps.

From around the wall, you appear. Worry taints your features. It's a blow to the stomach for him. "I- I was waiting for you outside but I heard a noise-"

In two urgent strides, Park Sunghoon's lips are on yours.

Time pauses. Uncertainty hangs in the air. Sunghoon is racing at a million miles an hour.

When he feels you kissing back, he crashes.

Anger and guilt are a dangerous pairing. They join forces and leave desperation in their wake.

Sunghoon kisses you harder. He wants you to fill in all of the parts that feel empty. He wants you to help him feel whole.

You're pliant under his fingers, back slightly arching whenever he squeezes your waist. Sunghoon revels in the gasp that leaves your mouth when his hands slide under your shirt and paint landscapes on the expanse of your back. It's music to his ears. He records it in his mind before drowning it out with another searing kiss.

When you part to catch your breath, your forehead instantly presses to his. Chasing his touch, craving more of his skin against yours.

You look up at Sunghoon. His eyes are downcast to the floor. He feels your hand travel up to his hair, gently pulling on it. A silent plead.

He doesn't meet your gaze. He's floating. Adrift at a lawless sea. His palms continue to rub up and down your sides.

Sunghoon doesn't know how long the two of you spend in each other's arms. He doesn't want to know. Knowing would define a beginning and an end.

Sunghoon never wants this to end.

Seven days.

It's been seven days since Park Sunghoon last spoke to you.

With the way he walks past you without a mere glance, you wonder if what happened was even real.

But, you can still feel it. You can still feel him.

He had kissed you in that locker room. He had stolen the air from your lungs and never returned it. His scorching hands had burned themselves into your skin.

You pass him in the hall wordlessly. That's how it's always been, except there's no more eye contact that asks silent questions of 'How are you?" and speaks delicate words of "I'm happy to see you today."

Every one of your waking hours is spent wondering what went wrong.

You begin to neglect assignments and reject invitations to go out. Teachers eye you with concern. Friends ask if you've been feeling off. Everyone spares you a glance and a hushed whisper, except Sunghoon.

A frustrated hand cards through your hair.

Do you consume his mind as much as he consumes yours?

The hateful part of you prays it does. Prays that he's getting a taste of his own, cruel medicine.

When you lie in bed, you peer out of your window. The moon glows as brightly as ever. Oblivious to your broken resolve.

To you, Park Sunghoon had always been like the moon. Beautiful, and so, so far away.

Except, for once, he didn't.

He didn't feel so far away when his lips were on yours, hands roaming your bare back, rough fingertips grazing your sides. When your breathing had mixed into one exchange. He'd felt so, so close.

If only you knew he was going to be out of reach again so quickly.

For someone who's ranked 230th out of 239 students, Jake Sim is exceptionally sharp.

With a gentle tug aside to an empty classroom, he asks you the question you've lost nights worth of sleep over in a single, easy breath.

"What's going on between you and Sunghoon?"

You shift uncomfortably in your spot. The straps of your bag were suddenly too tight, suffocating you.

You take your time loosening them. Jake only watches you silently.

You're exploiting his patience. Trying to dodge the inevitable. But, what can you do? Confrontation frightens you to no end.

You choose the easy way out: you tell a bad lie.

"Nothing's going on between Sunghoon and I. What business could I possibly have with Park Sunghoon, of all people?"

Jake subtly rolls his eyes. He can tell that you don't even believe your own words.

"I might've believed you if I hadn't seen the way you look at him in the hall, Y/N. I can tell Sunghoon's been off, too. He's all tensed up."

For a second, you rejoice. You haven't been the only one losing yourself to blurred lines and longing.

When that second is over, emptiness settles back into you. "I see."

"I didn't know the two of you knew each other," Jake muses innocently.

It takes all of your strength to turn away from him and grasp the door handle.

"We don't."

Desperation doesn't overpower fear. Fear is still there as you march up to Park Sunghoon's table in the cafeteria.

You just simply cannot take it anymore.

Jake notices you before Sunghoon does. He isn't any closer to discovering what had happened between the two of you. Your entire relation leaves him at a loss.

But, he can tell by the way the smile you flash him in greeting doesn't reach your eyes. The way your gaze immediately falls back onto Sunghoon with melancholy.

You're tired.

Lightly, he kicks Sunghoon in the shin. Jake ignores the glare he receives, only nodding his head towards you. He's praying he's done you a favour.

For the first time in weeks, Park Sunghoon looks you in the eye.

His silence stifles the rest of the table. Their attention weighs heavy on your shoulders.

Fear looms much closer and higher than before. Fear is about to pinch your nose until you pass out cold.

"Sunghoon."

His name is already bitter on your tongue. Is it from all the times you've cursed it in your head?

He stares at you before redirecting his gaze to his food. Like you're some sort of eyesore.

Fear drops to the ground, dead.

"Park Sunghoon, what is your problem?"

Whispers surround you. Chills travel the length of your spine.

You think back to your brief conversation with Jake. How you had said there was nothing happening between you and Sunghoon, and how evident it now is that all of that was bullshit.

But now, you couldn't care if the whole universe is privy to you and Sunghoon's relationship.

All you want is to know is what realization he had. In this moment, you're desperate to realize it too.

"When will you cut the shit?"

Silence. A fork scraps against a plate.

"You know, Sunghoon. I've thought many things of you. How could I not? The school's star athlete who has everyone at his feet."

A dry laugh, a nervous glance to the side.

"You had me, too."

Sunghoon's knuckles turn white from how harshly he grips his fork.

"Never did I think of you to be a coward."

The sound of your steps bounce off the walls. Every pair of eyes in the room trails behind you, this time, including Sunghoon's.

His brain is a broken record machine. Replaying your words again, again, and again.

What is Park Sunghoon so... afraid of?

What is he so defenseless against that it's worth seeing the lights in your eyes die?

Sunghoon doesn't know what compels him to ignore you. To walk past you each day, as if you didn't convince him that happiness doesn't exist anywhere except for in your arms.

Perhaps, it's that you are a whirlwind of unfamiliarity. An onslaught of foreign emotions. You make him unsure of what to do with himself. Perhaps he finds it easier to avoid that than to approach it.

He's been so adept at pushing it away, that he doesn't realize you're slipping through his fingers until his head is an echo chamber of your words.

He had you.

"Sunghoon..." A voice cuts through the fog. Sunghoon isn't sure which of his friends it belongs to. From the intonation, he assumes that it's Jake.

"Whatever this is, you've got to fix it."

Sunghoon has listened to your voicemail play six times. He's been trying for an answer, yet he doesn't mind dialling for a seventh.

You sound happy in your voicemail. He never wants to forget what you sound like happy.

"H-Hello?"

Sunghoon's been lingering at the summit of a cliff. Carefully composing himself to avoid slipping off the edge.

When he hears how utterly broken your voice is, suddenly, he's plummeting.

"Sunghoon?"

Falling, falling, falling—

A sniffle, followed by an impatient sigh. "Sunghoon, if you're just going to waste my time-"

"I'm outside."

Sunghoon closes his eyes. He sees the ridges and lines of your front door. He thinks they're permanently printed into his eyelids from how long he's been standing on your doorstep.

Don't hang up. Don't hang up.

"What?"

Sunghoon opens his eyes.

"I'm outside your door."

In his peripheral, the curtains of a window crack open. His heartbeat reaches his ears. You don't question him any further, but he hears distant footsteps from your end of the line.

The front door opens, then stops. Ajar. Hesitating.

Sunghoon knows you're on the other side. He prays you don't retract your movements.

You don't. You push through.

When you appear in the doorway, his breath dies in his throat.

Slightly bloodshot eyes. Strands of hair astray, haphazardly held together with a claw clip. A large sweatshirt swallowing your frame.

Sunghoon doesn't think he's ever seen anyone as beautiful as you.

He should've spoken by now. He'd planned on speaking by now, yet all he can do is look at you. Eyes trailing over every delicate curve. The slope of your nose, the moles on your hands.

When he hears the small sigh leave your lips, he knows you're slipping away.

His brain goes into overdrive. He needs to act fast.

Frantically, he clears his throat.

"Come watch the sunset with me."

A breeze blows by. The neighbour's wind chimes knock together, playing a soft jingle.

"Please."

The only words you speak to Sunghoon on the bus are to ask where you're going.

He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, remaining silent.

You close your eyes. Surrendering. You're so sick of his silence.

You shouldn't have come. You're stupid to have believed otherwise—

"Don't."

Eyes snap open.

You turn to look at Sunghoon. You find that he's already looking at you.

"Don't- don't regret this," he pleads. Desperation pours from his voice. You would've scoffed if he wasn't wearing the rawest expression you've lived to see.

Park Sunghoon leaves you in despair.

No matter which lens you look at him through, he has no solution. He's wrung you dry of hope, yet you don't find yourself objecting when he brings your head onto his shoulder. His hastiness screams craving for proximity. Craving for reassurance.

Deep down, you know you're just the same.

You let Sleep take you.

It's the soundest you've slept in weeks.

You've seen the sunset thousands of times in your life.

From every place you've ever been. School grounds. Your bedroom. The drive home. Through the eyes of others.

And yet, none of those thousands of times hold a candle to the sight from the pier.

"It's beautiful," you breathe out.

A small hum in agreement. You smile weakly.

You know he isn't looking at the sunset, but you don't face him just yet.

"Sunghoon?"

He steps closer.

"What happened?"

You can feel him stiffen. Your eyes never tear from the vermillion sky. You're not sure if you're paralyzed by beauty, or by fear.

A head drops onto your shoulder. Its weight is comforting. Slowly, he readjusts himself to stand in front of you. Face pressing into your neck. Hands wrapping around your waist, holding on like you'd disappear if he let go.

His body shakes with each breath. It takes every bit of your resolve to not wrap your arms around him.

You let Park Sunghoon cry on your shoulder.

You don't think you'd ever deny him of it.

The sun doesn't budge from where it sits in the sky. It seems to be waiting for the two of you.

When Sunghoon peels his face away from you, you finally look at him. You can feel your heart fall apart in your chest.

Park Sunghoon is more beautiful than any sunset you'll ever see.

A careful hand reaches up. It barely rests against his jaw. You nearly chuckle at how he instantly leans into your touch.

He's staring at you through half-lidded eyes. Slightly parted lips. A gaze filled with longing, remorse, and a million unspoken words.

He leans in, nose brushing against yours. Before he can mouth the words he wants to say, you meet him half way.

The kiss is slow. Delicate. Fragile. Sunghoon is too scared to treat you as anything less.

It lacks the hunger of the one before. Your body is pulled flush against his. He's trying to convey thousands of apologies all at once. Hoping his sincerity can penetrate your skin, travel through your veins, and reach your soul. The way he's kissing you is heart-wrenching.

"I-" he gasps when you part. "Please. Please forgive me."

"Come back to me," you croak. "Why did you shut me out?"

He presses kisses to your jaw, then to your cheek. His hands slide up to your cup your face.

"Because I love you."

You close your eyes. Soaking in each sacred word that falls from his lips. Shuddering.

You feel like crying.

"I love you so much that I don't know what to do with myself. With you, nothing feels real. Time stops ticking. Everyone else fades into oblivion, and I feel like I'm on top of the fucking world," he whispers, voice wet and rushed.

Your forehead connects with his. A gentle rhythm is tapped onto his nape with the intention of calming him down.

"I've never felt like this before. I- I just-"

Sunghoon's face twists. He's fighting against his emotions.

You watch as he deflates.

"Please... find it in your heart to forgive me."

A small smile graces your face.

Under the glow of the setting sun, everything is okay.

"Stop staring at me like that."

Sunghoon peers up at you from your lap. His face glows golden.

A mischievous smile appears on his face. It infects you like a virus.

"Is it illegal for me to admire my girlfriend?"

"Yes." You shoot him with a finger gun. "Hands up."

Soft laughter fills your ears. You let Sunghoon pull you down into a gentle, loving kiss.

You'd let him do it for all of eternity.

To you, Park Sunghoon is like the moon. Beautiful, and so, so far away.

Now, you think Park Sunghoon is more like the setting sun.

Beautiful, and just on the way home.

440 notes · View notes

satocidal · 10 months ago

Text

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭Destination(!): Middle of Nowhere — Toji Fushiguro

Synopsis: A long drive—a little crush and a hot dilf, not much can wrong- only that you were drunk and he was no less of a bastard.

— Word count: 2.2k

— A/n: Nobody come at me ok? This was meant to be full smut and just a drabble but here I am 💀 and this is like a piece I’m writing after a decent while so stfu ok- as is Toji ain’t my boo

— Warnings: smut!! MDNI!! Toji x Fem! Reader (reader is at least 19); age gap (reader is the age of Megumi and they’re not in college <3); stupidly fucked sense of alcohol consumption and hangover (for the sake of plot); degradation; spanking; idk basic nonsense- exhibitionism; usage of word "daddy" (twice)

“That’s what you fuckin’ like huh?” A sharp slap landed on your ass, whimpers barely contained as you sobbed as his fast-set pace—“Gettin’ fucked at the side of the highway?”

Days spent saving the money so carefully, so long—it had to be a night well spent.

“Gumi’!” You sounded out again, the skirt rested so low on your waist—the top barely holding up too, you grinned as your friend made his way to your car, disgruntled a face.

“Why the long face lover boy?”

Not a word, motioning just his head for you to focus on the body in the periphery—it was similar to your Friend, well, at least by the face of it and some mannerisms.

Megumi’s father after all, was the book definition of what a dilf is—you couldn’t help but giggle at the way the older man flicked off his son—usual banter, you presumed.

“What happened now?”

“I was running late, so I made eggs—he wanted to eat some cereals or whatever,” you chuckled at the annoyance his tone held still—“and he couldn’t have made it himself?”

A deadpan that Megumi passed you, “is it not obvious the only thing he can make is women pregnant left and right.”

Another gaze, yours flickered to his father- shyly looking away immediately when your eyes seemed to catch—he was, in most senses, scary.

But hot—because how else would you explain the sudden flutter of the nerves as your eyes caught sight of Him, pants resting low on his hips—no shirt, fuck was he hot.

Another laugh, unassuming as your car revved away.

The concert was fun, mostly.

Besides the time that you lost sight of Megumi, besides the creeps that you caught along the way, besides getting your drink almost spiked- yeah.

What wasn’t fun, it was simply realising that you did not in fact have a ride to go back anymore. But as it was, absent father or not, he made for a decent chauffeur- because there at 11:30 at night he stood with his car.

“How the fuck do you lose your car keys?” His voice was rushed, Megumi’s—staring daggers at you, you simply chose to giggle, too drunk to register anything properly.

“I lost you at the concert- I think losing is a simple concept,”

A scoff- Megumi could not deal with this anymore.

“Remember when we lost our virginity-? That motel was so shady, and the bitch you were with-” words punctuated with hiccups and giggles, Megumi groaned, ears burning when his dad replied with “Hah?” To your words, apparently having heard everything.

A hand shoved to cover your mouth, Megumi grimaced-“don’t mind her, she’s drunk, I need you to take her home- ours,”

A short silence followed the info, “take her? Where will you be?”

Megumi paused, “I’ll stay off at a friend’s t’night—need you to take her back,”

A scoff—Toji’s, “can’t the brat stay with you too? M’busy,”

“He wants to get railed,” you hollered from behind—warning yourself a gruff smile from Toji, not that you’d care at the moment- “off y’er rockets, both of you,” a mumble Toji passed, then a scoff.

“Alright,” he finally muttered, not without making Megumi beg thrice, compensating the night drive by leaving the apartment alone to his father for three days further, “stay with her while I back the car- don’t lemme catch ya fuckin’ some whore when I get back either,”

“Don’t ya worry Mr. Fushiguro—ain’t gonna let him get STD so fast,”

Another short chuckle, hm, the ride could after all be fun.

“Thanks dad,” Megumi muttered another his breath- fastening your seatbelt, not daring to meet his dad’s eye, all too aware of the smirk on his face.

“The chick’s hot,”

“That’s why I’m leaving with her and not- oh,” Megumi paused mid-statement realising it was you his father was referring to, not the girl he was leaving with, he bit his lip hard.

“Don’t try your shit with her, don’t mess with her,”

A smirk, “how would you know,” Toji shrugged, “I could fuck her roadside and you wouldn’t know,”

A lick of his lips, “which is why I’m asking you to simply not do it,”

Flick of his head, “I’ll do what I want,”

Megumi watched as his father’s gaze lingered upon your form, it was simply too easy- especially the way Toji’s eyes held a hungry look.

And just like that, you—half passed out, beside Toji swerved away, Megumi would’ve perhaps minded a little more, had the girl beside him not been actively trying to kiss his face off- not that he minded.

Ps. One thing about Toji, he did do what he wanted after all.

The ride back home was smoother, partially because you were almost passed out, and there was no traffic to hinder your way either—and yet, hours it took the both of you to reach.

After all, there were stops made continuously, here and there- “ya hungry?” You muttered suddenly, 15 minutes into the ride, the silence all so overbearing—a mindless “huh?” Toji passed, a mere snicker you offered “hungry? I am,”

Toji stared blankly at the road—he wasn’t sure, a small smirk made its over still, “you don’t typically talk so much,” and true he was of course—but that was mostly because Toji always shivered your timbers, which rarely mattered when you were as drunk as you were.

“I’m typically never this hungry either,” a gruff scoff he passed, “Gumi’ didn’t feed ya or what?”

A silence you let pass over the two of you- he sighed taking the worse of the cases, “whatever I’ve got me some cash, sure, whatcha’ wanna eat?”

“Whatever pops up on the road first,”

A smirk, Toji looked over the convenience store that seemed to be approaching—“I like decisive girls like you,”

A giggle you passed, so drunk, “wanna know a decision I’ve made?”

A cocked brow met your gaze as Toji pulled the car over the side of the road—“you’re one man I wanna fuck,”

A cough and a widened set of eyes fretted Toji before the smirk could even wipe you across the floor, a short silence met you- sober you would’ve already climbed over the lay on the road ready to be run over, the sheer embarrassment.

A small chuckle the older man offered, “y’er not so bold usually eh?”

“You’re scary,” your voice came out as half a whine,

“eh? And I’m not scary right now?”

A giggle again—“you’re much more fuckable right now, especially with how you were in the morning- been on my mind since,”

Oh?

Oh.

The vision of himself in just a vest and grey sweat-pants, understandable, he shrugged—“gotta be honest doll, you look way more slutty than I did,”

An amused smile he held as you giggled again—“yeaaaah?” Your words dragged, “S’pretty skirt ain’t it? Gumi’ thought it was too short,” a small pout that you held with end of the statement.

A snort Toji passed—“Gumi? An idiot, a doll like you deserved to flaunt that ass in as short of a skirt you like, don’t ya?”

Your head bobbed in compliance, slowing only when his hand came to rest way too high on the plush of your thighs—it felt hot.

Hot in the way it seemed to creep up your skirt, hot in the way the hem of your skirt tickled you—hot in the way his gaze held yours, hot in the way Toji knew exactly what he was doing.

A lick of your lips, a lean in from him, a lean in yours—“you were hungry, yea?”

And just like that, Toji did exactly as he pleased.

Toji stared, jaw stacked as his eyes remained stuck on your form, bent over—legs spread, all just to tease him while you pretended to be confused about flavour sandwiched you wanted to grab.

A hum entered his ears, you bent over further—your panties, the fishnets all on display —“I don’t like the mayo they used in this,” a whine as you wiggled your ass, his eye twitched.

A step forward, he stood directly behind you, crotch pressed to your ass, a hand on your back which kept you in position—“and I don’t like the way you’re acting,”

The store was empty, you smirked—grinding back into him, “you seemed to like how I was back in—”

-slap!

A sharp inhale, yours, a sting that you could feel building up on your ass—“hey! What are you-”

-another harsh slap fell on the same spot, the fat of your ass squeezed suddenly, “what do you think y’er doing?” Almost a growl—the store was empty, he was using it to his advantage.

A smile rested on your lips—“trying to decide on what I wanted to eat but…” despite the dull warmth you’d just felt you grind into him yet again—your intentions were clear, all too drunk to even care about being humped in the middle of a convenience store—as you seemed to be at the moment.

Toji realised all of this— in the sound of your gasp as he pulled at your hair roughly, back arching as he brought you close enough to his mouth as he leaned down himself—you could feel his hardening dick pushing against your ass—“but what?”

A smile, almost innocent that you flashed, “I don’t think I’m hungry anymore…” a bite of your lip—then another hitch as you felt him spank you yet again, all too done with you.

The heat radiated through your body, “you think it’s funny huh? Grinding’ into me like a whore?”

A moan escaped you, his fingers roughly pushing at your clothed pussy, skirt hiked up- your face heated up at thought of someone walking in—fingers feeling around your wetness as it spread, “wearing such a fuckin’ short skirt—I can practically see your slutty pussy when you bend,” another sharp slap, you whined at the absence of his fingers from your cunt.

“Ofc Gumi’ let ya go—such a whore, poor boy had to take care of you huh? But that’s ok—daddy’s better than him at dealing with bratty ones like you,”

Shameless, in the way you moaned—not caring about the store manager who was probably watching through the store camera—you smirked.

“Yeah?” You grinned up at him, “what’ll you do hm? What does “daddy” do?”

A hard stare he passed, suddenly pulling away from you entirely, let alone for the hand that grasped your hair, “think I prefer you better when you’re quiet and crushin’ on me,”

A mischievous smile that you held—“you should gag me then,” he couldn’t help but roll his eyes, and smile at your words—you were adorable, he wouldn’t deny that—he pulled you away from the shop slowly, back to the car, not without winking at the guy working at the store—all too aware of the breathy moans he’d let out stroking himself, watching the two of you too.

As for gagging you, Toji would.

Fifteen minutes the both of you rode in silence—sheer fear that his words had held, “not a peep,” he’d whispered as he closed the door for you, a hard glare followed as the engine was turned on.

Fifteen minutes gone by, you were wet—turned on simply by the silly ministrations in the store, your cunt was practically begging to be touched.

But ah—for someone too afraid to even breath loudly at the moment, to touch yourself seemed off the plate, but the thought may enticing nonetheless.

“Feelin’ horny?” His voice rasped—and oh boy, you were—“same,” a short smirk has evident in his voice, “no touching or sounds till you’re at home though,”

And quite Instantly and regrettably, “Please…” you whispered, hand reaching over to stroke his thigh once —just as quick the car was pulled aside, Toji’s face remained blank.

“Get out,” he murmured, breaking the moment of silence—his gaze was hard, “huh?” Was all you could manage, “ya heard me doll, out. Out and your hands on the hood,”

And as if on a spell, there you were- bent over, it was chilly, pleasantly so—waiting all so impatiently, squirming, he sat in his seat, light shining all upon you- his star of the night.

Slow, taking forever it seemed, that he stood up- walked off, you dared not to move, staring in the little awkward position that he held you in, as he stretched in his leisure.

He didn't seem to come close, not once- or at all, not a single word —“Mr. Fushiguro…please?”

A smirk- fast spread to a grin- “shy again? We gettin’ sobered up? Not so quick doll,” and yet, with all his teasing words, not a single step taken to help- you squirmed, ass sticking out, it was tempting but Toji was a man of will power.

“Please,” you muttered meaninglessly- and the moment continued for a decent two minutes- nothing made sense, you knew he was merely teasing- but oh how the riddle onto whatever that would make him crack was unrelenting.

And perhaps, when he couldn’t take it further, “what’s my name?”

A hesitant, “Mr. Fushiguro,” you dropped off yours lips- he smirked, a step closer- your panties, soiled already we’re almost dripping now and you were sure no piece of groundbreaking porn would ever get you this worked up again- “No. What is my name?”

And as if a light bulb got switched on- “Toji,” you whispered- he was finally close enough though, close enough with his hands on your tits, roughly squeezing and slapping them, “what was that?”

You purred softly, the way his hands pushed your spine, arching your back further- fingers brushing against your hip, “Toji,” his name rolled off your tongue again, louder- he snickered.

“That’s the name you’ll be screaming alright? Why will you scream it doll?”

And yet again, all logic flew off you as you felt his hard-on press onto your ass, “because I’m a slut who deserves to be fucked shamelessly on a highway,”

A final cackle that Toji held- a slap to your face, soft- “such a good fuckin’ whore.”

All of this work is original and entirely my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

235 notes · View notes

crossingthedreams · 1 month ago

Text

wake up — marcus acacius x f!reader

a/n: this is short, angsty and heartbreaking. i can’t bring myself to write more than this because marcus acacius is already causing me pain before the movie is even released. anyway, i’m late (obv), but here is @angstober day 11 — wake up. enjoy!

masterlist

word count: 460

warnings: angst. death. implied smut.

“Wake up”, you nudged the man who laid beside you, smile growing wider with every muffled, sleepy sound he let out. He shifted on the bed, his arm pulling you closer to him as he mumbled nonsensical gibberish. You could only laugh, your body nestling in him.

Nestling close to him, face side by side to your husband’s for the very first time.

You felt a hand in your stomach, and then you were turned to straddle your new husband.

Your hair falling like curtains molding your face, as his own fell on the pillows like a halo. His hand caressed your bare back, reminding you of how he made you his in more ways than one.

As your chests pressed against each other, you felt your hearts beating in unissound.

He smiled softly and finally opened his eyes, those brown orbs immediately finding your gaze. You bit down on your lip, a little anxious. The two of you had met a few times before your wedding day yesterday, but would he still like the sight of his wife on a new day?

“Good morning, caríssima”, his voice was raspy, but his tone was kind. He was the perfect epitome of what a Roman man should be: strong, protective of his homeland and caring to his family.

A hand reached to take a lock of your hair away from your voice. Much like you now moved his hair away from his face, with the memories of your first night together passing through you, still.

He was still beautiful, even with all the bruises, cuts and dry blood. The smell was awful, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

The medics and soldiers brought him quickly back to Rome after his injuries, but it wasn’t the injuries that worried them. The infection seemed to spread quickly in other men, and the General himself had shown the first symptoms already. In a matter of hours he could perish if nothing was done.

That was still your husband but, at the same time, it wasn’t.

“Wake up”, you murmured, bringing your face closer to his. His eyes were closed, and his mouth half open. His hair was still soft in between your fingers as you caressed him.

He didn’t move.

The tears you were fighting began streaming down your face. No, no, no, no, no, you thought.

You shook Marcus’ body, grasping his shoulders. Behind you, a soldier vaguely made a move to stop you, but his comrade stopped him. You didn’t pay attention to it.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up”, you were still shaking him, tears flooding. Your strength faded as reality slowly hit you.

You sank to the floor, face side by side to your husband’s for the last time.

71 notes · View notes

laurbiek · 2 years ago

Note

HEY! If you're still taking requests, could you write something with tipsy Andrew and him being all amused and clingy and handsy with his lover? 🥺🥺

do you guys know the feeling when its 11:30 on a Sunday and you have class tomorrow morning but your suddenly inspired to start writing again after like 9 months so you have to start immediately even though you should maybe go to bed or study for any of the tests you have this week

anyway here's wonderwall

Now that it was socially acceptable to be out in public again, Andy frequented local bars and pubs with his friends. He would go out with Alex, meet his brother for drinks, sometimes even invite Aisling out into the country to hang out for the night. Sometimes you joined him, sometimes you didn't.

He liked it better when you joined them, getting to watch you relax and laugh at some dumb joke. Watching your blush get deeper and deeper, and peeling off a jacket or a sweater as the heat of the alcohol consumed you.

Occasionally you two would split something more illicit, something rolled or baked that Andrew's brother would obtain for him. Your whole party laughing together at the fire pit in your backyard, talking about ordering food but ever actually doing it.

Tonight was not one of those nights.

Work was getting busy, and you felt too tired for a night out, even if it was just a local pub in the small hamlet you two chose to live in. You knew you were just too wired up, too stressed to meet friends without passing the bad feelings on, without snapping at someone or getting sad-drunk and killing the vibe. So you opted to stay home, watching some bad TV with a large glass of wine, and throwing tennis balls around the house for Elwood to retrieve.

Externally, Andrew didn't mind. He knew everyone needed 'me time', he knew he would have fun anyway. He knew he didn't want to be the kind of couple that were inseparable, that cant exist without the other person, like two stars that orbit each other and ignore the rest.

But sometimes it feels impossible to talk about anything else, sometimes he felt the need to tattoo your name on his forehead just to be able to bring you up in conversation. Love is almost a form of obsession, and for Andrew it can be occasionally difficult to hide.

Especially after a pint or two, and some glasses of whisky if he's being honest.

Andrew reached into his pocket for his keys, feeling around for the sharp metal he hoped and prayed he remembered to bring that night. He heard a slightly more sober Alex lock his car behind him, deciding that he could spend the night in one of the guest rooms instead of slugging it back to Dublin at one in the morning. He finally shoves the key into the lock, tuning it in a way so domestic and familiar it makes his heart leap.

The two trudge into the warm house, and toe their shoes off in the hallway before stomping into the living room with heavy, reckless feet. You tilt your head back on the sectional armrest, seeing them coming closer upside down.

"Hey guys, have enough fun?" you just, Alex flopping down on the other side of the couch, and Andrew leaning down farther than usual to peck you on the lips.

"It was grand love, lots of mischief made", He walks around, sitting in between his fried and his lover, looking up to see some reality TV nonsense playing with the captions on. He turns his body towards yours, leaning his head on his arm and staring down at you like you hung the stars, "I missed you though"

"Andy you were ten minutes away, I don't know how you managed to miss me"

He grabs you by the waist and pulls you closer, almost in his lap. His large hands feel slightly cold as they hold your skin under the borrowed t-shirt you wore to relax in that night. He leans up to kiss your neck, and his facial hair, as always, tickles slightly.

"You must have some kind of spell on me, something sinister and ugly to keep me enamored" he says, voice muffled by your body.

You roll your eyes at Alex, who is barely paying attention to his very whipped friend, instead leaning towards the coffee table to pick at the snacks you brought out for yourself. You share a look of agreement, silently saying 'this guy is a fool'. You grab Andrew's face and pull it up to make eye contact with yourself,

"Yeah I couldn't possibly get this ring without outside help", you say. Andrew makes a light laugh at that, simply breathing out and smiling. You notice his eyes starting to flutter a bit more, obviously getting tired. You pull away from Andrew and get yourself up, "Ok Loverboy, its time for bed, Alex you know where everything is help yourself", he nods and gives a thumbs up as a response, wrist deep in a bag of Cheese and Onion Taytos.

You grab Andrew's hand and pull on it, urging him to get his ass to bed. He groans slightly as he rises, jokingly adding an "Ok mistress" as he grabs your hand back and follows you up the stairs.

Once you both reach your shared bedroom, Andrew sits on the bed and takes his socks off, forgetting what he wanted to do next. He watches as Elwood does his little circles in his dog bed, he thinks that humans should be able to do something similar. You pop out of the attached bathroom, having washed your face and tied your hair up. Andrew reaches his arms out like a child towards you, silently asking for some physical contact. You slip in between them, holding his head against your chest and placing a kiss on top of it. His hands wrap around you tightly. He wishes he could've stayed here all night. You pull away and he makes a complaining groan,

"Calm down we can cuddle all night, let me help you with your hair."

You kneel behind his seated form, becoming just tall enough to gather his hair into a uniform pony and secure it away so he doesn't mess it up during the night. He thoroughly enjoys the feeling of your fingers in his hair, he recalls the feeling of you pulling it tighter, in a different context of course. He smiles slightly at the memory. You kiss the top of his head again, letting him know you were done.

Against his desires, he plods into the bathroom to brush his teeth, accident leaving the balled up socks from earlier on the counter. He, as quickly as he can, puts on something more comfortable, with way fewer buttons, and dramatically flops into bed.

You lay facing each other, first just holding hands, but as the minutes progress he pulls you closer and closer until your legs are wrapped around his hips and his arms are keeping you there, your foreheads are touching. You couldn't possibly be closer if you tried.

"What if we were conjoined and had to be like this forever"

"Andrew I cannot do this right now go to sleep"

"No seriously what if?!"

After a few more tipsy comments from Andrew, and lightly chastising him for his wandering hands, you finally turn over. If he is known for anything other than music, it should be his ability to be the big spoon. He completely envelops you, and you've never felt safer.

His hands wander under your shirt, not in a sexual way, but in a familiar one. He just wants to feel close to you, feel skin on skin like a baby looking for comfort. You can feel his nose poking into the back of your neck, and you're glad his feet are so far away because you just know they're cold.

You relish in the feeling of his touch, how in his most vulnerable and uncaring moments the most he ever wants to do is feel your warmth, know that you're there.

The last thing he remembers is the smell of your shampoo before he falls into sleep.

#hozier x reader #hozier fanfic #hozier #hozier imagine #andrew hozier byrne #I have an organic chemistry test this week

1K notes · View notes

strangesthirdeye · 6 months ago

Text

ᴅʀᴜɴᴋᴇɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ( sʜᴇʀʟᴏᴄᴋ ʜᴏʟᴍᴇs x ᴡɪғᴇ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

Summary: Don't touch me, I have a hubby

Warning: SHERLOCK HOLMES SJDHDJDJX, drunk reader, William is four years old now, love, fluff, nonsense talk, bed, confusion, don't drink alcohol people.. Alcohol is bad unless it's for medical reasons, sweet, Husband and wife moments, flirting, mention of naked, Ooc Sherlock, vomit, hangover.

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was late at night in 221B, Sherlock and William were usually still awake even though it was late. Well, for Sherlock but William is usually the one who falls asleep first because his father said so. Stating that he is still young and today's children need enough sleep in order to have a lot of energy for tomorrow even though adults like him also need enough sleep to not shorten their life... According to Google.

Sherlock who was still awake and not sleepy was flipping through the files in his hands solemnly. He sat cross-legged on his chair for comfort as his back ached from having to sit for a long time. The reason he was still awake at 1 in the morning? Well, you see Y/n has a reunion with her old classmates at a bar, somewhere in London and Sherlock is worried that she hasn't come home yet.

As a very good husband he of course has to feel worried about his wife who hasn't come home yet. I mean, if Y/n didn't give him a warning not to worry about her being in a bar somewhere in London, Sherlock would probably be on a mission to find his wife right now. But well, the wife has given a warning and him being a good husband does not want to disturb her reunion with her old classmates.

(Sherlock is actually afraid of his wife) Because, if he obeyed his wife's warning, he will get a reward.. What reward? Don't know. Sherlock huffed a breath before turning his gaze to the clock on the wall. 1:11 in the morning and his wife hasn't returned yet. William already had dreams in his sleep, so he didn't have to worry about that. His heart feels heavy without you.

Suddenly, a knock was heard. Mrs Hudson who was still up due to her watching her favorite show came out of her flat and checked the flat door outside. The lock is opened and there is Y/n who is leaning heavily against the shoulder of an old friend of hers named Dhani who is holding Y/n's waist in order to support her better.

Y/n's eyes are glossy while her face shows how drunk she is with her dreamy face. Y/n smiled at Mrs. Hudson.

"Ahh, Hudders" Y/n slurred before hiccups.

Dhani who still supports her looks at Miss Hudson apologetically. She's sober, thankfully because she doesn't really like alcohol in fact she wants to avoid drinking alcohol even though she's in a bar. Her purpose there is to celebrate the reunion with her old friends and drink fruit juices while listening to music.

"Sorry, Mrs. H. Y/n drank too much. It was a bit difficult to bring her home. I had to wrestle with her to get into the car" Dhani said, apologetically.

Mrs. Hudson smiled gratefully. "It's okay, at least she's home safely." She paused. "Sherlock has been restless since she went out, mind you." she added while bringing a drunk Y/n into the flat. "I'm sure you can return safely, dear. It's getting late"

Dhani waved her hand. "aye, don't worry about me, Mrs Hudson. I'm good at taking care of myself. Besides, I think Stephen will also be restless if I don't come home yet." she chuckled. "right, I'm going home now. And told Sherlock to standby any paracetamol for her in the morning. She sure she'll have a hangover later"

"bye bye, Dhani" Y/n waved her hand drunkly at her friend.

"Bye bye, Y/n." Dhani waved and walked towards her car.

Mrs Hudson said her goodbye before she closed the flat door and locked the door. She turned her gaze on Y/n who was now sitting on the floor and leaning heavily on the wall with droopy eyes. She will pass out once she's on the bed.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson called the young man.

Footsteps were heard and Sherlock Holmes came out of his flat and went downstairs. He who was wearing a light blue dressing gown, gray shirt and pajama pants stopped on the stairs once his eyes focusing on his wife.

"What happened to her?" he asked once he was kneeling in front of you who's face looks like you've been on the moon.

"Her friend said that she drank a bit too much tonight, so she brought her home. Also, standby medicine for her in the morning. She's going to get a bad headache." She said to him. "now, I'm sure you can handle her now, right? I'm going back to my flat." and Mrs Hudson entered her flat.

Sherlock stared at you longingly, not sure what to say instead he tried to support you by taking your waist with his strong arm but you slapped his arm sluggishly.

"No, noo.. don't touch me" you slurred and tried to get up but then you sat down again.

"come on, love. It's me your husband" Sherlock tried to knock some sense into you.

"no, my hubby is at home" you said.

"You're at home" Sherlock muttered.

"Am I?" you looked at him through your half lidded eyes.

"yes. It's me Sherlock, love" Sherlock tried to help you get up and this time you let him pick you up.

"My Sherlock will be angry if I'm in another man's arms" you mumbled sleepily.

"You're in my arms, love" Sherlock replied as he let you step up the stairs slowly due to you still being in a drunken state.

You chuckled. "I like the wallpaper of this place, i want to install the same wallpaper in my house"

"This is our house, love" Sherlock replied before he pushed open the door.

You suddenly pushed Sherlock hard and glared at him with your glossy eyes. "aye, you have no right to take me to your house. I have a husband"

Sherlock massaged the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Y/n, I'm your husband. And this is our house."

"You are my husband?" You widen your eyes before laughing out loud.

Sherlock approached you while trying to shush you into silence while covering your mouth with his palm.

"no, love. William is sleeping now. You don't want to wake him, right?" Sherlock looked at you, fondly.

"William, ohh! my baby." you covering your mouth with your hand. "he's sleeping" you whispered to Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded. "yes, he is sleeping. Now let me help you change your clothes and refresh before going to bed"

"you're going to see me naked. Ohhh, you're going to fast, handsome" you traced your fingers on his arm seductively. "I like that"You suddenly hugged him. "and you're my husband! I'm so lucky"

'Oh god, just how much did she drink?' Sherlock thought before he took his wife's shoulders and pushed her into the bathroom.

"right, let's get you cleaned up before bed" Sherlock muttered.

"ohhh, shower" you staggered into the bathroom.

Sherlock then striped all your clothes leaving you naked in front of him before he took you into the bathtub. Warm water is placed before he rinses your body and hair. You shivered.

Sherlock then gently shampooed your hair as he massaged your scalp.

"i like this.. can we do this forever? pretty please" you pleaded.

"You can do this whenever you want, love" Sherlock said before he rinsed your hair. "done" he said before he took you out of the bath tub and covered you with a towel after he dried you off.

He makes you look like a child when he bathes you. You looked at your wrinkled fingers.

"I'm old" you mumbled, showing him your wrinkled fingers due to being in the water for so long.

"No you're not, that's because you've been in the water for a long time, that's why it's like that" he explained.

"oh" you looked at him in awe.

"yes, oh. Now let's get dressed" he said before he opened the door of his room which was connected to the bathroom.

Sherlock made you sit on the bed you two shared before he walked over to the dresser drawer. He brought out dark red t-shirts and black plaid pants along with your undergarments.

And you finally fell asleep on the pillow after you finished putting on your clothes. Sherlock sighed with relief. You are not very difficult for him to handle. At least all the nonsense you said he can reply well even though it's a bit nonsense. He got up and walked to the kitchen to retrieve hangover medicine along with a glass of water.

Before he even stepped back into his room, William came out of his room sleepily while rubbing his tired eyes with his hands.

"Is mommy back yet?" he mumbled sleepily.

Sherlock softened his look at his son. "yes, she's back. Now go back to sleep"

William tiredly nodded and closed the door to his room without any comments which Sherlock assumed he was just delirious in his sleep.

Later in the morning, you wake up with a bad headache and throw up in the toilet with Sherlock holding your hair back before you return to your original self after swallowing two paracetamol tablets.

#benedict cumberbatch x reader #bbc shows #benedict cumberbatch #221b baker street #bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x wife! reader #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock #benedict cumberbatch x female!reader #lovers #Spotify

99 notes · View notes

judesmoonbeauty · 11 days ago

Text

Jude & Moon Travel - Follow Up PV Thoughts on the Pocket Watch & Big Ben

The 10:10 on Jude's pocket watch kept bothering me, and although the animation of of Big Ben in his PV is recycled from other PVs, it is very prominently pointing to 12 o'clock. Seeing as the moon is and the clocktower are heavily implied as route hints, I decided to read the book, "From the Earth to the Moon," by Jules Verne. There are no spoilers really, but just in case. This isn't that lengthy. And this is just for fun.

This book is the one that Jude refers to in his bond stories, "Hobbies", and "Moonlit Night".

In "Hobbies", Jude says that he's going to make Ellis look into every author on the papers Jude was looking into that discussed moon travel. "Physics, engineering, astronomy.....", Jude goes on to say that he is going to nab all the good researchers before others can. He goes as far as chiding the author of the book for spouting nonsense like it's something that could be accomplished.

In "Moonlit Night," Jude mentions that the book is telling the truth in that it would take 11 kilometers per second to make it to the moon.

So, what does that have to do with the actual book, his PV, and are there any other tidbits we can pick up on Jude from this?

A quick summary of the Book: It's just after the American Civil War, and a group of guys with too much time on their hands are basically complaining because they have nothing to do. However, Impey Barbicane enters the picture and says, 'Bros, let's go to the moon.' Barbicane then sets out with his friends to design and build a cannon that will shoot a hollow-shelled bullet to the moon.

Quick Thoughts: This book, while it's science and calculations are outdated, is very thoroughly researched. There's so many algebraic calculations, mentions of books, papers, and scrolls all the way from the B.C.E to C.E. that it's no wonder Jude read it and took a thorough interest in it. Jude likes scientific explanations after all (HW epilogue). If you're into sci-fi or astronomy, this is a very good book to read. The most important feature about this book is: TIME. Timing is EVERYTHING, down to the seconds.

If you want to read the book yourself online, you can read it here.

Hints/Potential Basis to Jude lore-

Impey Barbicane: I laughed when I learned that after being the director of artillery (in which he was an inventor), Barbicane made a large fortune as a wood merchant. He's described as being calm, cold, austere, of a serious and self-contained demeanor, not chivalrous, of immovable character and last but not least......punctual as a chronometer. He is also highly intelligent.

Six Questions: In the book, Barbicane writes a letter of six questions regarding moon travel to the Observatory of Cambridge in Massachusetts. I won't write what they are, but in time he gets a response from them with six answers. Most notably, here is what we need to know for Jude:

The cannon must be shot at a very specific time, when the zenith and the perigee align at the most opportune moment. Basically, this is when the moon is the closest to the earth. This will allow for the greatest chance of a successful landing.

The Observatory then tells the protag that in one year's time (on December 1st), the moon will be closest to the earth, and this is their best shot. If they miss this opportunity, then they'd need to wait another 18 years and 11 days after this.

The launch should take place exactly at 10 hours, 46 minutes, and 40 seconds on December 1st.

The crew should reach their destination precisely at midnight on December 4th.

Funding and Manual Labor: They even did the math of how much it would take to build and the cost was well over the millions in USD. To which, Barbicane said not to worry, and then proceeded to obtain the money. The labor was intense as a giant hole had to be dug into the ground for the launch space, amongst other things. It's a lot.....the building of the shell alone would cost about 2,035 pounds in Victorian times, which is equivalent to 327,712.76 pounds today, or $425,242.02.

PV Correlations: After I read the book I got super excited, because this means that the 12 o'clock hour on Big Ben, is probably referring to the 12 o'clock hour that Jude is supposed to land on the moon.

Additionally, the fact that Barbicane is a punctual chronometer says a lot about his pocket watch. It's not a normal pocket watch, but one that has a built in chronograph. Essentially, these are an extra built in complication (or feature) that can measure time, distance and speed. All of which are essential. It can come with up to three chronometers.

What does that mean for Jude's PV? After I researched all this, and reviewed the PV again, Jude's pocket watch has a chronograph/chronometer on it. Additionally, the watch is at 10:10, and I know some of us were wondering if that specific time held any significance. Well, perhaps (though the hands aren't shown to be moving), the minutes hand is making it's way down to the 46th minute of 10 o'clock....to the 40th second of that minute.

Time is running out. IF (and that's a big IF), Jude is truly using Verne's book as a guide, he may be in a race against time to launch his "cannon" into space as the moon and earth are reaching it's zenith, at exactly 10:46 at 40 seconds. Otherwise, he may have to wait a very long time to reach it again.

It's just another theory and it doesn't discredit any others in anyway. I think time will play a part in his route in several ways, but I think it's important to note, especially with the IkeVil LINE icon changing to a clock face AND, one of the LINE questions that Jude asks you is from Moonlit Night....about the 11 km per second (which is the distance it takes from the book of 12,000 yd per sec), to get to the moon.

That's all.

#jude jazza #ikevil theories #C's corner #Ciele's Rambles #ikevil spoilers #ikevil jude

24 notes · View notes

whositmcwhatsit · 9 months ago

Text

Enjoyable Slide to Oblivion

Like a lot of girls, Chancy Crawford had once been able to call herself one of Elvis's girlfriends, but that was long time ago. Now, she called herself his friend, or his 'cousin' if any of his girlfriends asked. It was just easier that way. And their relationship was all about being comfortable and easy. Until she gets asked to come and join a tour that seems endless and cursed.

AN: I'm not sure if anyone remembers I used to write silly stories, but here's the next installment of one I have neglected for too long. Thank you to everyone who continued to patiently message and let me know how much they liked the characters and very politely ask for the next chapter.

Thanks to @thatbanditqueen for injuring herself in order to give me motivation. And reading to check that I still remembered how to type words. You might need to remind yourself what happened before: Chapter 11 Chapter 12- Move Across the night sky, with those anonymous lights.

Pulling up to the gate of one of Elvis’ homes always invoked a strange combination of emotions in Chancy no matter how often she visited. Maybe it was the fact that there was always, always, at least a few people standing around ogling her curiously, but there was also the insecurity that this might be the time that the gates would not open for her, and the pride she felt at how much he had achieved, as well as an undeserved sense of personal achievement that she knew someone who had so much. That last one always made her feel guilty.

Harold kept her waiting, pretending that he needed to come to the window of her Chevrolet to see who she was and then saying he would have to call up to the house to check it was okay.

“Can’t be letting in just anyone, you know.” He went to the gatehouse and the gate began to open immediately. She smiled and pretended to be amused by his trick as she rolled past.

Chancy pulled up around the back near to the fence where the staff parked. Her car fit in better there than next to the limo and the Lincolns and the cadillacs. She glanced in the rear view mirror and checked her make-up hadn’t slid off her face in the humidity. Her air conditioning was busted, again- it only ever seemed to happen in the summer, a cosmic joke or a punishment.

Grabbing her two small, yellow travel cases, she swung the door shut with her hip and sighed, trying to force her heart to slow down by denying it oxygen. Just a visit, just a visit, she focused on the words and willed her heart to follow their rhythm.

“Well, hello there, Chancy.” She started and dropped one of her cases as Mr Presley approached her from the office, a smile on his plump face. He had that end of the day twinkle in his eye and Chancy mused how, between his twinkle and Mrs Presley’s dancing glow in her brown eyes when she was laughing, it was no wonder Elvis could incapacitate people with just a glance.

“Hi, Sir, it’s good to see you again!” She went to grab her fallen luggage, but Vernon reached it first and picked it up, adjusting his grip and miming like the case was heavy.

“My Lord, what do you have in here?!”

“Well, you know now a girl can’t give away the secrets needed to make her presentable, it’d spoil the magic, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess it would,” he agreed, still smiling slightly. “Though I reckon I need some magic to help this ole mug.”

“Nonsense! I was just about to ask you for your secret!”

Chancy could do this all day. In fact, she did do this all day; most of her job was buttering up clients and making them feel good about themselves. The fact that there was a slight ache to her cheeks as she smiled now was proof of how hard she worked.

“Well, you always were a sweet girl,” he returned, glancing over his shoulder at the house and tightening his lips. “Let me walk you in, I know Elvis is expecting you.” He reached out for her other case and she let him take it, puzzled since Vernon didn’t usually go out of his way to be helpful or even really acknowledge her much past a short, pleasant greeting.

On the way, they made small talk about the weather, which was the law in civilised society. One of them remarking on the heat, the other saying that it had to break soon. Debating whether it was hotter or cooler than previous years and then exchanging stories of the most extreme heat they had ever encountered. He told her about a time when he was a young man down in Mississippi and he was doing some work for a man who wore a hairpiece. The day got so hot that the glue melted and the hair started slipping when he spoke. No one was brave enough to tell him and lose the job. He mimed the man’s hair flying back and forth and how they had to all fight to keep their eyes from flicking from side to side with it. His laughter at his own story was infectious.

As they came in through the back door, he paused in the dim back hallway. Somewhere nearby she could hear a football game being played on television and men’s voices rising and falling as they questioned plays and commiserated.

“You know, it sure is good to see you, Chancy. Elvis’ mother always used to speak so highly of you and how well you took care of him.” He left the rest unspoken, looking behind him to the stairs to the basement, and then turning back and nodding at her.

“Thank you, Mr Presley,” she smiled, a little puzzled. She awkwardly fished back her cases and wondered if he was working up to something, and if she should wait.

Instead, he opened the door to the kitchen and motioned her in, wishing her a good night.

In the kitchen, Elvis’ aunt Delta was complaining about trying to buy something and how they had raised the price when she gave them the delivery address.

“Shouldn’t matter if it’s Tom, Dick or Elvis, if it’s fifty dollars it should stay fifty damn dollars. The nerve of people!” Her little dog was yipping and bouncing around her feet, excited by the heightened emotion in her voice. Mary, Elvis’ cook, her coat on like she had been trying to leave for some time, agreed with her, nodding her head wholeheartedly.

They both turned to look at Chancy as she paused by the counter with a faint smile of anticipation. It was always a roll of the dice which side of Delta you would get, but that evening was a good day, because they exchanged greetings and Chancy was invited into the story of the new chair that had started out as fifty dollars and became one hundred once it was destined for Graceland.

“One hundred dollars, my ass! I said, it’s for me, not Elvis and we both of us have enough sense not to waste another fifty dollars on some piece of-”

The phone rang on the wall by where Delta was sitting at the breakfast bar and she snatched it up, listened for a minute, and then nodded to her.

“Elvis said to go ahead and go on up.”

Chancy had to temper her speed as she moved through the kitchen, heading towards the back stairs.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get your chair,” she shrugged, stepping onto the first tread.

“Oh honey, I got the chair, and a little table to boot. Soon’s I told ‘em that I’d go home and say what a rat-infested flea-ridden store they had and how we ain’t never gonna shop there again, we got the friends and family discount too.”

“Well, they’ll know better than to mess with you next time, Mrs Biggs. I might need to get some tips from you for when I have to negotiate with my suppliers.”

As she was climbing the stairs, she heard Delta say:

“Honey, I don’t think you need any help from anybody trying to get anything.”

Her foot momentarily faltered as her body wanted her to stop and march back down, but her brain won out just barely and forced her to continue her climb. By the time she had opened and closed all the doors that marked her journey, she was pretty sure she had knocked her case into her left shin enough times to leave a bruise, and she paused just inside Elvis’ office to run a finger under each eye to catch the slowly dripping mascara. She tapped on the door and waited to hear a low murmur of assent before she pushed the slightly ajar door open.

Elvis was sitting on his enormous bed with the newspaper laid out before him, apparently deeply engrossed in it, though she knew he had to have been watching the monitors at least a couple of minutes ago to know that she had arrived.

“Oh no! I think there’s been some mistake!” she lisped in a high voice. “The man at the reception desk said that this was my room.” She whirled around, wide-eyed, in the doorway. “This is room 385631.6 and half, right?”

Elvis smirked, his lips and cheekbones all curves as his eyes narrowed. His voice was a little thick like his tongue was still waking up.

“Damn, they must’ve double booked the rooms again, and, you know, I heard the clerk say that they were full up, no vacancies.” He clenched his jaw and shook his head like he was genuinely upset and disappointed in the ‘hotel’.

“Right,” she responded. “I guess that’ll be because of the convention?”

He nodded, rising slowly and stepping closer to her, his fingertips tickling her wrist.

“Uh huh, right, the, uh, One-eyed Albino Python Lovers of America convention,” he nodded, turning away as he almost broke.

“Oh, yeah, that’s a popular one,” she murmured, hearing him snort over his shoulder, and fighting to keep her face straight.

“Well,” he sighed with a sense of inevitability, turning back to her. “I guess there’s only one thing for it.” He shrugged with his whole body, throwing up his arms. “We’ll just have to share the room.”

“That seems like that’s all there is to it,” she agreed in her ditsy high voice.

“You sure your boyfriend won’t mind, uh, Miss…?”

“Tallulah-Wanda, and I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t, huh. Well, I guess I’m just fixing problems all over the place tonight.” He pulled her into a clinch worthy of one of his movies, dipping her down so that she dropped her cases and grabbed his shoulders for safety. They broke apart and smiled breathlessly at each other for a minute.

“One-eyed Albino Python Lovers,” she muttered, slapping his shoulder. He smirked and pulled her back up.

“What? I’m telling ya, Tallulah baby, it’s a real group.”

“Uh huh, and I bet you’ve met quite a few members.”

“I meet a lot of people,” he replied evasively. He grabbed her jaw and kissed her hard on the mouth. “How was your day?”

She paused, surprised by the question. “Uh, it was fine, thank you for asking. How was yours?”

“Honey, I woke up less than two hours ago,” he pointed out, with a wry lift of his eyebrow.

“Right, right, I’m in the Elvis time zone now. Gotta adjust my clock accordingly. How was your breakfast?” He rolled his eyes and tugged her towards him, cradling the back of her head as he kissed her.

“That’s enough of that,” he murmured, though he didn’t elaborate on what ‘that’ was, just steered her around and nudged her backwards towards the bed. “Gotta unwrap my present here.” He tugged on her pale pink pussycat bow, teasing the ends out from where they were tucked into her low scooped waistcoat and pulling the loose knot free.

“You want me to give you my scarf?” she murmured, keeping her voice low to hide how affected she was. “Hmm, that’s a twist.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but he seemed absorbed in his task, letting her silky scarf flutter off to the side as he studied her. She returned the favour, noting how fair his lashes looked in the daylight. His face was fuller, maybe because he hadn’t been well, but his colour was better than when she had last seen him at her house.

Biting his lip slightly, he unbuttoned her waistcoat, but there was nothing seductive or gentle about his movements. She genuinely felt like a gift given to an overexcited six year old. The waistcoat went in the other direction to her scarf, quickly followed by her heels.

“I’ll show you where your things are,” he said, pulling away and holding out a hand. She had to tamp down a smile as she let him lead her, padding behind him in her stockinged feet.

That morning, she had deliberately dressed up in her most businesslike outfit, stopping just short of wearing pants, because she knew he wouldn’t like it. Not to antagonise him exactly, but there had definitely been something pointed in her choice. Some barbed reminder that she was a whole person with a successful, fulfilling life that went on out of his sight line. She wasn’t one of the no doubt many girls around the country just waiting for his call, their life outside of him just filler that happened between their time with him.

In the ‘guest’ dressing room off his office, he showed her the row of plastic covered outfits that he had bought her on tour as if they had been there ever since he returned and not, as was more likely, hastily moved in that day after the last girl had left.

“You don’t like what I’m wearing?” she asked as he hovered in the doorway. He shifted uncomfortably and opened his mouth, clearly still formulating his reply. “I’m teasing you. Go on now, let me change.”

“Oughta tan your hide,” he muttered, giving her a sideways look as he retreated from the door. “Don’t change your hair.”

“Saying please don’t hurt you know!” she called out the door.

“I know!” he hollered back from presumably the bedroom.

In the small dusky pink dressing room, Chancy deliberately did not touch any drawers, no matter how painfully her curiosity niggled at her. She tried to be as dispassionate as she would be in a communal dressing room, which, essentially, it was. She made sure not to make a mess and folded her own clothes neatly, putting them back into her case.

There were a few toiletries sitting on top of the dressing table and she leant over them in order to apply more make up to her eyes, appreciating the good lighting. When she had finished, she checked that she had not left a trace and came back out into the office.

Elvis was sat at his desk with Joe standing over him and murmuring into his ear, his arms spanning the desk and the back of Elvis’ chair. His broad back blocked Elvis from her view. The body language could not have been clearer.

Without stopping, she tiptoed past them towards the bedroom, still holding her bags.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Elvis snapped over the top of Joe’s low mumbling. Chancy glanced over her shoulder almost guiltily.

“Going in there? I got changed like you said.” Elvis visibly relaxed, his face smoothing and shoulders dropping.

“I thought you were ducking out on me. What you got your bags there for?”

“I didn’t want to leave all my things lying about. I’m trying to change my messy ways, you know.” He shook his head and waved his hand back towards the dressing room.

“No, go ahead and put everything in there, honey, that’s yours.” She hesitated, but Joe had already resumed his whispering and Elvis was frowning at the console of his desk with its screen and knobs and switches. So, she tucked her cases inside the door of the dressing room and speed-walked past them back into the bedroom.

The curtains were closed and, though the lamps were lit, the room still felt dark to Chancy. This was not helped by the enormous bed that was clad in black every way from the headboard to the bedcovers. She perched on it primly, her feet barely skimming the floor. She didn’t like that, being reminded that she was short. It made her feel like the room was patting her on the head somehow.

Instead, she pushed off the bed and scanned the shelves of the units, smiling a little at the framed photos of a blond little girl and running her finger over the ornaments, some of them clearly from fans.

There were a few records scattered around the record player, their labels a mess of scrawled handwriting that revealed them to be demos. And there were books, piles and piles of books with fuzzy, slightly scary titles like ‘The search for…’, ‘A Study of…’, ‘Explore the world of…’

One caught her eye, a small, slim volume with exotic gold patterns etched into the worn covers. She glanced up at the door before she opened it to the foreword. It was Sufi poetry translated from the original Persian. Chancy pressed her fingers to the pages in wonder, trying to make it fit into the already complex and contradictory picture of Elvis she held in her mind.

The man himself burst into the room, slamming the door shut behind him, but he stopped short when he saw her standing by the shelves as if he had forgotten she was in there. She could see him biting down and breathing hard, his nostrils flaring, like he was trying to change gears while still accelerating.

She didn’t say anything, looking back down at the book and reading the first poem silently to herself, giving him time to collect himself without being observed, to leave without feeling obligated or ask her to leave. She felt him as he drew close to her, his chest brushing her shoulder.

“It’s good, you should borrow it when I’m done,” he said quietly, calmly. She smiled as she took her hand away from the page and turned towards him.

“What’s it about?”

“I- I can’t exactly say,” he shrugged. “It makes me feel like words and ideas, even sermons and laws, they’re just getting in the way and confusing people, distracting them from the truth and the real essence of God, you know. I-I-I ain’t saying it right, but the guys in this book, they pull back the curtain, you know, and you feel like you’ve caught a glimpse of something, just for a moment, that’s greater and truer than anything else.”

Chancy tilted her head, letting that sink in.

“I do think I’d like to read it after you, thank you.” He leant past her and picked it up.

“Here, take it, honey. I can get another. Ignore the scribbling though, sometimes I just gotta work things out in my head. Try and get things straight, you know.”

“No, Elvis, I can’t, not if you’re enjoying it! I can wait until you’re done.”

“Baby, I want you to. Like I said, I can get another. And we can talk about it when you’re done reading it. I don’t- I don’t have no one I can discuss these things with. They all just get this damn pie-eyed look on their faces like ole Elvis’s gone nuts and they don’t know who to call to fix it.” He crossed his eyes and pulled a silly face while he pushed the book into her chest until she took hold of it.

“That’s dumb,” she murmured, cradling the book to her chest. “Everyone knows you already went crazy years ago.”

“Yeah, well whose fault was that,” he returned, gritting his teeth and pushing his forehead against hers, smushing the tip of her nose. She wrapped her arms around his waist and drew him closer, simultaneously loving and resenting the almost painful wave of relief that rolled over her as she nestled into his arms and felt his soft lips brush against hers. The big sigh he let out as he squeezed her in tighter at least let her know that she wasn’t alone in this comfort trap.

“I missed this silly little face,” he murmured, one hand gripping her jaw playfully but gently.

“Really? This one?” She crossed her eyes and scrunched up her nose, tightening her lips so that it looked like she had buck teeth.

In response, he wrapped one big hand over her face and put a little pressure into it, nudging her backwards. She went with it, trusting him not to have her tumbling on her butt down the stairs. The side of the bed pressed into the back of her legs and she grabbed him by the biceps to stop herself from falling backwards.

“You missed me too, right?” he almost whispered, leaning down to kiss her again. “Tell me you missed me, Cha Cha.”

Chancy heard her own voice as if it came from far away, muffled and almost whiny with longing.

“I missed you, Elvis.” She continued to kiss him even as he turned his head slightly. She could feel his cheek bunch beneath her lips as he smiled, enjoying her affection. “I missed you, I missed you.” She felt his faint stubble grazed against her lips as she let them trail down his cheek and under his jaw. He was bent slightly at the knees so that she could reach, rubbing his thumb around in little circles on her back. Her awareness narrowed to only those points of sensation, the thumb circles on her back, the tingle on her lips, the warmth down her front.

The phone started trilling. They both looked at it blankly for a second, before Elvis straightened and sighed, going to answer.

Whatever was being said on the other end of the line irritated Elvis, he mumbled one word answers until he slammed the receiver back onto the hook.

Without a word, he disappeared into his bathroom and left her yet again wandering around his room, running her fingers over his belongings and trying to pretend that she belonged there. She opened her new book at a random page and let her eyes trip across the words:

“That’s how you came here, like a star,

Without a name…”

She had no idea what it meant, but it sounded beautiful. She murmured it under her breath, finishing with a sharp inhale as Elvis stormed back out of his bathroom clad in a long leather coat, gloves and carrying a police flashlight.

“C’mon, we’re getting out of here.”

Billy was waiting at the bottom of the kitchen stairs, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. He grinned, reflecting Elvis’ smirk as they converged in the kitchen.

“They fell for it, huh?” Elvis remarked, knocking Billy’s shoulder with his knuckles.

“Uh huh, I told ‘em we’d meet ‘em on up ahead.” “Joe bitchin’ and whining about it, I bet,” Elvis remarked gleefully, heading towards the back door with Billy beside him. Chancy trailed them, wondering what the hell was going on.

The wall of wet heat hit as soon as they stepped outside and Chancy shook her head as she stared at Elvis’ broad back wrapped in black leather even as she was peeling tendrils of her hair away from her damp neck and face.

Elvis was too busy crowing over his ability to fool everyone to notice the temperature. He and Billy were joking and laughing about it as they passed the car port and continued on down towards the back gate near where Chancy had parked her car. On the road was a white Cadillac coupe with an old, black truck behind it.

Billy tossed some keys to Elvis, who was still laughing as he got into the truck, but Billy’s smile faded as he turned away and he looked at Chancy with something close to reproach. She couldn’t think why he would be mad with her or blame her when she had no idea what was going on. He was the one going along with whatever crazy plan Elvis had come up with.

“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked nobody in particular.

“Shh, we’re being sneaky!” Elvis whispered in an Elmer Fudd voice, leaning out the window. “C’mon, Cha Cha, get in!”

She looked to Billy again, hoping for something that made more sense, but he had already climbed into the Cadillac and the back gate was opening. Elvis beckoned her and she hurriedly circled the truck and jumped in.

As they pulled out into the narrow road that ran down the side of the church next door, Elvis accelerated slightly and gave the Cadillac in front a little nudge on the bumper, grinning so wide that his dimples made an appearance.

“Uh, shouldn’t you have your lights on?” Chancy asked, goosebumps of anticipation nonetheless breaking out over her arms as she caught his infectious excitement.

“Now that wouldn’t be very sneaky of little old us, would it.”

“Billy’s got his on.”

“Exactly!”

Ahead of them, Billy pulled out onto the highway and faintly they could hear a few people shouting. Elvis waited, engine idling with his lights off. Chancy watched him expectantly as he tapped his thumbs on the top of the steering wheel, humming quietly under his breath. He seemed to become aware of her eyes and glanced towards her, eyes narrow and cheekbones brimming with mirth.

“Being bad feels good, don’t it?”

“It might, if I knew what we were doing.” He didn’t reply, just flew out onto the highway, switching on his lights at the last minute and swerving around the oncoming traffic.

Eyes on the rear view mirror, he murmured, “I bet they’re shitting a brick right about now, man. Serves ‘em right, serves ‘em right. I tell you, boy…”

“So we’re not going to the recording studio?” Chancy asked, mainly to remind him that she was in the car too and he didn’t need to talk to himself.

“You catch on fast, don’t you,” he remarked, shooting her a sideways look. “Baby, what are you doing all the way over there?” He reached blindly across the bench seat and clamped a hand on her thigh, trying to drag her closer to him. She made a series of unladylike noises as she left behind half of the skin from the back of thighs on the warm leather.

“Where are we going then?” she inquired, once she was flush against him, her forearm resting on his thigh and her cheek stuck to his coat.

“Well…” He tailed off. “Where would you like to go?” She bit down on her lip as he made himself sound very magnanimous and not at all like he hadn’t thought his great escape plan all the way through.

“I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch,” she reasoned. “Maybe we could-” He took a sharp turn that almost sent her sprawling. “Or maybe we could not die, Elvis, how about that?!”

He snorted and glanced at her with his eyebrow quirked playfully. She swatted at him, because he knew exactly what to do to take the heat out of her irritation, leaving her with just the intellectual understanding that she should feel annoyed.

“Poor widdle Cha Cha, all moody and mad cos she’s hungry,” he murmured in that damn baby voice again. She was about to swat him a little harder when he did a double take out of his side window. “Hey, you know, I ran out of gas there one time.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, back when I was starting out. It was one of the first times it got really crazy, boy. The cops had to come out and everything. It was wild.”

“Uh huh, getting a ride in the back of a police car to the gas station is not something you ever forget. Especially after I got back and some girl called me your whore.”

Chancy watched his face as his brain worked overtime, recalling the little details that he usually airbrushed from the patter he gave his dates as he took them on a personal tour of his home town, like who else had been there.

“They called you a whore?” he echoed finally, focusing on the detail where he had no culpability. “I didn't know that.”

“Well, it wasn't something I would've wanted to repeat.”

It had been the first time she had been the victim of jealous, spiteful resentment, but not nearly the last. She shook her head like she could dislodge the echoes of embarrassment, hurt and outrage she had felt.

“Besides, you didn’t even remember I was there!” She smacked his leg and turned away slightly, playing at being mad.

“Honey, I did! I-I remember, I was just testing you!”

“Uh huh,” she murmured. “Well, I guess I passed.”

“With flying colours,” He hit her with a poorly aimed kiss on the ear as he steered the truck into a parking lot. Chancy glanced around and realised he had pulled into Dairy Queen.

“You do take me to the fanciest places,” she teased, already moving to climb out.

“Well, I only know of two ways to get you out of this mood you’re in,” he returned with irritating insight. “One’s food and the other… Well, we’re in public, honey, you know.” She felt so much better about the shiver she had to fight back when she saw that, despite the naughty look on his face, he had gone pink.

“You are terrible,” she informed him. “Hey, where are you going?” He paused as he pushed open his door.

“There’s only one way out,” he replied, looking bemused.

“You can’t go in there!” she exclaimed, then wanted to rewind time and roll her tongue back in, because the one way to guarantee Elvis would do something was to tell him that he couldn’t. “Baby, you don’t have any of the guys with you. It’s not safe.”

“It’s late, Cha Cha, I’m not letting you go in there by yourself,” he returned. Then, she witnessed the exact same expression of regret cover his face that must have shone from hers moments before. Because telling her that she wasn’t allowed to do something was like firing a starting pistol.

“It’s not exactly Times Square.”

“I don’t give a damn. Cha Cha, honey, you got all kinds of characters out there now, crazy sonsofbitches and losers strung out on all these fucking drugs they’re pushing on the streets. Baby- Baby, you don’t understand because you don’t know what it’s really like.” She bristled at the condescending tone and folded her arms over her grumbling stomach.

“Well, then it’s not safe for either of us.”

After ten minutes of silent sulking and hunger, they came to a compromise. Chancy would go in and order the food, and Elvis would park as close as possible with his gun ready just in case.

As silly as she knew all that was, Chancy still felt tingles of apprehension as she pulled on the metal bar and opened the door.

At that time of the evening, the place was full of teenagers hanging out and families grabbing a treat on the way home from the movies. None of them really spared her a look apart from a few pleasant smiles as she made her way to the counter.

Not long later, she was juggling a sack and two milkshakes and stopped to thank a man who had jumped up to hold the door for her. He smiled back, nodding at her chest rather than her face.

Turning towards the truck, she let out a little gasp as she saw a small knot of people standing by the driver’s door. Her heart hammering, she glanced towards the phone booth at the front of the parking lot, wondering if she would have to make a call to Graceland to get someone out to help.

As she drew closer, she saw that it was just an older couple and their children. As long as they made a getaway before they attracted any more attention they would be okay.

When she climbed in the cab, Elvis was signing a scrap of paper, what looked like a receipt, and he handed it over, ruffling the young son on the head. Chancy kept her head down so as not to attract notice. The only problem was that the family did not seem satisfied with the autograph and small talk and lingered, forcing Elvis to say that they had to leave. They even took a few steps forward as he backed out, like they were going to follow them on foot.

“Just can’t stay out of trouble for a minute, can you,” she remarked, handing him his milkshake.

“Well, you were gone so damn long,” he complained, spilling a little of the shake on his pants as he tried to negotiate the road. “Goddamn it! She quickly retrieved the paper cup before it was thrown, possibly at her. He was still swearing as he pulled into a rest area, the frosty drink slowly trickling into uncomfortable places.

Seeing his mood souring, she grabbed a napkin from the sack but hid it at her side.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it,” she exclaimed brightly, ducking her head down towards his lap.

“Chancy, no!” His voice went impossibly high, breathless and panicked.

She burst out laughing, she couldn’t help it, and tossed the napkin at him as she collapsed against the back of the seat, gasping and giggling, wiping her eyes. She tried to get herself under control as he irritably wiped at his pants with the napkin, muttering under his breath, but every time she looked at him, all kitted out in his flashy badass outfit, she kept hearing his panicked protest like he was a sweet virgin being propositioned by an over amorous date.

“Don’t see what’s so goddamn funny,” he snapped. “My fucking pants are ruined.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, her voice quivering very slightly as she bit on the inside of her cheek. “I…” She started laughing again and he smacked the steering wheel and started the engine, shaking his head. “No, baby, no, I’m sorry!” She lifted her milkshake and tipped it slightly as if she was going to dump the whole thing in her own lap. “Look, you give me the word and we’ll match. Want me to?”

A fast diesel truck rattling by startled her and she jerked slightly, causing a large drop to splat onto her bare leg.

“Damn, that’s cold!” she hissed. His eyes twinkled and a slow smile crept across his face. She realised that there was a very real possibility that he was about to knock the cup over her and almost resigned herself to it.

“You’re crazy, you know that,” he remarked, before very slowly and deliberately leaning down and licking the milkshake from her thigh. He punctuated that by opening his mouth and pretending to take a bite of her, his teeth leaving a faint imprint in her pale skin under the light of the cab. Holding her breath, Chancy now understood how fish felt drowning on dry land.

They ate their food at the rest stop without much chat. Elvis was still mad at her for laughing at him. It was always a sore point for him, and she sensed that he was embarrassed by his unfiltered reaction to the idea of her going down on him in public. He always loved to give off the impression that he was unflappable, that there was no boundary that he would not push and no impulse he would not indulge, but that wasn’t true. Not really.

Licking the salt from her fingers, she leant up and kissed his cheek as he chewed the last of his third burger. He didn’t reciprocate, but nor did he move away, just looked out the window at the shadowy brush. She stuffed the wrappers into the empty sack and slid a little closer to him, her bent knees knocking into his thigh.

Rising on her knees, she nudged her nose into the hair at his temple, pressing butterfly kisses into his skin, catching her lip on the arm of his sunglasses. His fingers tapped on the ledge of his open window, almost like she was keeping him from a more pressing appointment, and she wondered if his mood had sunk too low to be recovered. She started to draw back, but the firm line of his arm just behind her shoulders stopped her retreat.

She studied him, looking down from his turned cheek to where the tendon in his neck was just visible above his turned-up collar as he craned his head away from her. Almost tentatively, she pressed her lips against it, feeling his pulse pounding beneath the salty skin. She lapped at it with tiny kitten licks until he jerked away, trying to hide his smile.

Leaning forward, he started the engine and pulled back out onto the road, executing a neat u-turn so that they were heading north.

“Where are we going now?”

“Gotta get you back to the nuthouse before they send out the guys with straitjackets,” he replied, shooting her a sly grin.

“Uh huh, I’m sure it’d be me they were looking for,” she replied, settling herself down at his side. He just kept smiling, dropping his hand into her lap and entwining their fingers. That didn’t last long, because he had to keep twiddling the dial of the radio every time the deejay started talking.

“Wasn’t that George?” she asked, as he abruptly twisted the knob again, muttering a curse word. “I don’t care who it was,” he snapped. “Don’t talk over the goddamn song. What’s the point of them even playing songs if they’re gonna-” He let out some high pitched gibberish that sounded like an irate chipmunk after sucking helium.

“So, where’s next on the famous Elvis’ hometown tour?” “Aw, honey, there’s no…” He didn’t even bother finishing his lie. “There ain’t no point showing you, you know more about it than I do. I ever end up writing that book about my life, you’ll be there…’No, Elvis, it didn’t happen like that, I was there.’” She shook her head at his usual high-pitched impression of her.

“The two of us in rocking chairs, me trying to edit every story,” she added. “In my head, you’re old when you’re writing this life story.”

She felt her cheeks heat as she had basically admitted that she pictured them together when they were old. That was giving away too much and also trying to take too little.

If he noticed her embarrassment or thought that the idea of them being together when they were old was far-fetched, he didn’t show it, huffing a laugh as he guided them back through more familiar streets. “We’re going back? So soon?” She thought of all the people back at the house, likely some annoyed employees and some tense phone calls to be made. She wondered if they would get to sneak out like this again during her stay, and considered that plans would probably be put in place to stop that happening.

“Well,” he bounced a closed fist against the inside of the truck door. “I gotta change my damn pants and… It seems like you might still be in a bad mood, honey. I think it might be time to try the second thing.”

Tag lIst: @richardslady121, @dkayfixates, @fallinlovewithurlove, @notstefaniepresley, @heartbrake-hotel , @freudianslumber , @bbrtt777, @18lkpeters , @prompted-wordsmith, @literally-just-elvis-fics , @eliseinmemphis @lookingforrainbows , @stylespresleyhearted , @amydarcimarie , @returntopresley, @savedrebelcreation, @lettersfromvenus , @littlehoneyposts, @joshuntildawn13, @i-r-i-n-a-a, @from-memphis-with-love, @ellie-24, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny

#elvis presley #70s elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #enjoyable slide to oblivion #whositmcwhatsit #Consider this my dessicated zombie hand breaking through the ground and finding the world above has changed beyond recognition

77 notes · View notes

killersfool · 11 months ago

Note

hiiii i’ve a wee fluff imagine idea for bobby!! : )

bobby and the reader live together in a flat in dublin and the reader goes to trinity uni to study english literature (or smt else that has like a lot of reading and essay writing anol that craic) and she’s falling behind in a lot of her assignments and it’s all piling up and she’s just all overwhelmed and doesn’t know how to cope.

she ends up breaking down into sobs or shutting down at random points in the day due to stress and rob hasn’t got a clue what’s wrong and keeps noticing these random break downs throughout the week.

basically he comforts reader and helps to organise herself and just all fluffy cute comfort fic <333

If I could flip back time, bend the seconds and go back three years ago, I would do it right now.

Pile after pile of flashcards, annotated books with pastel post-it notes shooting out of the sides, folders of Irish poetry I can hardly understand, tattered photocopies of Hozier lyrics, every work of Shakespeare staring at me from my overcrowded booksheld — dusty, messy, probably even dank. Miss Carter has decided to set three more assignments onto my workload for the week. An essay on crime fiction (I haven't even read the first book on the reading list), my creative writing portfolio and then another essay analysing a piece poetry of my choice. Reading and highlighting Hozier's lyrics of 'I, Carrion (Icarian)' is the only thing keeping me going. Phoebe Bridgers blasts through my ears. It's quarter to 11. I need a break. An early night would be nice. Or TV. But do I really want to sit next to Robert whilst he watches his weird YouTube videos?

I kick my table. Not out of anger. Not out of irritation. I just want to see all of my notes topple ontp the floor. They do. Then I'm kicking the table three more times. Or maybe eight. All my flashcards are on the carpeted floor, next to my discarded, empty packet of pinballs. I'd stolen them from Robert's stash. He'll never find out.

Climbing over my pile of unread books by my doorway, I push open the door. It squeaks. Some oiling would be nice. Trinity college really provides the best for their students!

I still wish my roommate was also doing English, someone to bond with over shared trauma, to gossip about our nightmarish teachers and fellow students. But no, this guy is doing a degree in bloody mathematics. The complete dichotomy of English. No similarities. No way of comparing the courses to eachother. Him and his terrifying videos that he watches with his shoes up on the armrest, cheek in his open palm, drinking a cup of tea. Like it's that simple. Numbers and sin, cos, tan and circle theorems and whatever tragic nonsense is being spouted in his lectures.

He hardly speaks to me. Three years together and I barely know him. Sometimes I tag along with him when he goes out for breakfast. Once every two weeks. Sunday morning. We talk about school, about friends, about anything that pops in our heads. Yesterday we spoke about music. He originally wanted to pursue a career in music. A band. But they didn't work out. He took a gap year to pursue this group. So he's a year older than all of the other third years. He doesn't let that faze him. When he told me stories about his band, 'Inhaler', I had to lose eye contact, look down at the pink marshmellos floating about in my cup. He looked lost. This wasn't the place for him. He missed the confidence upon stage, the ability of making something out of nothing. Life is unfair. That is when I realised it. Hearing about shattered dreams and names of songs that were never produced.

I also realise life is unfair right now, as I accidentally bang my hip onto the kicthen island, the knife-like corner lodging itself into my skin. It's like the world is against me.

Sometimes I wonder if Robert thinks I'm an idiot. I feel like I'm an idiot when I walk past his bedroom, hunched over his laptop, headphones on as he works through the most difficult maths questions I've ever encountered in my life. He makes university seem easy. Has his allocated times for study, going out with friends, the gym, practicing bass, going though record shops, meals, watching TV. Everytime he gets home, he drops his things down in the kitchen. I sneak a glance at the big green 'A*' on all of his test papers. I look up to him. His intelligence, his masterful management of time. I'm always too frightened to ask him how he does it. He'll think I'm stalking him.

Me, on the other hand, I waste time. I don't have balance. I never have time to be with my friends. Always locked up in my room. A prisoner. Essay after essay. Poem after poem. Book after book. A constant cycle I've been in for three whole years. The stress is weighing down on me like a hundred bags of bricks. I need to stop for a second. To breathe in. To calm down.

So I do the last thing I would normally do. I go into the living room and sit beside Robert on the sofa. He's half asleep, jeans cuffed, hair all over his face. He sees me walk in, glances up, eyes big and speculting. He instantly moves his spindly, spider-like legs from the armrest to give me some space. I can hear some sort of maths video playing on the TV. I'm scared. At least it's not English. I'm immune to maths. It doesn't affect me anymore. Whatever logorhythmic scale this American YouTube man is yapping about isn't making my face contort at all — it's like sorcery.

This could be a way of winding down. Maths. I'm calmer now. No changes of focus or narrowing of perspective. No pathetic fallacy or magical realism. Just messes of words that don't really make sense at all.

"'D'you want to watch TV? I can turn this off if you want." Robert has his thumb on the home button.

"Leave it on. I just need a moment."

He dubiously puts the remote back down. He yawns, stretching out his arms and leaning back. I hate it when boys do that. With his parted, manspreaded legs, adams apple bobbing, head rolled back. It's idiotic. Completely idiotic. He doesn't seem too intrigued by Mr American man. The video is a guy next to a whiteboard writing millions of brain-numbing equtions. Robert is nodding along. I think I'm going to cry. I don't know why I want to right now. My hip is actually starting to throb and ache. I look down at my jeans. There's a hole in them. There's blood. It's wet. I hadn't noticed before. It's properly pouring out blood.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I exclaim, hand pressing down onto the cut through my jeans.

Robert swiftly nears me. He's looking at me up and down, hands trying to find a place to move to. It's dark in the room. He reaches for the lamp switch. "What is it? Are you okay?"

"I'm bleeding. Jesus christ. That kills. Fuck me."

He passes me his jacket and says, "Apply some pressure."

Then he runs out of the room. Fast as a plane. A man on a mission. Long curls dancing to the rhythm of his steps. Mr American man won't shut up about algebraic expressions. He's got a really bald head. Glimmering.

Robert is back. He has bandages. I don't know where he got those from. Antiseptic wipes, plasters, sweets, even a cup of tea. He was only gone for about five seconds. How did he manage to get all of that? He hands me the cup of tea and sweets whilst asking, "What happened?"

"I walked into the island like an eejit. I'm so feckin' stupid."

"Just breathe, okay. You're not an eejit. I do that every day."

I have to unzip my jeans to let him check the cut. Which is awkward, to say the least. He's looking at me like a doctor — not really caring about seeing my skin — but I'm still so shy around him. He sees me struggle with the button. He undoes it, fingers coming in contact with mine. They're slender. So very perfect for the bass guitar. Then he's unzipping my jeans. Only the tiniest bit. A mere centimetre of my knickers appear out of the top. Any more than that and I'd be flush as a tomato. I've always had a little crush on Robert. Being stuck with a really smart bass guitarist with the dreamiest eyes for three years is enough to make a person fall. The reason I've been avoiding him lately has been due to that fact. I don't want to make it obvious.

He finds the cut. It's bled through my knickers, making a big blot of dark red. He pulls down the waistband of my pants, prepared to wipe the wound. I have to grind my teeth together to prevent a sob from escaping me. I'm crying. Stressed and hurt and just wanting to dissolve into nothing. The cold draft of wind isn't improving the situation. If only there was no such thing as coursework and I couldn't glide my way through university like Robert.

More and more blood. I think I might pass out. The blue-eyed boy is knelt down on the floor, knees biting into the carpet so that he can properly see where to put the bandage.

"So how's English going?" He's not looking at me. Only at the wound. I don't think he's noticed that I'm crying. I don't want him to. I cover my face with bloody hands, accidentally smearing the metallic substance onto my nose.

I don't know what to say. Do I tell him how much I regret picking it? Do I make this already awkward situation about ten times worse? I hate when people pity me. I hate when I feel like eyes are lingering for far too long when I cry. But when Robert looks at me, it's different. The pools of serenity circling his iris aren't looking down at me with a sort of aristocracy. That's how my English peers stare me down. No, instead, he's looking at me like there's a billion questions rushing across his forehead. He just needs to decide which one to ask. Or to simply say nothing. Like I am. We've both learnt how to cohabit in silence. To walk past eachother and ignore the feathers of conversation falling between us. We're busy. Always busy. Except for those perfect Monday mornings that I always look forward to. Especially the one time when he showed me around his favourite record store. He had asked me to choose him a record to buy. I walked through the entire shop, fingers shifting records, reading unfamiliar artist names. Then, I saw it, the — now bane of my existence — Hozier's 'unreal unearth'. He bought it. He'd told me he only really knew 'Take Me To Church'. I'd leant against the till as he paid and said, 'it'll change your life.' Then he'd locked himself in his room. Through the ever so thin walls — paper thin — I could hear each track hum into my room. I never got the chance to talk to him about the album. I think the thought of bringing it up made me feel sick — due to the English essay upstairs still waiting patiently to be finished.

Now there is an excuse. To talk. I'm injured. I don't want to move. He's still attempting to wrap a bandage over my stomach, then across my back until it's around my torso. I feel his fingers graze my skin with every subtle movement, along my spine, the small of my back, my abdomen, my hip bone. He's still looking at me. Searching. Like I'm a new island and he's an explorer trying to name me.

"What's up, sweetheart?" He finally talks again. His words are throaty, emananting from the pits of his throat. He's still wrapping, waiting for an answer.

"Just college. You know. It's killing me."

He shakes his head. "You're so smart."

"Says you."

He shakes his head. "Look, this might be a bit weird but sometimes when you leave random essays lying around or even creative writing. I read them. They're incredible. Your mind just works in such an interesting way."

I'm at a loss for words. He reads those? Those are usually just failed attempts that I toss aside. Scrap paper. Strange drawings. I don't even want to look at them.

"You get top grades in every test," I sigh. "I'm barely passing. I'm the worst in the class. My professors hate me, I've got so much work, I'm falling behind in every assignment—"

Then I'm properly crying. Sobbing. Breathing so heavily I think I might collapse. Heaving. Sniffling. Covering my face so he can't see me. I'm like a child. Pathetic. Stupid. Worthless. I was never good enough for Trinity. Why did they let me in?

Warm arms, press of skin. Just above the wound, over my chest, arms dig into my body, hugging me from behind. Head burrowing onto my shoulders, knees into the sofa. His lips ghost the back of my neck. Tears are falling down. He turns me around to face him. I hate how he's seeing me like this. My cries are usually saved for when he's out with friends or blasting music on his record player. He's never seen me this vulnerable, just utterly ripped into shreds by the hands of life. His scent is making me feel better, the tissue now on my cheek makes me feel better, the quiet words of 'breathe, let it all out, it's okay' make me feel better. He's calming me down. I start to forget what I was even crying about when I look into his eyes. This intense eye contact. Remembering his height. Even sat down, his torso is far longer than mine.

"I've got an idea," he murmurs, peeling his body away. I miss the warmth. I miss the touch.

"What is it?"

"We should go somewhere. Get out for a bit. Say it's a 'mental health field trip'." He curls his fingers to accentuate the apostrophes."Maybe down to the Cliffs of Moher. When you're all healed up of course."

"Give me a week."

"A week? I'll be the judge of that." He raises an eyebrow, now tying up the bandage.

"Where did you learn all this?"

"I'm actually first aid trained. Did it in my first week of uni." He takes a deep breath, settles back onto the sofa.

I take a sip of my tea. My eyes are surely blotchy and red. I bet there's mascara all over my face. "Thank you so much."

"No problem at all. Do you want to tell me what's going on? Is there any way I can help?" He's referring to my school work. "I was alright at English in high school. No where near as good as you are. But maybe another opinion might help you."

"I'm really stuck on a Hozier analysis."

"I never told you how much I love that album. It's perfect." His eyes glow like they do when he's talking about something he loves. Usually it's caused by talking about playing bass, but right now it's due to the beauty of Hozier's music. "I learned the bass line of De Selby part two."

"Show me. Now." I don't even ask. It's simply a demand. Anything to take my mind away from that cut still bleeding profusely. A little concert would be nice. Especially if said concert involves watching Robert play bass. I sometimes peek through the crack in the doorway to see him sat down on his bed, pick between his index and thumb, bass guitar on his lap, headphones over his ears. The pure concentration on his face is unparalleled. Notes thrum quietly through the room. He falls into any piece of music.

"Alright." He laughs at my enthusiasm. "Then I'll help with your English."

"Thanks." This is probably the most I've ever spoken to him. I'm mumbling each word, not wanting to look into his eyes.

He disappears once again. This time I hear the thudding footsteps over creaky floorboards. I hear a door squeak open, the faint patter of rain upon the ceiling, the quiet murmur of distant sirens as night blooms. It's tranquil. For a moment, I'm at peace. Until I remember the stack of unread books in my bedroom. I groan into my hands. Everything just keeps getting worse and worse and—

He's back. Not empty handed. Bass in one hand, Hozier lyrics and my pencil case in the other.

"I emailed your professor about the trip. I'm sure she'll be okay with it." He's off again. He comes through the door with his amp and lead. He plugs both in.

"You're a life saver, Rob," I say.

He starts twisting around the knobs on the bass. Volume up. Then he's tuning. He smiles up at me. I think I'm staring. I think he can tell. His long fingers, tattoos, rings. It's all too much. My fingers are restlessly tapping the armrest. My legs are up on the coffee table. He pulls out his phone and plays the song. Then I'm lost in the music. His eyes are closed as he slides his fingers up and down the neck of the bass, as he stomps his feet down on the carpet to every drum beat. If only I could go back to the days I'd go to concerts every day. If only I could go back and see 'Inhaler' on a world tour, watch Robert from the crowd, completely in his element. Exhilarated, chanting, knowing every lyric like it's my mother tongue. Sometimes I wonder what life could've been like if the band had worked out. If the world did realise just how incredible they are. But, here, appreciating each pluck of every string, the grin as he watches me. I can't take that for granted.

133 notes · View notes

cherrygorilla · 4 months ago

Text

Ok, so you may or may not have inspired me with your Outsiders post to interrupt my usually sparse story post schedule and indulge in my own obsession with a certain musical. And as chaotic and random as it sounds, I promise it is good haha. But even if you disagree, please just let me vent and get all this out of my brain so that I can go back to writing the next part of TMM 😂

Alright, I've loved Starlight Express ever since I saw it when I was around... 7 or 8, maybe? It used to be my favourite show for years, and (fun fact) it was actually how I found out about fanfiction haha. I never wrote anything properly for the show, just like one or two pages in a random notebook when I was, idk 11 ? But it was around that time that TBM then came out, which I was obviously more drawn to writing-wise - I suppose because it gave me more freedom with stories and characters, since this show is just...you know...about trains lol.

And from the few times I've mentioned it before, I know it probably sounds insane, but if you just suspend your disbelief and accept it for what it is (a bunch of trains singing and falling in love), it is a lot of fun hahaha. I like to think of it like a mix between Cats and Cinderella, but the basic gist of the story, so you can have at least somewhat of an idea of what's going on lol, is that Control (a little kid - I don't think they have a name, they're literally just known as Control) sneaks out of bed one night to hold this big race between all his toy trains to find out who is the best - so the story essentially takes place within his imagination, as all the trains come to life to tell the story. It's like Cats in the regard that most of the first act is everyone kind of introducing themselves in turn. There's Greaseball, the champion diesel train, Rusty, the little steam engine who wants to race with the big trains, and Electra, the electric engine of the future - and a bunch of other trains and coaches, but I won't bore you with all that (just yet 😉). So, to cut a long story short, it's basically a big competition between those three main trains to see who's fastest, with Rusty being the obvious underdog, and hence the centre of the Cinderella story element.

The plot itself is nothing groundbreaking, and neither are the songs tbh, but it's just such a fun show that I can't help but love it anyway. I mean come on, the whole thing's done on roller skates - that's pretty damn cool! And although I've loved it for years, it had taken quite a backseat for a while, but the recent revival that has recently opened in London has really reignited my obsession with it all over again 😆 Because how do you make my favourite pairing in the whole show even more iconic? ...you turn them into lesbians 😎 Plus the costumes were all reimagined by Gabriella Slade, who did the costumes for Six, and they look SO cool!

Now, a big part of why I loved your Outsiders post so much was all the story ideas/similarities for characters you included, but I can't really do that here because (once again)... they're all trains, and none of them are really that deep or serious anyway. BUT, what I did think might be fun, would be going through who I think each of our characters would be good at playing if they were (for some bizarre reason) to ever put on the show - because I do have some strong opinions about that haha. And, as a little bonus, I have written some little random one-off story snippets that are Starlight Express adjacent that I'll throw in at the end lol - more as a reward for you wading through all my nonsense than anything tbh. But they were fun to write too haha.

So yeah, welcome to the insane workings of my brain - and pull up a chair; this could take a while 😅

Ok, I think the best place to start would be with going through the characters in the show and, like I said, matching them up with potential characters of ours I think would be good at playing them. I'll sort of elaborate on 'why' for each one too to help keep things entertaining from an outside perspective lol - and hopefully to help back up my arguments for each lmao. Because, let's face it, none of our characters have particularly...train-like characteristics. 😂

First up we've got Rusty, who's essentially the show's main character. Most of the conflict in the show centres around him; the 'better' trains all totally disregard him, a lot of the coaches tease him, and although he loves Pearl, she's more interested in the newer, more exciting trains than boring, quiet little Rusty. BUT, as with all Cinderella stories, he comes out on top in the end; he wins the race (I would say spoiler alert, but it's also like...duh 🙄😂) and gets his dream girl. He's a really likeable underdog character throughout the story though, and he does put up a good fight to come out victorious, which I appreciate - he doesn't just lay down and let everyone walk (well, roll 😉) all over him.

Now, who do I think would be good to play Rusty? Well, as I mention later on in the one-shots, and have potentially mentioned elsewhere too, I weirdly feel like Riven would really like the show. Maybe he has some childhood nostalgia linked to it like I do - maybe his dad took him to see it when he was younger since it involves skating? I don't know all the details, but something within me tells me Riven would like this show lmao. And so, in the spin-off scenario where our characters put on this show (which is the one I'll always lead with in these things), I think he'd want to take a leading role in the directing side of it - and probably spear-headed the campaign for putting it on in the first place tbh haha. BUT, I feel like a lot of people at Camp (because yes, I think they'd do this at Camp; I don't know when else they would all want to put on a show like this lmao) would think the whole thing was an insane idea, and wouldn't want anything to do with it (because it kind of is an insane idea). SO, I think that Riven would not only end up directing most of the show, I also think he'd have to step into Rusty's skates - which wouldn't be as daunting as he initially expected since he knows the show so well already. Plus, besides the backstory element, I just think he'd be a really cute Rusty; his auburn hair is perfect for it, he's a quietly determined guy, and he's an experienced skater, so he'd have no trouble taking on such a demanding role in terms of the skating.

So yeah, Riven would be my first pick. BUT, this new revival of the show that's being performed in London is playing Rusty and Pearl (his love interest, who we'll get to in a minute) in a much more innocent, shy way - and it's freaking adorable. And I think if we were leaning into more of that version of the show, Royce would make a brilliant Rusty if Vivien could be his Pearl. I don't know how likely he'd be to take on another leading role after being thrown into Hairspray like he was in your last Camp Wanamaker story, especially one that required him to be on roller skates the entire time, but I think he'd really nail it with that more innocent, down-trodden interpretation of the character.

But if everyone was willingly getting involved in the show, and they wanted to lean more into the old-school portrayal of Rusty and Pearl, that feels a little older, and more heavily romantically driven, then I feel like Miles and Carrie make SO much sense for those parts. The whole 'chasing after a girl you think is out of your league' thing has both Miles and Rusty written all over, and I think Miles would, again, play that fluctuating determination and defeat really well. Plus, I know this doesn't really mean anything, but his struggles for money do parallel Rusty being this rundown, tattered, but persistent little steam train pretty well... 😂

Ok, now we'll move onto Pearl. Pearl is the newest coach in the little kid's collection, and is therefore the most sought-after racing partner (since all the trains need to race with a coach - idk why, it's just part of the story I suppose lol). Sometimes she's a 'first class' coach, sometimes she's an 'observation car', it doesn't really matter - all that matters is that all the trains want to race with her, and although she has a soft spot for Rusty, who has loved her all along, she gets seduced by the flashiness of his competitors, and it takes her almost getting wrecked in the final race for her to see sense. She can be a little naive sometimes, or will sometimes just blatantly play the field (depending on how you play her), but her heart is always in the right place, which is what still makes her so likeable.

Again, for Pearl I've got multiple options for who could play her, but I'll start with Juliet. The new all-white version of Pearl's costume that they use in the current Bochum production just screams Juliet to me: that sleek sophistication and quiet confidence, but also a touch of flirty, girly charm is so her! And I think she'd make a great leading lady - which is why she's my pick for that spin-off scenario version of the show. Pearl has some great songs, which would be perfect for Juliet to show off more of her voice, with her wanting to be a singer eventually, and with you hinting at Riven and Juliet maybe having a little bit of a fling or something in your last STDP post, having them play the two leads here seems like a perfect fit for them! Rusty thinking Pearl's way out of his league, but Pearl falling for his kindness and good heart anyway - that just screams Riven and Juliet to me! Pearl also has a strong sisterhood-type friendship with the other coaches, which I think really works for Juliet too. And Pearl does try to stand up for what she thinks is right when the bigger trains start taking the competition a little too far - so I think Juliet could bring a great deal of her own strength to her portrayal of the character as well.

Now, my second choice for Pearl, links with the second choice for Rusty above, which is, obviously Vivien. I feel like the new London revival Pearl was MADE for Vivien to play; the whole space-y vibes of the show, the fact that they made her purple, and the fact that they made her this happy little ball of excitement, with a touch more innocence than previous Pearls - she's perfect for Vivien. And the awkwardly adorable, friends-to-lovers arc Rusty and Pearl have in this new revival was practically written for Royce and Vivien lmao - I just think they'd be able to play them brilliantly. And again, like with Juliet, I think Vivien's fiestiness would allow her to bring a lot of strength and determination to Pearl's character that isn't always there - she can sometimes be played quite airy and 'damsel-in-distress-like', but I think Vivien would really ground her.

And my last choice for the role is Carrie - she's not my favourite pick for the role, and I think she'd be better at other parts (as we'll see in a minute lol), but as I said earlier, if Miles is playing Rusty, I think Carrie would make an amazing Pearl opposite him. Their dynamic just fits them so well - Miles pining for her but not feeling like he's good enough, Carrie being blinded to her true feelings by other options (in this situation I feel like Eric would make a great Greaseball lol) but coming around in the end - it's just perfect! And, I truly believe that the song Pearl sings in the original London production, Only He, can only be bodied in the way it deserves to be bodied by my girl Carrie haha. I'm not a big fan of Next Time You Fall In Love, but I do quite like I Do (the replacement options for Only He), and I think Juliet and Vivien would do great renditions of them, but there's just something about the thought of Carrie singing that song that just makes so much sense. I've got an idea for her to sing it in a legitimate story too (that's how obsessed with that song I am lmao), probably linked to the heartache referenced in the little drabble I'll post below, but I feel like she needs to sing it for an actual audience too haha. It's just such a beautiful, powerful, swelling theatre ballad - she'd kill it!!

Alright, now we're getting to the good stuff. This is Greaseball: arguably the main antagonist of the show because, although most of the characters rag on Rusty, a lot of them do so to show their support for Greaseball. They're the reigning, undefeated champion when it comes to the races, so they have quite the ego on them. They're brash, and cocky, and a little brute-ish, but they're also incredibly competitive, which often gets in the way of their better judgement, resulting in a total disregard for everyone else (including their undeservingly loyal girl, Dinah). They're a total showboat and narcissist, but they do have a dopey, lovable side that Dinah helps to bring out towards the end of the show, which does help redeem them haha.

Now, there are two ways that Greaseball can be played: the traditional way, or the new way. For the traditional way (the sort of wannabe-Elvis, old school rockstar portrayal), Butchy feels like an obvious pick. And although I don't think he's anything like Greaseball's character, you know if he had to play him he'd take to the greaser caricature like a duck to water lmao. Plus, if Mick was playing Dinah (which, you'll see in a bit, I think works perfectly for her), they'd make an adorable duo in the show, and I think they'd have a lot of fun hamming up the roles to make them even more ridiculously cartoonish. And if Mick was his Dinah, I think Butchy would do the whole 'crawling back to her with his tail between his legs' schtick soooo well - he'd just melt into a puddle for her the second he apologised for being such a brute haha. The only thing that's holding me back with Butchy is that I don't know how good he'd be at being so mean to his friends - especially if someone like Miles or Royce was playing Rusty haha; he's just too nice! Plus, I don't know how well he could roller skate lmaoo.

OR, the other way Greaseball can be played is like how they've done it in the new London revival of the show: by making her into a fiesty little lesbian. And this is the role I feel like Carrie could really excel at. I just think she'd have sooo much fun with all the showboating and playing up the bravado. It's so different to anything else she's played before that I think she'd have a great time getting to try it out too - and I think she'd really enjoy getting to lean into playing a villain as well. I'm just obsessed with everything about the London revival Greaseball - her costume is so cool, her attitude is so iconic, the way she's adapted the character I just, uh- it's brilliant! And as cool as it could be to try out a male Dinah by getting Miles into some frilly gingham (lol), I think having either Juliet or Mick be her Dinah would work really well. I'll get into why I think Juliet would be a perfect Dinah later, but her dynamic with Carrie if they were to take on these roles would just be perfect; Juliet's mild scolding of Carrie's bruteish behaviour, but her unwavering loyalty regardless, Carrie's brushing off of her affection for the sake of winning, but then realising she didn't know how good she had it with Juliet by the end - aaaah, I love them. But for the spin-off scenario, where Juliet would be playing Pearl, my pick for Dinah would have been Mick - again, I'll elaborate more on why that works so well for her in a bit, but there's something about Mick and Carrie being paired up romantically like this that just entertains me so much, and low-key kind of intrigues me too haha. In my head, the way it would have played out was that they'd approached Butchy with the offer for the role first, hoping that if they also offered Mick to be his love interest, he'd be more likely to accept it. But after he dismissed it so blatantly, and they couldn't get anyone else to convincingly fit the role, Carrie was called upon to take his place - and to get back at Butchy for not even considering the part, Mick decides to take the Dinah role anyway, but doesn't tell him. Because imagine his face when he realises that this role they'd said couldn't be played by anyone but him was not only being played by Carrie, of all people, but that his wife was playing her love interest (and was practically throwing herself at Carrie the whole show)! They'd have so much fun torturing him with it, I just know it haha. And omg Carrie would have a whale of a time with Pumping Iron lmao. Plus, her skating skills can finally come in handy for something lol; she'd be throwing in all the tricks.

Alright, so here's where I started grouping people together because I realised I was rambling far too much about the rest lol. As cool of a character as Electra is concept-wise, I don't think I can talk about them in that much depth haha - they're just not one of my favourites! I don't feel like they have that big of an impact on the story tbh; it feels mostly Rusty/Greaseball centred to me, but it's nice to give Greaseball a bit of real competition in the races I guess haha. Their futuristic, diva-ish vibe is really interesting though, and the fact they have their own entourage is pretty iconic too. But with that all being said, I just don't think there's any of our characters that really fit their archetype, even just in terms of who'd be best at playing them - especially males, since that's what Electra has typically been played as (even though they're nonbinary in the new London revival). I thought it might have been fun to get Donny to play them in the spin-off scenario, because I like to think he's a good enough actor to pull off any role haha - and like with Carrie and Greaseball, I think he'd have a lot of fun with doing something totally different to any of his other roles. I don't quite know how it would come about that he'd ever get involved in an amateur production like this, but in my head I thought it would be cute if, besides Carrie's constant begging and pestering about how they don't have enough people to fill out the cast, he's swayed by the fact that his son's in his 'train' phase at the moment - and so he agrees purely for shits and giggles and getting to make his son excited hahaha. Plus, I think he and Carrie would have a lot of fun getting to play rivals for once instead of lovers lol. And I just know they'd really lean into the comedic side of One Rock 'N' Roll Too Many. But besides Donny, I really have no other good picks. I thought if it was maybe the situation where Butchy was playing Greaseball they could do a female Electra and cast Carrie - because she'd do a fabulous job at selling the glitzy, diva vibes and overall over-the-top dramaticness of the character, and a female Electra would be incredible - but like with Pearl, it's just not my favourite pick for her. More out of necessity than anything haha - although it would be perfect to have Butchy and Carrie playing enemies like that lol.

And then the second one on this list is Poppa/Momma McCoy, who's an old steam engine that takes part in one of the races to help encourage Rusty and prove that steam trains aren't outdated after all. The role has been played by both male and female actors, but it tends to lean more female lately. And whilst I'm sure Grandpa George would happily help the kids out with their show, I have much stronger feelings on different female characters taking on the role.

Firstly, how iconic could it be if Nonna Dawn surprised everyone who wasn't helping out with the show by rolling out to sing Momma's (Poppa's) Blues?? Because that's my main pick for the spin-off scenario and I feel like Viv's face would just be a picture lmaoo. She helped out quite a bit with the stuff in the playhouse in Camp Wanamaker too, so she obviously likes theatre, and she just has that kind of fun, mischievous charm about her, so I feel like when Riven and Carrie would approach her with the idea, she'd love it - especially with that added element of surprise for the audience. And the whole mentor/advice-giver role Momma takes on in the show would work perfectly for Dawn; she's like the embodiment of the voice of reason haha.

My second pick, if you wanted to play Momma a little younger, like the London revival has done (with her playing both Control's mum, and Momma), would be Charlie, because she took a big role in helping out at the playhouse in Camp Wanamaker, and obviously cares a lot about theatre. And she has a really close relationship to Carrie and Riven, so I feel like they'd be able to talk her around to taking part eventually. My only thing holding me back is that part of my feels as though she'd want nothing to do with the production because she'd be too scared someone was gonna get hurt since the whole thing's done on rollerskates - her pseudo-motherly instincts couldn't cope with the stress lmaooo. And if it's in the spin-off scenario, where in my head Vivien's organising a rival production (probably of The Outsiders since you're enjoying it so much atm haha), I feel like Vivien would have already snagged her to help with directing on her project.

And my last potential pick for Momma, in an AU version, and one where Royce or Miles was Rusty, would, of course, be Mrs Murphy. I don't know how she would have done with performing, but Momma obviously takes on a motherly role to Rusty, and the freight/fuel trucks too - so Mrs Murphy taking on that role opposite one of her actual sons, and helping to give them the confidence they need to succeed, just makes so much sense to me! Pretty unlikely scenario, but a fun one to consider nonetheless haha.

Ooh ok, more of my faves again haha. Dinah used to be my all-time favourite growing up, so I have lots of opinions about her. But basically, she's another of the 4 coaches (along with Pearl), and her main role in the show is that she's Greaseball's racing partner (and therefore, essentially also their romantic partner). They have a kind of strained relationship most of the show, because Dinah's totally head-over-wheels (😉) for Greaseball, but Greaseball's also being fawned over by pretty much every other coach, and is reluctant to give in to Dinah's affection for fear of showing any weakness to their opponents - so they can be pretty mean sometimes. BUT, they do have a really cute moment when Greaseball loses in the end and goes back to Dinah to apologise, realising that they still love each other without all the glory of being champions.

She's a pretty confident character though, and is good at standing up for herself when she doesn't think something's right - but she's still able to show her softer, more vulnerable side, which makes her a really well-rounded character imo. There are a few good options for who I'd want to play her though, and although I mention later that Carrie would be a good Dinah, I only think she'd really get cast in the role if she it was an externally produced show, since she only ever lands secondary parts haha. I think she'd be a great Dinah, don't get me wrong, but I just think that if all our characters were in the show, there are better choices for her.

My first one, as mentioned earlier, would be Mick. The brunette hairstyle she's been given lately, as opposed to the blonde, works for Mick so well, and with red being her favourite colour, taking the red from the new London costume but applying it to the more traditional gingham style - aaaah, she'd look adorable. Plus, like I said above, having her play this role opposite Butchy just makes so much sense - but, having her play it opposite Carrie (like she would in my spin-off scenario) would be brilliant. I just think they'd have so much fun with it, especially knowing how weird it would make Butchy feel watching them together, and oddly, I feel like it would help their friendship grow even stronger😂 It's just such an iconic pairing, and I really think they'd do it justice. I think she'd make a really strong-willed Dinah, and as unsteady as I think she'd be on roller skates at first, I think that'd make everyone all the more impressed when they saw her racing and dancing around with everyone else haha - Riven and Carrie would work their magic with teaching her.

And with Dinah being typically played as a sort of 'Southern Belle' type, the obvious pick for Dinah, and one that also makes a ton of sense to me, would, of course, be Juliet. And if she wasn't playing Pearl, this is definitely who I'd have her play. I think she'd be able to lean into the more sensitive, emotional side of Dinah, whilst also keeping a bit of the strength that Mick would bring to her - and you just know that if Carrie was her Greaseball they'd be in their element playing lesbain lovers 👀😂 They'd peak here, I feel. This and Maureen and Joanne in Rent - they'd be untouchable.

I didn't even know whether to include CB in this or not since he's been taken out and put back into the show so many times, but I reference him in one of the one-shots so I thought it was best to. Basically, he's a caboose coach that, in the second act, reveals that he's got a little evil streak behind his oh-so innocent appearance, and that he's actually notorious for wrecking the trains he races behind. So, (although I don't think it's ever actually explained why lol) he teams up with Greaseball and Electra to trick Rusty into racing with him, only to try wrecking him in the big final race. Naturally, it doesn't work, but hey, he acts as a zany little extra antagonist, which I'm never going to complain about haha.

Like I mention later on, I think Riven would feel kind of drawn to this role - especially because of the softer side we see with him when he comforts Dinah after Greaseball ditches her (for being too moral for their dirty racing tactics lol). Plus, there's that 'red' motif again that would work with his auburn hair - and I think he'd be able to play that coolly sly, kind of crazily sadistic twist well because of how chill he is normally. That switch would be so jarring! But, perhaps an even more jarring option, I think Bentley could also do this part really well. He'd be the perfect, innocent mask to begin with because he's so little and smiley - but then I think he'd have a lot of fun getting to flip that on its head and be the complete antithesis of his usual ball of sunshine personality to be a little crazy criminal instead. Obviously he's nothing like that normally, but acting-wise, if he felt confident enough with it, I think he could really do it justice! And it'd make an even cooler contrast if one of his brothers was playing Rusty; that betrayal would be even harsher!

Alright, now onto the coaches. Let's try to speed through these because I already know I've wasted far too much of your time lmao. If you're still reading at this point, I'm actually pretty impressed 😂 The coaches have changed a bunch over the years, mostly for things going out of fashion (*cough cough* Ashley the smoking car lol) - but the current ones in the London revival are Belle the sleeping car and Tassita the quiet coach. Since these are smaller, more generic parts, I don't really have as much to say about them. But, for Belle I thought that Jade might be a good pick, because I know she can sing since she's in Riven's band, and idk, maybe she naps a lot? 😂 Either way, even though she's said before that she can't act to save her life, I don't think she'd have to act a great deal in this role - but she can sing and skate, and that's enough to give her the confidence to agree to help out in my book haha. And for Tassita, who's the first coach to ever be played by a male performer, which is pretty cool, I thought August might be a fun pick - you know, because he's such a quiet guy himself lol. Besides that though, I've always thought he'd be a good performer (he was originally going to have a part on Find Your Voice after all), and although, like Jade, I don't think he'd have a great deal of confidence at first - especially in a role that still appears quite feminine when he's not totally secure about his sexuality - but I think they'd be able to tweak both the part and the costume until it was something he'd feel comfortable doing. And once he started working on it, I think it'd be really good at bringing him out of his shell! Plus, I like to think he's got a really good voice hidden behind all that shyness - so this is an excuse to finally bring it out into the open hehe.

Other coaches that could be worked in from other productions are Buffy the buffet car, Duvet the sleeper car (an alternate to Belle), Carrie the luggage car (what a coincidence lol), or, the original Belle the sleeping car, from the original London production way back in the 80s. Belle didn't really do a great deal plot-wise besides help motivate Rusty, and Dinah and the rest of the coaches in the second act when they're ditched by the trains they race with (please, Starlight Express producers, bring back the Rolling Stock reprise; it's iconic lmao) - but if for some reason they wanted to use her in the show, I think Charlie would be a great pick for her. She'd give her all the old-school glamour and girl-power she deserves haha. And I think she'd look iconic in that red costume.

Finally, my last category: the freight/fuel trucks. Well, actually just the fuel trucks. I thought about including the freight trucks too, but tbh, I don't really have any strong opinions on any of them, and this post is already far too long, so I just left them out lol. But, like the coaches, the fuel trucks are just more racing partner options for the trains. Some have bigger parts than others, but their main purpose is providing fuel (shocking, I know ha). They're new to the London revival though, and tbh I like them more than the freight trucks; they feel more central to the plot - even if it did make the song Freight significantly worse lmao.

And speaking of central to the plot, Hydra, the hydrogen fuel truck is the new reason why Rusty wins the final race (because before it didn't really make that much sense tbh lmao); he's now powered by hydrogen steam, which gives him the advantage over his opponents. And throughout the show, despite the other fuel trucks ragging on Hydra for being too new and dangerous in comparison to their more reliable fuel sources, he ignores them and stands by his belief in his fuel. The only pick in my mind for Hydra because of this though is Ethan - and although I have no idea if he'd ever have any remote interest in acting, especially in a musical theatre production, you know he's so loyal to his friends he'd do anything to help them out if they asked. And, I think he'd just think the idea was so weird he'd be down to participate just for the hell of it lol. But Hydra's way of not caring what anyone else thinks of him, and sticking to his own beliefs, is so Ethan to me - plus, they just have that same, chilled, laid back vibe. And, naturally, they both have that kind of green motif 😉🍃 So yeah, for me, Ethan has to be Hydra - and no matter who's playing Rusty, I feel like he'd vibe enough with all of them for him to jump at the chance to help them out like Hydra helps Rusty in the show. And it'd finally give him an excuse to use those roller skating skills I know he's hiding somewhere despite his usually terrible clumsiness ha.

For Porter (the red coal truck) I think Zack could maybe play him? Not completely sold on that idea because I don't think he'd really vibe with musicals, but if August roped him into helping out I think he'd begrudgingly agree - and Porter basically does nothing anyway, so he couldn't really complain lol. And for Lumber (the blue timber truck) I picked Erica - not only because her blue hair would look sick with an all-blue costume like that, but also because the thought of Jade and Erica flirting as their characters during the little bickering section between the coaches and the fuel trucks in the song Freight had me weak at the knees. So if they were both in it, their characters would 100% be in love, no questions asked - I need flirty trucks and coaches hahaha.

So then the final role I'm passionate about is Slick, the oil truck, which is the new London revival's answer to CB, since she not only takes on his main song, but also the whole concept of wanting to race with Rusty to wreck him and help out the competition. This revival also gives her a monetary aim though, which is good for giving her more of a motive, I suppose. I don't really know how trains are supposed to use money, but it's at least a reason, which is more than we had before lmao. I think Abby would be such a good pick for Slick though - I'd want to make her a little more girly, giving her some different hair (like my little reference picture, or maybe something like some fun bubble braids or something - like oil bubbles 👀) and a more feminine costume - but I think having a pretty important role like that would help bring out her confidence with performing a lot, without totally throwing her out of her comfort one with a big main role. I think she'd like the added challenge and fun that the villainous twist Slick has would bring though; it'd give her something a bit different to play with. And with Slick's colour palette mirroring Greaseball's, and her being an oil truck, makes me thing that Abby would really want to lean into making Slick a little Greaseball fangirl, who is constantly looking up to her and wanting to impress her (and hence giving her even more motivation to wreck Rusty and help Greaseball win the race) - which I think would also nicely mirror how much Abby would look up to Carrie (an established actress already) if they were to ever meet. I just think it works really well for her, and I love how the show's leaning more into mixing the genders of the coaches and the freight trucks - even if the costumes are still leaning more feminine and masculine respectively, I think our characters would have more fun tailoring them to each performer's preferences. Because come on, Abby being a pretty girly, but still menacing, little secondary villain would be so cool - she needs to let her rebellious side shine!

Excuse the TMM spacer lol, I'm too lazy to go make a new one lmao. Anyway, if you made it through all that, you really are a true friend haha - because that was soooo much insane rambling. But, I do feel better for dumping it out of my mind and onto a page. Maybe now I can finally stop obsessing over it and get back to writing the stories I should be working on. But hopefully this was a little fun post to switch things up a bit! And hopefully you at least liked it half as much as I enjoyed your Outsiders post haha. If, for some bizarre reason, you actually are interested in the show, then just let me know because I have a slime tutorial (*wink wink*) of the new revival I'd happily send you the link to, because I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. But even if not, like I said, this was just a bit of silly fun to give all these ideas a home. It's not a complex show, and it doesn't have particularly elevated songs or characters, but the orchestrations are clever, the costumes and theatrics are amazing, and it's all done on roller skates - so it'll always have a special, fun spot in my heart hehe. I've linked a video of the megamix at the end of the new London revival for you to get a bit of a vibe of what the show's like without having to watch the whole thing too if you want hehe - at least this way you can see some of the skating and costumes in action! And, as promised, as a reward for sitting through the insanity of this post, here are two little drabbles with our characters as a reward.

The first centres around the song There's Me, and a pairing I think works particularly well for it, that I'm dying to see/write more of - it's also plucked out of that Camp Wanamaker spin-off I wanted to do that I'm not sure will ever materialise. But consider this a sneak peek into what would have gone down lol. And the second is a litle bit of what the chaos the concept of Riven and Vivien putting on rivalling productions would have brought about haha. For context, I think although Riven would have bagged Carrie for his show straight away, Vivien would have furiously retaliated by claiming everyone else in their cabin for hers - hence the competitiveness that ensues. Enjoy! Hopefully they're not too weird to not still be enjoyable anyway 😅😂

The dusty deck creaked as a scuffed, black Converse nudged into her periphery. But her eyes never left the lake - as grey as the thick blanket of clouds overhead, and as bleak as her outlook.

"The laundry house, really?" the voice demanded, pausing to give the girl a chance to explain herself.

She did not.

Sighing, the guest realised this was going to be harder than he expected. After all, he wasn't used to her being this…subdued. "You know, I just think it's a testament to our friendship that I was the only one who knew to look for you here," he offered with a playful smile…that went completely unnoticed. Frowning as the girl continued to ignore his very existence, he let out another sigh, this one as he lowered himself down and took up the space beside her, nudging the sole of her now off-white sneaker with his knee to draw her out of her thoughts. "Come on, Carrie. I'm trying here," he said. But when he leant forwards to try to get a clearer look at her face, and found her cheeks marred with glistening tracks in her foundation, and her puffy eyes speckled with remnants of her mascara, his frustration waned. "You can't hide from them forever," he gently added.

"I want to," Carrie murmured.

"You don't mean that," he tried.

"I do; at least that way I wouldn't be able to fuck things up any more than I already have," she limply insisted.

"You didn't-"

"Don't give me that, Riven; I know I did," Carrie said, cutting him off with an exasperated huff. "I shouldn't have done it, I shouldn't have yelled at them like that. But I was just in such a bad mood after that class, and I was so fed up with everything, so then to come back to all that I just…"

"...Let all those years of bottled up frustration out?" Riven offered.

"Something like that," Carrie mumbled, dropping her gaze to her lap, knowing that if she actually made eye contact with the boy her resolve would start to crumble in an instant.

"Hmm," he began, murmuring his understanding as he took his turn to look out across the lake. "I heard it wasn't pretty."

Although Riven was no longer looking at her, he saw her dark blonde curls trembling out of the corner of his eye as she shook her head.

"I'm so embarrassed," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. A fresh tear plopped onto her thigh as she kept her watery gaze steady, praying she'd be able to get a handle on her waterworks for once. "They hate me for sure now."

"They never hated you, Carrie," Riven promised, turning back to her again as though it would persuade her to believe him.

But Carrie proved to be as stubborn as ever, completely bypassing the comment with a mournful smile she still couldn't bring herself to lift from the floor. "All that time I spent trying to win them over…down the drain, all because I had a shit day and lost my cool."

"I don't know, I'd still say you're pretty cool," Riven tried with a playful lopsided grin, bumping her shoulder until she turned to see it for herself.

When she did finally turn to face him though, it was with that flat, annoyed frown that always just egged him on more. "This isn't a joke," she grumbled, but Riven's little chuckle said otherwise.

"I'm not saying it is," he countered. "I'm just letting you know it's gonna take a hell of a lot more than one dumb argument for me to stop thinking you're cool. Come on, you're Caroline Cole: entertainer extraordinaire-"

"Why are you doing this?" Carrie stopped his playful bolstering in its tracks with a weary sigh.

"Because I want to," Riven said, standing firm in his optimism. "Come on, I hate seeing you like this," he pressed on fitfully, uneasy with her uncharacteristic despondency. She was usually the life and soul of the party in that playhouse, now she had all the energy of a wet paper towel. Hoping to distract her with a little healthy competition, he added, "We should be out there crushing Erica's cabin at volleyball right now."

"Well forgive me, but I'm not really in the mood," Carrie flatly retorted.

"What are you in the mood for?" he challenged, with a primarily jovial tone, but a hint of creeping frustration. "Moping about like a kicked puppy?"

"Yes, actually," she snipped. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news but I can't be the 'smiling showgirl' 24/7…" Her frown twitched into the faintest of wistful smiles as her voice trailed off, carrying her focus back into the turmoil unfolding within her own head. "I'm allowed to have emotions, I'm just not allowed to show them," she went on to explain with a quiet, self-loathing huff. "'Cause that's when things always turn to shit."

All Riven's teasing intent slipped away, seeping into the damp wood beneath them, as it began to dawn on him that there may have been more to her dramatic disappearance than what he'd initially thought. "...This is about more than just you yelling at the boys, isn't it?" he slowly asked, treading carefully, as though to not set off a bomb.

And yet, Carrie dropped one on him anyway.

"I think Miles and I are gonna break up, Riv."

The words hung in the muggy air between them, not daring to be believed.

Stunned, hazel eyes settled on Carrie's profile, unable to tear themselves away until she explained herself. So, she began to talk. Slowly but surely, she unravelled the tangle of thoughts in her head, laying them out before her friend, praying that his sensible, perceptive mind could help her make sense of them. "It's just…not felt right this summer. It's like he's…pulling away, or something," she started, still avoiding eye contact at all costs. At least that way she could keep a handle on her tears, even if her mouth did start to run away from her instead. "And the arguing with Royce never helps, but it's just been getting worse instead of better and I can tell he's getting frustrated with it, but I'm trying and nothing's working and I don't understand why and that's making me frustrated, which makes the bickering worse, I just-" She stopped to snatch a breath, only to blow out all her remaining self-confidence with it. "I feel like I've got no fight left anymore. I can't see it getting better. And when I know Miles would always side with his brothers, and everyone else would side with him if things went south… I don't know, it just kind of stings, I guess; one wrong move and I lose them all. No matter what I do, I'd still be left out on my own."

"Don't lump me in with that."

Startled, Carrie lost her focus and turned to the boy; she'd been so lost in her own thoughts she'd forgotten she wasn't alone anymore. But even when she searched his expression, his comment still made no sense. "What do you mean?"

"Well don't say I'd never speak to you again if things with you and Miles didn't work out," he explained as though it was the simplest thing in the world. "Which they totally will by the way, but that's beside the point," he tacked on as that playful chuckle of his started creeping back into his voice. "Of course I'd still speak to you; you can't get rid of me that easily."

"Really?" Carrie asked, wary despite the hopeful glint in her ocean eyes.

"Yes, really, idiot," he snorted. "I'm not just friends with you 'cause you're dating Miles, you're my drama buddy," he went on to explain with a grin holding nothing but fond sincerity. "You're the only one that keeps me sane in that playhouse, and even then you're so ridiculous I can only take you seriously like 60% of the time. Plus, I did see you naked that one time-"

"I was not- it was just my top."

The frustrated tone shining through in the way she had cut him off, and the way she had hurriedly returned to avoiding his gaze, struck Riven down. "Oh my god, you didn't even laugh at the bikini story. This really is bad," he said - again, half-joking, half-genuinely-concerned. Reaching behind him, his fingers closed around glossy wood as a teasing smile started to tug at his lips. "I didn't want it to have to come to this…"

Hearing fingers start plucking at guitar strings, Carrie's bewildered frown deepened as she turned back to him. "What are you doing?"

"I can't help it, you've left me no choice," he chuckled, cheesily grinning back at her and continuing to lazily pluck out a melody. "I'm not leaving until I've cheered you up - even if that means resorting to music."

"Come on, Riv," Carrie wearily groaned, not nearly as amused by the offer as he'd hoped she would be. "Stop, I'm not in the mood. Can't you just leave me alone?"

The plucking stopped and Riven sat the guitar fully back in his lap, his own brows now starting to furrow. "They really got you this time, huh?"

Carrie sighed as she dropped her gaze to her lap again. "I don't like to show it normally 'cause I know they don't always mean it, they just want to get a rise out of me," she slowly confessed. "But it was…different last night. It's felt different since we arrived."

"I really thought you guys were getting somewhere," Riven softly mused, just as perplexed by the sudden nosedive in amiability as the others in the cabin.

"So did I," Carrie agreed, smiling painfully down at a knot in the wood. A million things she wanted to say swirled in her head, but none of her thoughts were quite able to be fit into words - nothing that could make a coherent sentence anyway. She didn't know whether to get mad, and let the rest of her pent up anger spill across the deck until she'd rid herself of it completely. She didn't know whether to just push it to the back of her mind again, put on a brave face and swan back into camp as though nothing was wrong at all. She didn't know whether to stay hidden, avoiding everyone at the cabin and all her problems at the same time. At least that way she wouldn't have to face them again, or have to try to explain herself and her inexcusable temperament to Miles. God, he was probably so mad at her right now.

More and more thoughts flew through her mind, hitting the walls of her skull like rabid animals until her head pounded and her resolve broke down. Helpless tears started to slip from her eyes as the hopelessness of her position washed over her all over again. She felt a hand on her back that brought her back to her senses in an instant though - having forgotten, yet again, that she wasn't alone out here. She sniffed and hurriedly patted away the tears, trying to salvage what little of her makeup still remained. "Guess I'm not such a heartless bitch after all," she offered, managing a melancholy chuckle at her predicament that, although was an improvement, still did nothing to show Riven that she was feeling more like her usual self.

In fact, he just felt more concerned than ever. Carrie was strong-willed and stubborn, bold and exuberant - not the shying, insecure, tearful shell of a girl before him. He'd already suspected that her confidence had been knocked this summer thanks to the rather personal disruption at the playhouse, but this was worse than he thought. And he couldn't stand by in good conscience and watch her fire be extinguished.

Setting his guitar back into position, he began plucking at the strings again. Carrie shot him another questioning look, with a slightly annoyed huff, but he stuck to his guns and kept playing, offering her nothing but a cheesy, comforting grin in response. "Complain all you want," he chuckled. "But I'm not gonna stop playing."

Although Carrie just rolled her eyes, she did manage a small, resigned laugh as she gave up on the pushback. And soon, to her surprise, lyrics began to accompany his playing - as gentle and reassuring as his own intent.

All alone, you think you're on your own You think there's no one in the world who cares for you That isn't true, there's me May not be, the one you want to see But if you need someone who's kind then look behind And then you'll find, there's me

I'll be near, standing by Never fear, you can cry But in a while, you will smile And I'll be there to see

By yourself you have to cry yourself Nobody else can cry the tears you have to cry But I will try, there's me Until then, when you're okay again You'll look around, find I'm no longer there I'll still be near somewhere You're not alone, there's me There's always me

I'll still be near somewhere You're not alone; there's me There's always me...

The soft, yet cheeky smiles Riven kept shooting the girl as he sang, paired with the meaning behind the words, and the added special meaning to them both, meant that by the time his strumming faded to silence, Carrie was finally grinning back at him.

"You really came all the way out here to serenade me with a musical theatre song from the 80s?" she asked with a teasing chuckle, wiping away the last traces of any tears with the heel of her hand.

"It worked, didn't it?" he teasingly fired back with a satisfied smirk.

"Touché," she giggled, before hitting with a further pointed eyebrow raise. "But Starlight? Really?"

"Again: it worked, didn't it?" he retorted with a snort of laughter she was all too happy to reciprocate.

"You are way too attached to that show," she chuckled, teasingly bumping his arm.

"It's about roller skating trains - how can I not be attached to it?"

"I don't know, ask literally anyone else at camp," Carrie snorted back, referring to the many attempts the pair had made to try to get even just one of their friends to give the show a chance.

Knowing exactly what the blonde was talking about, Riven just shot her a grin. "They'll come around eventually, trust me."

Giving an equally confident, yet slightly more playful grin back, Carrie conceded with another giggle before continuing. "And when they do, I think you've proven you'd make an excellent CB."

Riven pressed a hand to his chest. "I think that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," he said with a comically dramatic earnestness that just had Carrie rolling her eyes again.

"Shut up, I compliment you all the time," she retorted, and her smile only broadened when Riven showed no signs of pushing back. "I'm serious though; if you ever manage to convince Nonna you don't need to be sectioned for suggesting we stage the show, I think you'd be great."

Biting back a laugh, Riven instead decided to lead with sincerity. "Only if you'd be my Dinah," he bargained with a fond, yet knowing grin she, again, gladly shared. But it wasn't long before he started rambling again. "But I'd sacrifice that if it meant you could be Pearl…"

With an affectionate shake of her head, Carrie playfully sighed, "I never play the lead - I can't break my streak now, you know that."

Taking his turn to roll his eyes, he retorted with. "Pearl is not the lead; the whole show's about Rusty."

"Ok well maybe you can play Rusty then, Mr Know-It-All," Carrie teasingly fired back as the pair fell back into their typical, theatre-based ramblings - idly chattering away without a care in the world as the wind pulled the clouds across the sky.

It wasn't until Carrie saw the sunlight skittering across the lake, and heard the distant chatter of counsellors start up again, that she realised her head had finally stopped pounding, and her chest no longer felt as though someone had carved a giant hole into it. Astonished, but grateful nonetheless, Carrie turned back to Riven with a smile. "Thanks for coming to find me, Riv."

Grinning contentedly back, he replied, "Well, I don't like thinking of you being sad. You're like my fun, crazy, big sister - I can't have you moping around like a sadsack."

"You really think of me like a sister?"

"Of course. We don't always understand each other, and I tease the shit out of you at every opportunity I get, but that doesn't mean I don't care about you. You always make me laugh, you're insanely talented, you give the best advice, but you're honest when you need to be - you're everything I'd want in a big sister. Plus, like I said, you're my drama buddy. The shit we put up with from those campers has bonded us for life, whether you like it or not."

Unable to hold back her laughter any longer, it spilled out from her grateful smile as she reached out and wrapped him in a big hug, nestling her face into the well-worn cotton of his hoodie.

"And you give great hugs," he playfully added, mumbling through her mane of frizzy, golden curls.

"Thanks, Riv," she murmured between giggles, letting herself melt into the comforting reassurance of his embrace.

"Any time, Care Bear."

Sitting back, scouring his half-finished painting with an acutely analytical gaze, Bentley didn't even hear the door to the art barn open, let alone the footsteps that followed. He squinted his eyes, tilted his head from side to side, screwed up his mouth in concentration… And then his vision went dark.

Blinking, eyelashes brushed against an old t-shirt masquerading as a blindfold. But before he could try to question the ambush, a quiet voice broke through his haze of confusion.

"Alright, listen to what I say, or this is not gonna be pretty."

A chuckle couldn't help but slip from Bentley's lips, immediately relaxing as he recognised the voice. "Is that your attempt at sounding threatening?"

"I was actually trying to be reassuring," August countered with a bashful chuckle of his own.

"Oh, well then consider me reassured," Bentley laughed, still idly toying with his paintbrush. "As reassured as anyone can be when they're randomly blindfolded on a Wednesday afternoon. What are you doing anyway?"

"I need to take you somewhere, so put the brush down and get up - but don't go too fast; I've gotta make sure you don't bump into anything," August ordered, tying the old t-shirt in place before clumsily helping the blonde stand, taking him by the shoulders and leading him towards the door.

"Where the hell are we going?" Bentley asked, after they had navigated the stairs in a (somewhat) successful manner - consisting of only one giggling fit, and one almost-total-collapse - as he felt them move from the wooden deck to the uneven grass.

"I'm not allowed to tell you, but it's nothing bad, trust me."

"Who's forcing you to kidnap me and parade me across camp like a prisoner?"

"You'll find out in a minute," August chuckled, steering him around a tree stump. "But just know that it's nothing bad."

"Well I'd hope not - I'd hate to think you'd willingly be involved in leading me to my demise," Bentley snorted, before continuing with his idle rambling. "Who's roped you into taking me captive anyway?"

"I don't know if I can say; they didn't give me much briefing, and I don't think they expected you to be this…chatty."

Bentley laughed. "Well then they should have sent a more intimidating kidnapper."

"They didn't want to scare you, they just needed you away from Vivien," August admitted, immediately falling silent for a few steps. "...I don't know if I was supposed to say that."

"Ohhh, ok then, so I'm being taken hostage by the competition?" Bentley chuckled through a smirk as he began to piece the puzzle together.

"...Maybe," August confirmed as he rounded the blonde and started to lead him up a new set of steps from the front to make sure he didn't lose his footing. "But if they ask then you figured it out on your own - you didn't hear it from me."

"Well it's not like I had many options; it was either that or some weird camp event I didn't pay attention to the announcement for," Bentley laughed to himself as he blindly stuck his foot out, almost completely missing the step until August repositioned him. "What do they need me for? Information about how our rehearsals are going? And how are you in cahoots with them anyway? Are you abandoning our show for theirs?"

"What? No, just… Hang on, gimme a second," August fumbled through his excuses, fighting to nudge the door open with his foot before carefully pulling his friend inside. "Alright, we're here. Just sit down and listen to what they've got to say, they'll explain everything," he continued, keeping his voice down as he offered the boy further reassurances he was sure he wasn't supposed to.

Once Bentley was situated on what felt like a metal fold-out chair, August gave his shoulder one last reassuring squeeze before untying the old t-shirt and lifting it away from his eyes. Oddly though, even with the blindfold removed, Bentley could hardly see a thing; whatever cabin they were in had black-out cloths draped across the windows, leaving the room in complete darkness. Well, at least that explained why it had taken August so long to navigate him across the room.

"Uhh… Hello?" Bentley tried, calling out into what felt like a completely empty room if the thick silence he was met with was anything to go by.

But before he could question his situation any further, a light sprang to life beside him, so bright he had to jerk his head back to save himself from temporary blindness.

Wincing, he tried to take in his now significantly more illuminated surroundings, only to find that he was sitting at a scuffed, fold-out table, occupying the very lamp that seemed to give off more light than the sun itself. Other than that, the rest of the room was swimming in darkness, creating a rather effective interrogation set-up, which he suspected the masterminds behind his kidnapping had hoped for.

And speaking of these masterminds, just as the afterimages were finally starting to fade from his vision, a figure rolled out of the darkness and up to the table. Yes, quite literally rolled.

They set their hands on the tabletop in front of him and presented the boy with a smug smile. "Hello, Bentley."

"What are you doing?" Bentley asked, snorting out a laugh at the surreal nature of the entire situation.

"We have a…preposition for you," Riven slowly explained, his smug smile only broadening.

"We?" Bentley questioned. "There are more weirdos than you tied up in this thing?"

Suddenly the lamp head was wrenched back, sending the beam of light directly at his face, once again making him jerk his head back. "And just who do you think you're calling a weirdo?"

Eyes watering from the visual assault, Bentley squinted through the brightness until he found a tanned hand clamped around the lamphead. Following it up, he found an all-too-familiar, shadowed face, framed by a mane of unruly golden curls. "Not you?" Bentley offered with a lopsided smile.

Thankfully, the gesture was enough to appease Carrie, who tilted the lamphead back into position - but not before she shot the boy a satisfied smirk in response.

"You got any other questions? Or can we get down to business?" Riven asked.

"Uh, yeah: what's with the kidnapping?" Bentley fired back, sporting an amused smirk of his own. "You so worried you'll lose the bet you're turning to torturing the competition?"

"What? No! We just needed you away from the boss," Riven laughed, his comically threatening act disappearing in seconds as he referenced his pint-sized figure skating partner. "Like I said, we've got a preposition for you."

"Couldn't you have just asked me in the dining hall? Or in my room or something?" Bentley went on to ask, still having to squint from the light.

"Well yeah, but where's the fun in that?" came Riven's snorted reply, to which Carrie just grinned and nodded in agreement.

Bentley shook his head at the pair, evidently equally matched in their passion for dramatising the most menial things. "This is so dumb," he breathed, fighting back a smile at the ridiculousness of their whole set-up. "What do you want then? What's this preposition thing?"

Carrie and Riven exchanged a glance, giving each other a confirmatory nod before turning back to the blonde. "…We need your help."

"With what?"

"With the show," Riven clarified.

"The show? Your show?" Bentley spluttered, eyes darting between the pair, looking for any evidence of jesting, yet finding nothing. "I don't understand," he slowly continued. "Why do you want my help? I've got no idea what I'm doing with all this theatre stuff. I'm out of my depth with Viv's show as it is. Plus, I already agreed to be in her's - I can't help out the competition."

"Why not? I am."

Bentley's ears pricked up as a new voice entered the conversation, and to his amazement, when he turned to follow it, he saw a grinning brunette emerging from the darkness on Carrie's right.

"Mick?! You jumped ship?" Bentley asked, gawping at the grinning girl as though she'd just grown a second nose. "Does Viv know?"

"No, I didn't jump ship," Mick chuckled as she perched on the edge of the fold-out table. "I'm helping out with both."

"What? Why?"

"'Cause I wanted to," she snorted simply. "It's not like there's rules against it. This whole thing's just for fun anyway."

"Yeah, it's not actually a competition - we just both wanted to put on different shows," Riven added.

"Well could you let Viv know that? She's treating this like we're at war - we've all been sworn to secrecy," Bentley said, chuckling at his friend's competitive spirit.

"Oh we know, we already tried to get Mick to squeal but she wouldn't budge," Carrie said, sharing a knowingly playful glance with the brunette.

"And luckily, they had a cool job for me besides just being their spy," Mick cheekily added. "Or else all the effort it took to brainwash me would have been for nothing."

"Which is…?" Bentley tried.

"I'm building the stage," Mick revealed with a proud grin.

Bentley's eyes went wide. "You guys need to build your own stage?"

Riven and Carrie shared another knowing smirk. "If we want the show to be as awesome as it deserves to be then yeah, it needs a custom stage," Riven confirmed.

"And since Butchy and Miles refused to even hear us out, Mickie stepped up to the plate to handle it all on her own," Carrie added, looping her arm through the brunette's with a fond grin. "And she's doing a way better job than either of those two bozos would have done anyway."

"Well, I don't know about that…" Mick said with a roguish chuckle. "But I am doing a pretty damn good job."

"Does this mean you're helping with both shows too?" Bentley then asked, turning behind him to look for the friend who'd brought him here, who could do nothing but offer him a sheepish smile.

"...Yeah," August slowly admitted, before adding a quieter: "You know I'm terrible at saying 'no' to things."

"So your solution is just doing twice the work?" Bentley asked incredulously, the information just serving more of a purpose to fuel his growing need to help August grow a backbone.

"Well they're not big parts-" he tried to reason.

"You're actually in both of them?" Bentley demanded, his eyes practically popping out of his head when he saw the knee and elbow pads the boy was sporting. "But you don't know how to roller skate."

"They're teaching me," August chuckled, shooting Carrie and Riven a grateful smile. And when Bentley's disbelieving gaze found theirs, they just offered him smug grins and little waves, showing off their own elbow pads as they did so.

Bentley's shock jumped to a whole new level when he spotted Mick's elbow pads though. "You're in it too, Mickie?!"

"Well I didn't like how quickly Butchy dismissed them when they asked him to take part," Mick began, smirking at the very thought. "So I thought I'd teach him a lesson about not judging things at face level."

"Well, we should have known not to expect his neanderthal brain to be able to comprehend such complex concepts as 'having fun'," Carrie retorted with a cheeky dig Mick luckily started to laugh at.

"I've gotta admit, it did sound really corny at first. But once you get past the fact it's all about trains, the show is pretty fun," Mick confessed.

"Duh, of course it's fun, we're directing it," Carrie added, gesturing to the auburn-haired giant behind her, who just laughed in his approval.

"The whole show's done on roller skates - I still don't understand how anyone could know that and not automatically think it's awesome," Riven said between his chuckles.

But at that revelation, Bentley's eyes started to grow wide again. "Hold on, you're not expecting me to have a part in your show too, are you?" he asked, horrified at the very idea. "I barely have a handle on what I'm doing in Viv's already, and that's just one show. Plus, I can't even roller skate so-"

"No, we don't need you to be in it," Riven cut in with a chuckle before the blonde's anxious ramblings could make him run out of breath.

"Unless you want to be in it, then we'd totally find you a part," Carrie tagged on with an encouraging grin.

"And teach you how to skate," Riven added with a mischievous smirk. "If we can teach Mick, we can teach anyone."

And although Mick's playful whack of Riven's arm did help him relax a touch, Bentley's stance on their offer was still firm: "No thanks, I'm good." But his curiosity was still running rampant as the others giggled at his reaction. "Well if you don't need me to have a part in the show, then what did you need my help for?"

"We wanted to see if you'd be willing to help us with designing and making the costumes," Riven explained.

Bentley thought he had to have misheard him. "The costumes?"

"Yeah," Riven chuckled at the boy's expression. "What's that face for?"

"I don't know the first thing about making costumes - I've never worked with fabric in my life."

Riven and Carrie exchanged another glance. "That's kind of why we need your help," Carrie started.

But when Bentley just looked more confused than ever, Riven went on to explain. "None of the stuff in the playhouse storage bins will work because, well, they're just regular people clothes, so we need to design our own stuff. Juliet's already said she can help construct any actual clothing garments we need, but our main problem is how to actually use the outfits to make us look like trains."

Bentley's thoughts came to a screeching halt. "Wait…you guys are the trains?"

"Yeah."

"You're acting as trains? Singing trains?" They had to be pranking him, right?

"Uh, yeah," Carrie said, sharing another quick glance with Riven.

"What did you think the show was about?" he snorted.

"I don't know, I thought you were just like people working on a railroad or something," Bentley retorted with an incredulous splutter.

"Well we're not, we're the trains," Riven chuckled.

"Yeah, why else would we need to do the whole thing on wheels?" Mick added with a playful wiggle of her skate-clad foot.

"So what? You want me to…make you look like trains?" Bentley warily asked. "Like with big chimneys coming out of your heads and stuff?"

Fondly rolling her eyes at Bentley's poor attempts at stifling his laughter, Carrie stepped in to try to explain the proposal a little more clearly. "No - we just need to capture the vibe of trains - you don't need to shove us all in cardboard box models. We can show you the costumes of the official productions so you can get an idea of the sort of things we're looking for, but we don't have a huge budget, so we're gonna have to get creative - hence why we came to you," she finished with a proud grin.

"All we want you to do is draw up some concepts that make us look enough like a train to sell the illusion to the audience. And as long as they're moveable enough for us to skate in, and can be constructed from stuff we've got access to, the rest of the design can be totally down to you," Riven added.

"So basically you've got free reign to make us look as ridiculous as you want," Mick tacked on with a chuckle.

"But try to be a little nice with it," August gently offered from behind, which just set Bentley off to laugh more.

He did have to admit that the offer sounded quite tempting. After all, he'd never worked on anything like costume designs before - and from the sounds of things, this concept would let him get pretty creative with it; these weren't just average costumes - in fact, they were probably more sculpture than costume anyway. But there was something still holding him back. "I don't know, guys. I don't know if I've got the brain space to work on two shows at once-"

"Oh please, Bentley - come on," Riven pleaded. "We'll look like complete morons out there if we don't have good costumes."

"We will," Mick earnestly confirmed. "Trust me, It's not pretty."

"Well if I'm on Vivien's side then don't I want you guys to look like complete morons?" he asked with a mischievous giggle.

"Maybe, but where's the fun in a landslide victory?" Riven countered with a smirk.

"Come on, Benny, please," came Carrie's attempt at begging. "I'll sit with you and help you learn all your lines whilst you work on the costumes."

Bentley's ears pricked up. "...Really?"

"Mhm," she confirmed with a kind nod. "And I can give you all my tips for breaking down the script into easier parts to manage; I know they can seem really daunting when you try to go through them all at once."

Now that sounded like an offer he could get behind. He'd already been toying with the idea of asking Carrie for help with the seemingly impossible task of learning his lines, but had chickened out every time. There were just so many - it was like they all blurred into one every time he'd even open a page. And he hated the thought of letting Vivien down because he couldn't get his brain to work how he wanted it to, so if Carrie could actually help him get through a scene without having to look at his script the entire time… Maybe it'd be worth giving up a few pages of his sketchbook to designing train-transformer-wannabes.

But he couldn't let them think he was that easy of a target… "I don't know guys, it just doesn't feel right going behind Viv's back like this-"

"Oh come on, Benny, please," Carrie tried again, with a touch more dramatic desperation.

"I'll do your dish duty for the rest of summer," Riven attempted to bribe.

But that just spurred on Bentley's reluctance even more. After all, he was rather curious about what else he could squeeze out of the pair to help sweeten the deal. "...I'm listening."

"You can have the rest of my pudding cups with dinner each night?" Riven offered. "And you don't have to go behind Viv's back," he added. "Don't go and tell her outright, but if she asks you about it then you're totally free to tell her. And if she's not happy about it, you can back out any time you want."

"Well, okay, but I still don't know if I'll have the time to-"

"If you say 'yes' we'll get you that rare Spiderman comic you want," Riven threw out in a moment of sheer desperation.

Bentley's heart skipped a beat. Damn, they really did want his help.. "...Seriously?" he breathed, eyes widening at the very prospect.

"Sure, Carrie'll cover it - won't you, Carrie?" Riven confirmed with a smirk as he gave the blonde's shoulder a squeeze.

Shooting him a sharp glance, she hissed a tight: "I will?"

"Of course you will," Riven verified, his mischievous smirk only broadening as Carrie's mildly murderous glare was replaced with Bentley's whole-hearted satisfaction.

"Alright, done. Pass me a pen and some paper," he said, sealing the deal with a barked laugh and a cheesy grin before either one of them could back down on their offers again.

"Welcome aboard, Bentley," Riven replied, shooting him a victorious smile as he reached across the table and shook the boy's hand.

But just as Riven and the others were starting to unload all their ideas for potential costume concepts onto Bentley, with what he found to be startling levels of enthusiasm, the room's main lights flickered to life, illuminating a seething head of green hair in the doorway. Before Bentley could question the girl's sudden appearance, or could let his eyes adjust to the drastic shift in brightness though, she called out to her band partner with thunderous urgency.

"Riv, you've got a hell of a lot of explaining to do; I just looked up this 'Belle' character you want me to play - care to tell me why she's described as 'ancient' and 'peeling'?" an outraged Jade demanded. "Or why you thought I'd be so perfect to play her?"

Rolling his eyes and just laughing off the girl's anger, Riven quickly tried to appease her with a teasing: "That's not the version of her we're using, dummy. And don't you dare try to tell me you're not perfect for her - you nap all the fucking time."

As Riven and Jade broke off into their own friendly spat, and Mick and Carrie started up their own conversation about what Mick had been practising last on her skates, Bentley found himself turning to August - this time taking his turn to wear the awkwardly sheepish smile. "Why do I get the feeling I've signed up for way more than I can handle?"

"Oh come on, don't worry, it'll be fun," August reassured before offering a joke to further set him at ease. "And hey, at least you're getting a backstage job and a comic book out of it - all I'm gonna get is on-stage embarrassment and massive quads."

The guffaws spilled from Bentley's lips before he could stop them - and after glancing around to watch Carrie clumsily catching Mick (who looked as if she'd just stepped on a banana peel in an old cartoon) before she could fall, and Riven playfully bickering with Jade in the doorway, he started to think that working with them on this project might not be so bad after all. Plus, a whole costume concept all to himself? He could definitely have some fun with that…

#again - i can only apologise for the sheer insanity that is this post #but hopefully it was at least a bit of fun to read through!#it was certainly a lot of fun for me to put together - that's for sure haha #and i hope you liked the little collages i put together too; i thought some visuals would help to sell the concept a bit more #anyway - i've rambled waaaaay too much for one night - and one post #i'll love you and leave you - at last #hope you're having/have had fun at camp!#sorry i couldn't be pestering you with a more exciting post lmao #hopefully the little drabbles made up for it though!#they're about 9 pages long each - which is probably longer than what drabbles are supposed to be #but i'm still quite impressed with myself for managing to keep them that short tbh - that's quite a feat for me hahaha

27 notes · View notes

valc0 · 7 months ago

Text

Hannibal rewatch and Baldur's Gate 3 ramblings

I recently re-watched the first season of Hannibal after almost 8 years and since I’m now deep into another fandom (BG3) I analyzed some of the themes of the show and how parts of it could tie in with the story of the game, particularly when it comes to the Dark Urge.

I’m also doing a review because why the hell not. I divided the text into sections for convenience, so if you want to read only the review or are exclusively interested in my speculating ramblings on BG3 you can easily do that.

It’s a long one so let’s start.

REVIEW

THIS REVIEW IS NOT SPOILER FREE AND WILL GO INTO GREAT DETAILS ABOUT THE TWISTS AND PLOT POINTS OF THE SHOW.

If you didn’t watch it and you like thriller/crime/horror please do yourself a favor and watch this show now!

I’ll start by saying season one, to me, is almost perfection. It’s 13 very well crafted and acted episodes and almost none feel like filler (almost but we’ll get to it). The crime of the week structure is integrated with the horizontal themes of the season seamlessly and the story avoids exploring too many parallel plots, making the theming very cohesive.

I remember watching this show for the first time and finishing season 1 in about 2 to 3 days, but I’d never think the same would’ve happened a second time. The first 5 episodes had me in a clutch from the start. Every character is fleshed out and extremely well written, the acting is impeccable, the writing is phenomenal and the visual, even when getting symbolic, never seem gratuitous or nonsensical in their use of analogies and dream-like visions.

The photography is also phenomenal, with great use of contrast that makes the image and scene clear even though it's set in the dark or at night.

If I had to rate the season I think I’d definitely give it a 9/10, and the 9 is only because of two small things that I figured I’d get out of the way first:

(I must remember whoever is reading this that these are my opinions, they don’t mean to offend anyone else differing opinion. You’ll see what I mean in a second.)

Alana Bloom x Will Graham is forced, comes out of nowhere, and makes Will act out of character most of the times.

I’m not getting into ship-fighting, this is not about shipping, I like Hannigram but I have no dog in this fight so this is totally not about it. Episode 8 is great, it has one of the best kills in the whole season and Will deteriorating stability makes for great lines and visuals, other than a lot of tension since he can no longer be predictable and ends up disrupting Hannibal plans.

And though I could attribute the way he acts towards Alana as something he does because of this deteriorating mental state, it doesn’t really feel like it. He seems very present during those scenes and acts weirdly romantic for the reclusive stray-collector, whose primary hobby is fishing and who’s been plagued by visions of death in the past episodes.

I would have rather see them to grow more of a non-romantric connection that may or may not have become romantic in later seasons. It all seems a bit rushed imo.

I also know they are setting up the Alana x Will x Hannibal. Which I’ll be honest I don’t remember liking the first time I watched it...but we’ll see.

2. Episodes 9 and 11 slow the show and kind of drag the pace.

Episodes 9. The totem of bodies is a very striking and memorable visual, but the crime in itself is very bland and the killer only gets a 5 minute scene towards the end which is anticlimactic and kinda too much tell with too little show. It’s honestly a shame because the murders in the previous episodes were very well crafted and paced. This one, not so much. I understand the need to connect the themes of “legacy” and “family” with Abigail’s actions but I feel like there could have been better ways to do that in previous episodes.

Episodes 11. I loved the whole Chesapeake Ripper fake-out, but I’ll be honest I don’t think I needed a whole other episode of Abel Gideon’s story. Didn’t really care for the plot of this and the pace was a little too slow. Good things about this episode are the ending with Hannibal at his most manipulative, and the fact that it starts Chilton’s comedic chain of misfortunes– which cracked me up the first time I watched the show because come on!! this guy is awful and can’t catch a break, you love to see it.

Now that the “bad” is out of the way let’s talk about the good, which is honestly everything else.

Episode 1

Banger of a pilot. Everything for the rest of the show is set up in only 42 minutes if you can believe that. Characters are fleshed out, themes are placed, conflicts are started. By the end of the episode all you want is MORE. I have very little else to say other than the pacing of this one should honestly be studied, a lot of modern series would need the lesson imo.

Episode 2

Interesting case with a lot of great scenes that reinforce the characters and their relationships. You get a first glance at how campy? the show can be, which is honestly something I love, I’m kinda tired of the “realistic to the point of boredom” trend I’ve been seeing lately. Freddie Lounds is properly introduced as the disrupting force she is and we get a jumpscare that made me curse. Sorry, did I forget to mention I’m watching Hannibal and I cannot stand horror? Lmao

Episode 3

LOVE this episode, the way this show makes you feel powerless as you watch the events unfold knowing full well what is happening and who is responsible...amazing! I love Abigail’s character and the very innocent and pristine way she is portrayed when you know later on the truth will come out is chilling.

Episode 4

I remember how grim I found this episode the first time and the feeling returned the second time around. Hated the killer with every fiber of my being and the fact that she kinda looks like Catherine Tate made me die a little. Also the scene of Hannibal making himself a family through gaslighting and creative use of drugs and lies was amazing.

Episode 5

I loved this crime and the way the episode paces the killings. The angel symbology was great, I’m a sucker for catholic and religious themes tied into vicious crimes. The series also introduces Bella, Jack’s wife, which I’ll be honest I don’t remember having a good ending...I don't remember exactly how, but I know I will cry.

Episode 6

Favorite episode by far, the tension in the flashback scene is palpable and when you see Miriam looking at the sketch with the silhouette of Hannibal pacing towards her in the background AAAHGGG- RUN Miriam OMG! This is the episode where you realize how absolutely scary Hannibal’s physicality can be. Mads Mikkelsen is 1,83 (5ft 11) but he feels like a giant in those scenes, like you can do shit about it.

Episode 7

The episode’s case is a botched transplant one and it’s just okay, nothing too spectacular, but the way this series makes me hungry should be concerning, since I just watched Hannibal kill and butcher people who slightly wronged him to make a feast out of them. I’m sorry, whoever is directing the shooting of the food is doing a good job, okay?

Episode 8

My second favorite episode yay! I love this kill because it’s so over the top. Also the visual of a person played like a cello is haunting just as much as the sound they decided to give it. “He had to open you up to get a decent sound out of you.” okay Will go off?!?! A bit sad they took this murder from Hannibal since I believe it was his in the books, but the end fight was worth it (though when Tobias started swinging his impromptu cello string weapon I did cackle because omfg calm down)

Episode 9

See section above

Episode 10

I shat myself watching this episode with all the horror vibes I’m dying please, I’m watching this through my fingers like a baby. I did love this episode though, and the final twist of Hannibal going to such lengths to be sure he leaves NO ONE behind is terrifying. Dr. Sutcliffe even agreed with him and didn’t show signs of wanting to betray or rat him out, and yet in the big scheme Hannibal still found it better to kill him. Scary stuff.

Episode 11

See section above

Episode 12-13

Putting these together because they are the finale and are closely linked to each other. There is no real “crime of the week”, though Georgia Madchen dies at the start of episode 12 and Abigail...dies at the start of episode 13. Will continuously declining psyche is very well portrayed, you really feel powerless with him as his brain keeps betraying him over and over at the worse possible times. Also Hannibal fake-empathy is so uncomfortable to me...knowing the lengths he’d go to manipulate the situation after seeing all the “behind the scenes” is chilling. All in all it’s a good finale though it really doesn’t feel like one. By the end Will managed to see Hannibal’s true colors, but I don’t think he’ll fully understand what he’s fighting against until he actually sees Hannibal in action, so it does feel inconclusive in a way. We do get Hannibal funny naked fursona is all its glory though so, big happy for me!

Now let’s get in my current fixation and tie in some of the themes of Hannibal with Baldur’s Gate 3. YAY!

BALDUR’S GATE 3 – Dark Urges, Bad Dreams and Worse Influences

Let’s get something out of the way first.

The Dark Urge is a very flexible and versatile character which is mostly – if not completely– shaped by the player. We get to decide if they refuse the Urge, with the bittersweet realization they still took all those lives and will have to deal with that guilt. OR we could make them machines of slaughter and death, embracing their father’s plan for them to be the killer they were made to become.

There are other variations of this and from what I’ve seen many Durges have very different characteristics depending on how the player interpreted and played the game.

This to say, all of the following dissertations on BG3 and the themes of Hannibal are my personal view of MY Durge or the way I see the character in general, which is extremely personal and could crash with someone else’s interpretation or headcanon. Keep that in mind while reading, if you see me using absolutes or if I forget an “imo” at the end of a sentence, remember this is ALL In my opinion, none of this is to be considered as a general and all-encompassing statement for every Durge out there.

That said, you’ll be surprised to know in my interpretation the Dark Urge isn’t Hannibal, what’s funny is that the Dark Urge isn’t Will either.

Durge is both characters at the same time, and depending where they are in their journey, this may change.

In the case of Will, towards the end of the series you get a more “start of the game” Durge. The memory loss, the confusing thoughts, the haunting dreams and then this weird hellish creature (Sceleritas Fel) guiding them. By this point Durge is still a victim of their circumstances, they can’t really grasp who or what they are and their mind is in complete shambles.

I can see a Resist!Durge in this scenario, someone completely horrified by their actions starting to question who they are, what they did, and if they can ever change. This point in the game isn’t spelled out as much, the narrator often refers to it but the real extent of psychological damage a Resist!Durge must face is left completely to the player’s interpretation, that’s why I think Will is such a great starting point to understand and visualize the character of Durge from a distant POV.

With Hannibal you get a more pre-tadpole pre-Orin-meddling Durge. Someone who knows what they’re doing and how to get what they want. I personally never saw my own Durge as this calculating, something in the feral way the Urge gets to the character in game made Hannibal a tad too composed to fully be an inspiration for Durge, but I’ve also seen other people Durges as cool and collected killers, and the comparison in that case works really well.

Another interesting characteristic of Hannibal we can see in Durge is the twisted way he thinks in relation to others. Hannibal calls himself Will’s friend, and I believe he’s genuine in his affection since the way he helps Will is in done in earnest.

This helping though, it’s monstrous in all sense. Hannibal lies, literally gaslights Will, meddles with his head and denies him medical help. He manipulates him into killing, only to watch what unfolds simply because he needs someone who understands him. By dragging Will deeper into his world and making him a killer, Hannibal cultivates what he perceives as Will’s true nature and potential, making the man a suitable friend for himself.

It speaks to Hannibal narcissism that he would consider helping someone as making them more like him. But then again that’s also why Hannibal is so drawn towards Will, because he thinks differently and he IS different from him. He doesn’t have the same amount of interest or even respect for someone like Tobias, who’s probably the most Hannibal-like killer we get to see in season 1.

He needs the challenge, he needs to feel in control. And ultimately, though not in an usual sense, Hannibal needs a friend. He is lonely.

This works a lot for Durge in the sense that they may or may not corrupt people around them. As a player we get the choice and power to influence how companions act and react, and this kind of duality of “I like them, I want to help them” and “I want to make them like me” is a good motivation to give a Durge who may, for example, ascent Astarion, or turn Shadowheart more towards Shar, or give Gale a power complex (more so than he already has) ect.

BONUS! And then came Durgetash

In episode 1 Hannibal visits Will and brings him breakfast. While they chat in a honestly beautifully lit scene, this exchange happens.

Hannibal: You know, Will, I think Uncle Jack sees you as a fragile little teacup. The finest china, used only for special guests. Will: How do you see me? Hannibal: The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.

Did I mention I love Durgetash? Did I mention I go completely feral over unhealthy dynamics and specifically this kind of dynamic?

“The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.” is an amazing line for Gortash because I do believe the reason he wanted Durge to side with him was that Durge was extremely good at being undetected, and even more so skilled at killing the right target at the right time.

I love the idea of Gortash using Durge as a shield/weapon, and Durge using Gortash to economically sustain and socially shield Bhaal’s cult. I love to think their relationship was born because they were useful to each other and that in this completely selfish ecosystem they somehow found company.

Because I’m sure Durge pushed back. I’m sure they realized they were being used and didn’t like it one bit, and Gortash kept Durge around even though they may pose a threat, for the same reason Hannibal keeps running circles around Will. Gortash needs a challenge. Being head of Bane’s cult means that other than his God, no one else is above him, and I think a man who’s been fighting his whole life to gain control would feel a bit lost when this control is automatically given to him without a fight.

In the same way I think Durge would yearn for something more, something different than what they’re stuck with, which is a dying cult forced to hide beneath the city, and a jealous and over-zealous sister who I’m sure tries to kill them once a week. I think they would get pulled in by the promises Gortash would make. To rule together, above ground, for once not having to hide, getting back the power Durge feels like belongs to them.

The similarities I found between these characters are way more than these but I think I’ll have to make a part 2 of this once I’m done re-watching season 2. I’m aware the series has been out for a while and I’m sure people already made way more interesting and in-depth analysis. I still hope you liked my little morning ramble that turned in a full on essay on the subject.

Thank you for reading!

#bg3 #hannibal #the dark urge #baldur's gate 3 #nbc hannibal #durgetash #hannigram #i love murderous idiots what do you want from me

49 notes · View notes