#also really random and small detail but one of the constellations on the pants is supposed to be a bow n arrow cuz my sign is Sagittarius | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boxwinebaddie · 6 months

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What are some of your most random weirdest Stan headcanons?? Like just small details and itslike "wtf why do you deem these necessary as character details" because I LOVE those like YES tell me all the small things I want to hear about that one time they laughed so hard they fell and knocked their head on the wall and now refuse to Stand by corners anymore for fear of doing it again

And also your personal favourite details/headcanons for each Stan !!

- Stan who loves all the details 🧡

oh my god yay!!!!! hi orange heart stan!~

i love these kinds of questions because as we know from reading my insanely long fanfictions that never seem to end: i LOVE detail.

i will drop you some headstannons under yonder read more! i might have to reblog this later because there are headcannons i cannot include because they will spoil both my fanfics, but after they progress enough, i will add them!

( also i apologize for all the weird links to my pinterest boards that arent done yet but i hope they thrill u haha! but here we go! <3 )

-ok i am not even sure that toolstan counts as a ninaverse stan ( i do be thinking about that superhero au a lot though ) but its important to me that u know he uses the YELLOW STANLEY DRILL!!!!!! like specifically that one!!!!! which is so fucking funny bc people are like i wonder who toolshed is when he is HOLDING THE STANLEY DRILL

-my favorite pep!stan thing is his fruity charm bracelet nose ring i fucking love him oh my god!!! hes so cute to me! pep!stan has a lot of star imagery to me for some reason???

- like i feel like he has lots of star knuckle tattoos later, some on his shoulders ( is it bc he calls kyles freckles constellations all the time?? maybe! ), sharon also grew up calling stan her lil starboy, stanshine, her little super star etc. it also coincides with mitskis "your best american girl" and "well i'm not the moon, i'm not even a star" LIKE YES U ARE BITCH! he also wishes on every single shooting star its really serious to him he also wishes for kyle to b healthy :(

-also i do think older stan has a big moon tattoo he loves the moon

-speaking of stars and the fruity nose ring charm bracelet tho, theres lots of different ones like u kno the skull one, the flower one, etc. THE STAR ONE IS THE MAIN ONE OK!!! it also one time got caught in kyles hair and it was so scary but also whew! they were so close together oh my godddd it was sexually charged help

-ok all my stans are not picky at all but oh my i think pepstan specifically only dislikes ONE FOOD and its a fucking pickle!!!! he is absolutely fucking repulsed!!!! and kyle is picky as fuck but LOVES THEM stan is dying oh my god oh my goooood!!!

theyre dating and abt to kiss and stan is like im gonna be sick and kyles like awwww stan i thought u stopped doing that a long time ago am i making u nervous and hes like NO U NASTY PICKLE EATIN BITCH!!!! HYH!!!!

-ALSO!!! pickled daikon and ginger do not count like he will fight u if u try and make that argument y’all leave my iconic 25% japanese king ALONE

its so serious stan is like i am absolutely not kissing u post-pickle and kyle is like OH MY GOD U ARE ACTING LIKE A CHILD kyles stan trials was just him being extra cute an flirty for a week and trying to get stan to cave....HE WAS DYING!!! like KYLE STOP WEARING MY PANTS I HATE U U KNOW WHAT UR DOING...it was super effective it worked he caved hes so weak kyles powers of persusaion scare me

-ok pep!stan has a borderline...obsession with vans. like he is obsessed with them and collects them its so insane. like his room is a mess but his vinyl record colleciton and his vans collection is spotless. i think he even like made shelves on the walls out of the boxes them came in to like display all the shoes????? CRAFTY DIY KING IM IN TEARS HELP

HES CRAZY he only wears the fucked up beat up ones too the beautiful ones just sit in there!!!! if u even BREATHE near the vans collection its so unserious he'll dive in front of it

-in that same vein raven really likes doc martens and also has a small collection and like the entire world knows about it because he is a fucking celebrity boy and he gets really cool hand painted, custom, limited edition ones sent to him in the mail all the time he gets SOOOOOO excited aaaaa

-ok my weird posts abt detail have to do a lot with specifically how they look in my brain so i am like....obsessed with the little right eye beauty mark on ravens face like....he is very goregous to me! wow

-speaking of he does such intense eyeliner esp as a celebrity before shows that its hard to see it ( plus his bangs are always in his eyes nasty boy smh )

orrrr his eyeliner is so smudged beneath his eyes it covers it up so....please pray for the day kyle sees it because its going to exacerbate the living breathing fuck out of his phantom theres stan! disorder help

-i am also...moderately obsessed with like how different raven and stan look in and out of shows like x/x the fact that one stage he just looks like this in the tiny tank tops and the tiny vegan leather pants and the fishnets and the spikes and chains and stuff in his little emo boy whore couture outfits and then like....actually just looks like this x/x ...in the big ass fucking cringey anime sweatshirts, big shirts, gigantic pants, pajama pants, sweat pants....the STAN! DANA!

( ok before i get silly and goofy again it actually makes me sad bc both my stans and kyles have body dysmorphia, but stan wears big baggy clothes because he does not want anyone to Touch him and kyle specifically does not want to look at HIMSELF...im...AAAAA )

-ok this is so specific but in my brain raven especially just hanging around the cd manwhoresion does this little hot boy half up half down messy artist boy hairstyle like i feel like kyle sort of very precisely and beautifully does his hair with a y/n claw clip and ravenstan just kind of pins it away from his face haphazardly especially when hes playing guitar or songwriting aaaaa they made ravenstan way too fine its illegal go to jaiiiiil hes so beautiful 2 me

-i also think i talked about this somewhere but whereas i think kennys tattoos are like really gnarly and scary and body horror and naked ladies and stuff...and you'd think all of ravens tats would be scary like that but they are actually...very lovely?

-i also think i mentioned it like if u read rm4 ( and in gen bc stan is crunchy ) like ravenstan really likes plants but...its actually so far past normal like raven is NERDY about plants like dorky as fuck its lame he knows the scientific names and everything its embarrassing like he loves flowers and plants....photostanthesis baby!

-but yeah all his tattoos x/x kind of live in this dark floral style that i am so obsessed with!!!! aaaaaa!~ i do think he has the gigantic sick ass raven tattoo on his arm btw also the sick ass dagger hello ( does it say kindness? maaaaybe ) omg the lovers tattoo in spanish aaaa ( i will talk abt that later hang on ) just all the plants and skulls and things im obsessed ( the little fairy rings around his elbow aa ) THE! CHEF! TATTOO!!!!! HELLO!!!! i have so much to say im sorry

-but i digress! speaking of the tarot tattoo...so pepstan tried to learn abt astrology many times by wendy...rip it did not work. BUT! sharon/sonrisa in rm was very spiritual and superstitious and the entire town of south park was very very cruel to her and called her a witch said that her and stan cursed their whole town really racist shit it was awful...

-but yeah stan was not superstitious and was like mom none of this is REAL!!!! this is why people think ur CRAZY!!!! it was...a really bad fight :( stan like still feels a deep guilt to this day...and like wanted nothing to do anything supernatural.

but after the fire now that shes gone and he misses her he got hella superstitious and witchy...actually some of the only things he took with him fleeing the fire were sharons guitar and her tarot set in spanish so ravenstan can actually read tarot cards which i think is cute boy behavior tbh! he does kenny and jimmys all the time...

kyle is so cynical and not superstitious ( he just be hallucinating and shit ) so um i am waiting for ravenstan to read his palms and be like ur love line is long and um...whew! theyre gonna KISS ur honor!

-also pls note that when stressed out or angry raven does autopilot into spanish and everyone is like scary? hot?? help???? like please dont kill me but also please do anything u want to me!!!!! live laugh raven

-ik this is not a kyle ask but in the vein of languages rm!kyle can speak fluent french and ik his accent is intense in english but its actually really refined and beautiful when hes speaking french...rm kyle also took ballet...i have a CRUSH on him! j’ADORE

ooooh ok what else uhhhh

-ravenstan and pep!stan are both mood disorder kings but i think pep!stan is bipolar and ravenstan has...bpd? thats the vibe i get

-toolshed stans favorite resturant is city wok i think all my stans like city wok bc their meat options are foul but all their vegan/veg options are suprisingly really dank lmaoooo

-weird like ik all stans at their core are Blue characters BUT!!!! to me...pep!stan is blue...rm!ravenstan is red...and toolstan is yellow i cannot explain this its just a feeling tsot stan is green ig if he exists

-i probably should have waited until rm6 but raven has a really sick black and red motorcycle ;) her name is crim...also yes when he takes the helmet off and shakes his hair out everyone swoons and dies

-all my stans are scared of clowns like...its an irrational fear

-i never got around to writing this for stans bday, but while pep!stan and kyle were dating in college, they have an apartment and stan has to travel a lot bc of his football scholarship and he had to play...on his birthday :/ ALSO THEY LOST!!!!! not only were they in florida ( ew ) but flo rida sang the national anthem and they lost because a man in the audience was heckling stan and he sounded like randy :/

-pep!stan at the time was struggling to be sober!stan ( which is hard when ur playing football and a vet tech and bipolar as fuck ) and so kyle called him and he was telling him he was just going back to the hotel to lay down like fuck his bday its ok ( but was like...really thinking about stopping at a liquor store )

-he didnt and right when he got into his hotel room abt to fuck up his sobriety and hit the hotel bar, cartman, kenny, marj and kyle were all in there like HAPPY BIRTHDAY STAN!!! AAAAAAAAAWWWW

-(do i want to say they were all in cheerleading outfits like in the scenic route...kinda bc that was legendary...)

-but kyle was like ok close ur eyes i got you a present....AND ITS A PUPPY!!!!!! IT LOOKS JUST LIKE BABY SPARKY!!!! BUT ITS A GIRL!!! AAAAAAAAAAA her full name is felicity which kyle was like oh my god why was she named like a little victorian girl...but kyle explained to stan that marj pronounced it like full'a'letricity like full of electricity like SPARK...anyways it was fate and they were like we were calling her elle for john elway AAAAAAAAAW and elle lives in peace and harmony at home with their cats cherry and mint <3

-also it was a very big deal for kyle because kyle is like extremely scared of big dogs and dogs in general but loves stan alot

-um i am insane and am considering dyeing ravenstans blonde hair insane bpd boy blood red like mine so that we can match omg

-also during october every month all of the proceeds of the concessions and concert sales for crimson dawn go to domestic violence shelters because of stans mom...i want to cry

-also his lip ring sometimes is shaped like a skeleton hand which is badass as fuck to me like helllloooooo

-all my stans are marvel boys like pep!stans favorite pair of vans are the marvel ones...and ravenstans name was actually chosen bc 8 year old stan loved stan lee and also bc of santana and also because on his papers if he put the t in stan close enough to the a it looked like an h so teachers wouldnt get mad at him ;)

-i also think both stans like hiyao miyazaki movies...i think pep!stans favorite ones are howls moving castle or spirited away and ravenstan is a princess mononoke ponyo boy

-speaking of media....oh my god ravens favorite anime growing up was sailor moon like him and shelley used to religiously watch it on saturdays...sharon did not know how to pronounce all the japanese names but knew usagi meant bunny and called her conejita and sailor moon guerreras de la luna or moon warriors or something bless her omg...stan has like all the figurines in his room he is insane

-im trying to think of anything else i might have to make a post later if i think of anything but yeah

-oh in my brain this is what they looked like in the flashbacks as little kids in pep and rm ( also fat kyle u are my king my angel fartman bullying him and making him hate himself makes me fucking sick die bitch!!! )

and scene ;)

-uncle nina, rabid about headstannons

#i got really feral about this ask im so sorry i was excited oh my god help i love headstannons #soryr abt the pinterest pictures but also i love a visual aid #pls ask about headstannons any time also i will elaborate on anything u want #besos #the pepstan star motif and his hip dips and kenny giving him a punkrock hip tattoo is so :'} also him hating pickles & the VANS COLLECTION!#also ravens doing the hot boy half up/half down hairdo switching into spanish reading tarot and sailor moon also his dark floral tats #c: stan the man with the plan #c: brosé cuervo #MY SONS!

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belladxne · 4 years

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i will see you where the shadow ends | chapter 1

[see notes for ao3 and ff links]

part of the put your faith in the light that you cannot see series AU: Breath of the Wild pairing: KiriBaku word count: 4,568 Description:

(cross the badlands to rise again, i will see you where the shadow ends)

Eijiro wakes with nothing. No supplies, no memory, no idea of what the strange, ancient chamber he awakens in is. All he has to guide him are a mysterious ancient piece of technology called a Sheikah Slate, a kind old woman who lives near to where he awakes, and above all—the voice, gruff and reassuring, that calls out to him from somewhere far off and bathes him in golden light.

Tasked with recovering his memories and left with the entire future of Hyrule—a kingdom which fell a century before—in his hands, Eijiro has a monumental responsibility laid before him. It will be worth it, he thinks, to finally see the voice that's been calling to him from Hyrule Castle, and to finally know once more who the voice belongs to.

There’s a light behind his eyelids; a vivid, warm yellow that he can’t ignore. It’s an explosion of color—small at first, but then all-encompassing and undeniable. For the moment, he knows only these two things: that there’s a brilliant blast of golden light even with his eyes closed, and that waking up is hard.

His mind comes around slowly, in sluggish fits and starts. His thoughts are quiet in a way that almost feels peaceful and he feels sort of exhausted, like if he really tried he could drift off and sleep a while longer, and it’s tempting. Waking up is hard, yeah, but he thinks it’d be harder if not for the stony, uncomfortable surface he’s laid on and the cold, thick feeling of some sort of liquid lapping at his sides ruining what could otherwise have been a great nap.

That, and the rough voice that almost seems to grate at the edges of his mind, more than his ears. He associates it with the gold, somehow.

Oi. Come on, up. Get up already.

The voice—it tugs at something, he thinks, in the back of his mind. That near-peaceful feeling is gone, but the exhaustion isn’t, and he fights through the lethargy blanketing his thoughts to try and do what the voice asks, but it’s—it’s not easy. Not even when the explosion of light flares so bright it hurts.

Fuck. Fuck, can’t you just open your eyes? This time, when the voice presses on, it sounds… it’s hard to describe. Maybe sad, maybe lonely—but both words seem too small and simple to encompass all of the weight behind the words. Gods, you’re a lazy bastard. Haven’t you slept long enough?

And finally, he manages it; a fluttering of his eyelids, a furrowing of his brow, and then—his eyes open for real.

He’s rewarded with an immediate, There you are, so quick and colored with relief that it almost seems like the words had come unbidden, before their source had even realized they were escaping. He manages to lift his head, craning his neck to find some sign of who’s been watching him—but he’s alone. That golden glow is gone.

And now that the hard part of battling his way to consciousness is over, he’s surprised with how quickly and easily his body responds when he props himself up on his elbows, searching the dim space more fully and squinting against what few lights there are. But there really is no one else here. How?

He clambers out of the strange stone basin he’s been laid in as the last of some strange, vividly glowing blue substance drains out of it, and as he pulls himself to his full height, he’s—he’s at a loss.

This room, it’s so oppressively silent but for the sound of droplets falling from his shorts and hair to hit the floor at his feet, and some strange constant humming sound, and it’s so oppressively dim but for the blue glow of the basin behind him and the orange, constellation-like markings lit up on the walls. He has no idea what in the hell is going on.

He feels… alert, on edge as he tries to puzzle out any sort of detail that would make his surroundings make sense, but curious, too. There’s something across the way that… might be an entrance? But it’s sealed over with what seem to be several thick stone pillars or panels, pressed so tightly that not even light can seep through the cracks. Is he trapped?

He starts towards the door, not sure what he’ll do if he is sealed in, but he knows he’s not about to just sit here and rot in this chamber. There has to be a way out, and he’s not going to give up before trying to find it.

There’s a pedestal a few steps from the entryway, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He’s a little more concerned with the obvious point of exit than with staying in this odd, dust-filled space to poke at random details. He’d have walked right past the weird plinth entirely, without another thought, if an odd chime and flash of light off of the strange glowing patterns on its face didn’t startle him as soon as he got close.

With a click and a whirr, part of the pedestal starts moving—lifting and rotating, before levering some sort of small, detailed slab out of its face and presenting it upright. Is… he supposed to take that?

He only takes half a step closer, examining the glowing markings and detailed carving of the Sheikah symbol on this strange tablet that—that he suddenly knows, with all his heart, is familiar to him somehow. It’s a relief, and a comfort, when nothing else has been remotely recognizable so far. He jumps when his moment of recognition is suddenly interrupted.

We don’t have all day, Shitty Hair. That’s my Sheikah Slate. You’re gonna need it to get around.

A pout comes unbidden to his lips, brow furrowing as his hand moves to his hair self-consciously. “It’s shitty?” he mumbles, honestly more to himself than anything, his voice hoarse from disuse.

There’s a pause in which he’s left to ponder it, before the voice is back, giving off almost embarrassed tones. Fuck. Sorry. Just—just hurry up and grab the damn thing, Eijiro.

It doesn’t even come to mind to question the demand; there’s just something about the voice that he trusts, and wants to listen to without hesitation. His hand is already halfway to the slate when he pauses, a small pang of alarm and confusion registering when he fully processes.

Eijiro. The voice had called him that, right? So, was it his name? Why did he not know his own name?

Shaken, he—Eijiro?—grabs the Sheikah Slate, weighing it in his hands and looking it over distractedly. He’s too preoccupied with not knowing—well, anything, the more he thinks about it. But the device does feel right, even more familiar now that he’s seeing it up close, and that’s some small comfort as he looks up, eyes searching even though he knows he’ll find no trace of the voice.

“Hey… what’s going on? Who—...” He trails off before he can even form a sentence, because—because there’s too many questions to ask. Who am I? Who are you? Who put me here? Where is this place? What is this place? Why am I here? What the hell is going on?

Eijiro doesn’t get any time to pull his thoughts together enough to ask any of those questions, because almost immediately there’s a subdued, mechanical grinding noise. Head snapping up, he registers with relief that the patterned stone panels that blocked the entryway start to slide upwards, not making half so much noise as he’d expect as they grate past each other.

He can’t help but be a little relieved—he’s not trapped, after all.

There’s no more input from the voice, though. Eijiro feels… antsy about it. In part because it hasn’t answered what little he has managed to ask, but also largely just because… he wants to hear more of it. He doesn’t really understand why; there’s no quality to the voice that’s especially appealing or comforting, if anything it’s coming off kind of gruff and rude, but there’s something about hearing it that settles his nerves. That makes him feel like things are okay, maybe.

Not about to waste time—Eijiro has no idea if the entrance opening is a temporary thing, or not, and he’s not looking forward to finding out until he’s on the other side of that door—he hurries out, eyes scanning the next chamber.

He’s… disappointed, he thinks, to find it empty. Nearly as barren as the room before, with just as little light, and no inhabitants. No one to explain things to him. And no sign of the voice here, either. He didn’t even realize he was specifically looking for the voice before the pang of disappointment, honestly. And it persists when there’s no further commentary from him, either.

Still, this room’s only nearly as empty as the previous room—there are, at least, a few things lying around that are much more familiar than the alien architecture of this place. Two chests haphazardly placed in front of the door, and several old-looking crates and barrels—the latter of which all seem to be splintered and rotted.

So Eijiro does what any self-respecting person trapped with no belongings, supplies, or apparent clothing would do when confronted with these seemingly long-abandoned surroundings.

He starts looting like crazy.

The chests, to his relief, hold pants, socks, boots, a belt, and a shirt. He wonders if the items were placed there for him, specifically? But it’s hard to remain enthusiastic about them as he tugs them all on, discovering the socks and pants are threadbare and spotted with holes—and the pants don’t even come close to reaching his ankles. The boots and belt both seem fine, if a little dubious; he kind of feels like the leather might just disintegrate out of the blue, but they’re workable. The shirt’s so itchy and moth-bitten and ill-fitted that he tugs it off immediately, making a face as he decides, really, he may as well go without.

The barrels and crates are, honestly, much less helpful. The barrels have already caved in on themselves and smell very faintly of rot, like whatever was in them had decayed away so long ago that even the smell had had time to fade; and he’s disappointed to discover after tearing the crates apart with single minded zeal that… just about anything of use in them has long-decayed, as well. He scores an empty satchel, quiver, and sheath—all of their previous contents unusably decrepit—and a few more belts to secure them all. And an absurd amount of empty bottles, all dusty but usable. There’s also some strange hooked clip for his belt that he realizes pretty quickly is made for him to link the Sheikah Slate’s handle into.

Surveying the wreckage of the crates and barrels he’d just torn through, he finds himself pouting again. All that property damage, and for nothing that useful.

Looking around again, he takes note, down a ramp from where he’d emerged, of the only other doorway out of this room—this one much larger and more intricate, though it also seems to be made of interlocking pillars. The Sheikah symbol sits at the center of this grand door as well. And just like the last room, there’s a pedestal to the side of this door—though it doesn’t have an indentation for the Sheikah Slate to fit into, like the last one did.

He jogs down the ramp, stopping in front of the pedestal to examine it curiously. In the last room, taking the slate from the similar plinth had been what caused the door to open—he thinks, at least? Probably? It’s the thing that makes the most sense, anyway. So is there something he can do with this one, to open the way? He hardly gets any time to wonder, before the voice is back and he feels a line of tension he hadn’t even realized was there bleed out of his shoulders.

This isn’t complicated, Sh—Eijiro. Just hold the Sheikah Slate to the pedestal.

He knows he’s not in the position right now—he has no idea what he’s doing and this voice, coarse at it is, is helping him—but Eijiro can’t help but roll his eyes as he reaches for the slate. He wonders if the voice would hear him if he teased, Bossy, much?, or commented on his haughty, judgmental tone.

Unhooking the slate from its new carrier on his belt, Eijiro only wavers for a moment as he wonders which side he’s meant to hold to the pedestal—it’d be pretty embarrassing to roll his eyes at this voice for giving him shit, only to fuck it up immediately. But he settles quickly on pressing the smooth side, with the flat panel that lights up, to the face of the pedestal.

Something about that looks right, even if he’s pretty sure he’s never done it before. And he's rewarded for his guess with a flash of light and an almost musical chime as the glowing orange curved lines atop the plinth turn blue.

Well, hey, the voice was right. This wasn't complicated at all. He doesn’t really get time to bask in his success before he's jumping as a bizarre, inhuman-sounding feminine voice sounds from the pedestal.

"Authenticating…"

The pedestal and the slate both seem to be making some repetitive, again near-musical beeping sound in sync with each other, before the unsettling new voice says, "Sheikah Slate confirmed."

The symbol in the center of the huge, sealed doorway lights up blue with a hum, and then with a loud rumble parts of the door that Eijiro didn't even realize previously were there begin to rotate and unlatch and slide away, before the panels of this gate lift away to let him out as well.

This time, the difference is starkly and immediately noticeable—bright, unmistakable daylight and a rush of clean, fresh air begin pouring in when the door has only barely begun to open. The sight is so reassuring, so sorely missed even if he hadn't realized it before, that he honestly almost throws himself to the ground to try to cram his way out into the freedom of the outdoors that much faster.

He doesn’t, of course, because he's not an animal (the thorough wreckage of the crates and barrels behind him aside), but he moves to stand directly in front of the door with eager, curious eyes.

Where is he, exactly? Will he know, once he can see?

It's when the door is only around halfway lifted away that the consequences of his earlier surroundings catch up with a vengeance—the sunlight so obligingly radiant that he’s forced to lift a hand to shield himself from the light, one eye squinted against the painful relief. Goddess, but he’s so glad to feel the sunlight on his skin again.

He finds himself unnerved to realize he can’t remember the last time he’d been out in the daylight. Not in the sense that it’s been a long time—though for all he knows, it has been—but in the sense that he genuinely doesn’t know.

He keeps realizing it, over and over again—when the name he assumes is his own was so unfamiliar to him, when he didn’t remember how he’d come to be in this place in the first place, when he’d had so many questions he couldn’t even figure out where to start—but as the failure to remember persists through everything, no matter how inane and everyday the memory might be, he finds himself growing increasingly alarmed. Why can’t he remember? Why can’t he remember anything?

Before panic can fully get its claws into him, the voice is back. And in spite of its rough tone, he somehow knows this voice well enough to know there’s more to it. Below the brusque surface it’s earnest, beseeching… and above all, encouraging.

Eijiro... Hyrule needs someone unbreakable, someone who’s not gonna waver. Hyrule needs you. I—

The voice cuts out, and by some means he can’t describe, he can sense something frustrated in the silence that follows for the next beat or two.

I’m fucking waiting. So get off your ass and help me fix this mess, already.

Somehow, he doesn’t think that’s what the voice was going to say, originally.

Either his eyes finally adjust to the light, or it somehow lessens—he wonders, suddenly, if that first blast of light hadn’t been the sun’s rays at all, but more of that explosive golden glow that had pierced his slumber?—because he can see, now, and his eyes no longer ache for trying. In front of him is a passageway, short enough to easily see up the stairs in front of him, to the opening that leads to the sky.

Gods, he can’t wait to see the sky again.

He can’t help it—he runs. He’s up the first set of dust-covered stairs in a flash, and doesn’t waver for more than a split-second when he’s confronted with a wide puddle that reaches halfway up his calves, or the uneven, eroded face of rock where there had clearly once been another set of stairs. As if he’s going to let something like that slow him down.

With a wild and eager whoop, he launches himself up out of the water he’d just soaked his pants splashing through, fingers easily finding grip on the rugged surface. It’s not so easy to tug himself up as he’d expected, even accounting for how slippery his old boots are from the water—but he’s still up the surface in a matter of seconds. He levers himself up over the ledge to sprawl at the foot of another set of stairs with only a little wheezing. Which is more than he expected, honestly? It was such a short climb.

He doesn’t give himself time to dwell on it, though, as he clambers to his feet to jog once more up the final stretch of the passageway, and out into the fresh air.

It’s… well, it’s breathtaking, out there. Even just from the mouth of the carefully-constructed cave—the overgrown grass at the foot of the entrance even looks vivid in the daylight, the sky a clear and welcome view, the foliage hanging over the entrance and the pines that dot the ground in a few places just outside all so full of life and color. There’s a volcano directly ahead in the distance—Death Mountain, his mind chimes helpfully, and he’s relieved to know something. The more of the world he sees opening around the entrance to the cave, the more beautiful it is.

Eijiro lets his feet carry him forward unthinkingly, moving slowly at first and then with more purpose, until he’s all-out running. Past grass and bushes and rocks that jut from the ground, until he’s standing at the edge of a cliff face out in front of the cavern he’d emerged from, and the sensation is all at once overwhelming, as he looks out over forests and plains and mountains and most of Hyrule in the distance.

Eyes wide in wonder, he feels like he has the entire world at his feet. It takes a bit for Eijiro to adjust to how good this all feels.

The colors are so bright, the wind and sunlight on his skin feel downright heavenly, and even just the smell of the fresh air around him is overwhelmingly exhilarating after the stifling chambers he’d just left. He looks around, again searching—if not for some sign of the voice that’s been guiding and beckoning him, then at least for something else to prompt him to speak to Eijiro. He’s the only thing Eijiro really, really knows right now—he feels a little adrift without the voice, wants to hear more.

When he turns his head, though, the wind blows his hair into his face, and he’s—startled, honestly, by how red it is. He doesn’t know why he wasn’t expecting that—doesn’t know if he should have been expecting it? Was it always red? No… he’s fairly certain it used to be black, at some point.

Little victories—he’s increasingly relieved to at least know some things. Aside from that, though, the red doesn’t bother him. He kind of likes it. A lot, actually. He wonders how long it’s been red.

His moment of distraction over, Eijiro finally catches sight of something of note—a figure off to the right, farther down the incline of the cliff he stands on. It’s a woman, he thinks? But it’s hard to tell between the distance and the hooded cloak she wears. She’s hunched over a campfire under a stone overhang some eighty feet away, maybe, tending to the flames by prodding with a stick. She looks up at him, then, and he thinks he makes out her head tilting inquisitively.

Finally—finally! Another person! Maybe she knows him, or can at least give him some context for where he is and what’s going on.

He barely takes half a step in her direction before realizing, flustered, that he should probably put on the shirt he’d discarded in the shrine. Gods, he doesn’t want to be rude. He drops to a crouch and pulls the old satchel off his shoulder, opening it and digging through the few supplies he’d managed to accumulate to try and gingerly extricate the ratty old shirt from the mess without tearing or damaging it further on anything else he’s stuffed in there.

He tugs the shirt on quickly, sighing in resignation as the scratchy, too-small shirt slides over his skin. This sucks. Is it so much to ask that he have some clothes that fit? Or that are, you know, comfortable, maybe?

But he pulls the satchel back over his shoulder anyways, hoping it won't be long before he can find something that suits him better. Standing once more, he starts down the gentle slope that the top of the cliff follows, towards the woman and her cozy fire. It's not far—he keeps up a quick pace and closes the distance quickly, only slowing when he gets nearer so as not to alarm her.

He can make out, now, more details as soon as she lifts her head—like the grey hair that spills from her deep navy hood, and the laughter lines that crinkle at the corner of her eyes when she smiles warmly at him. He’s not sure how old he’d guess she is—very, maybe?—but he can see some strands of dark green hair mixed in with the grey that hint at what her hair used to look like, and everything about her posture and expression screams welcoming.

“Well, hello!” she calls as he approaches, and her eyes sparkle kindly. There’s something about the color—a bright, lively green—that feels… important, somehow? He doesn’t think she’s familiar to him, but he’s not sure if how comforted he is by her demeanor is just how she is, or because he does know her. “What a pleasant surprise; it’s not often that I see travelers hereabouts.”

Eijiro hesitates. She doesn’t seem to recognize him, or, at least, hasn’t addressed him as someone she knows. Is she a traveler? If she’s not, then she has to live around here—so—so she should know something about how he got here, right? Maybe she’d seen something? She’s the only person he’s seen in a position to answer any questions, and it all depends on how long she’s been here.

His mouth, unfortunately, moves far faster than he can think of what to say, so abruptly he blurts, “Who’re you?”

He flushes immediately at how rude of a response that is, but before he has a chance to start stammering out apologies at having completely brushed off her greeting, she cuts him off with a forgiving laugh. She seems surprised by his blunder, but not upset—if anything, she looks downright delighted at his lack of manners.

“Straight to business, I see. Sorry to say it, but I’m not really anyone of note.” She pauses, and though her approachable demeanor doesn’t shift at all, Eijiro swears that for just a moment, there’s something sharper to her expression, like she’s gauging something about him—and then, almost as quick as it came, it’s gone, and she’s smiling a little wider. “But my name is Inko, if that’s what you mean. What brings a bright-eyed young man like you to such an odd place?”

See, he’d answer that, if he knew. Blinking, he looks around as he asks, “Uh, where are we?”

“Question for a question, hm?” She sits back a little, still with that warm and comforting expression, and gestures to the fire. “Why don’t you at least sit down, sweetie? Then I’ll gladly answer any questions you have.”

He hesitates. Everything out here is so—so open and bright and tangible, it almost makes the waking up seem fake. Like that bizarre underground structure he’d come from, the odd way it functioned, the air of disuse, and the voice, most of all the strange and inexplicable voice—like all of it was some weird fantasy, because it doesn’t make any sense. Out here, he’s still confused, but it all feels so much less surreal. If it weren’t for the slate still hooked to his belt, and how very real the feeling the voice evoked in him was, he might have dismissed it all. But he can’t.

And if it was all real—the last thing the voice had said to him. That Hyrule needs him, and the voice is waiting. And that Eijiro has to fix... something. Does he really have time for this?

Meeting her eyes, hopeful and kindhearted and—and there’s still something about that green that seems significant to him, though he can’t say what or why—he realizes he doesn’t have the heart to say no. She’s just a sweet little old lady! He can’t tell her he doesn’t want to sit and talk, especially when she’d seemed so happy for company she’d implied was so rare, surely the voice wouldn’t expect that of him. It might as well start asking him to kick puppies at that rate.

“Um, sure.” He figures—as long as the voice doesn’t emerge from its silence to start yelling at him, this can’t be that much of a delay. And if he does start yelling at him, Eijiro can always tell him to chill out. Eijiro takes the final few steps forwards, and starts to crouch by the fire when the wind shifts and he catches a scent so mouth-watering he thinks he’s going to die. His eyes zero in for the first time on its source—a small basket Inko has next to the fire, full of baked apples—and, by the Goddesses, he suddenly realizes he’s more starving than he’s ever been in his life.

His stomach rumbles absurdly loud and he’s grabbed one of the apples faster than he can so much as think—it’s already halfway to his mouth by the time he remembers himself, eyes flicking to Inko sheepishly.

Her only reaction is to throw her head back and laugh, and the sound’s too comforting and motherly for him to get embarrassed. “By all means, help yourself.”

“No, I—that was really rude, sorry, you can—” He starts to offer it back to her but she leans towards him and reaches forward to secure her hands around his, keeping his fingers curled around the still-toasty apple. She gives a firm shake of her head, the kind he doesn’t think it's even possible to argue against.

“I’m just one old woman, sweetie; I can’t eat all of these by myself. Have one. You sound awfully hungry.” Oh, no, she’s got a Mom Tone, too; she really can’t be argued with. As soon as she seems satisfied that he’s going to take the apple—which he does, and immediately takes a huge bite—she sits back once more. “Now, then. What’s your name, dear?”

Oh. Uh... “...Eijiro?” He really, really tries not to make it sound like a question, but he doesn’t think he succeeded. She doesn’t seem to find it amiss, however, smiling brighter and giving a nod.

“Eijiro. Let’s get started on those questions of yours, hm? Now, you asked where we are...”

#kiribaku #bakushima #krbk #bkshm #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijiro #bakugo katsuki #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #HAPPY BIRTHDAY KIRISHIMA IT'S BOTW WITH YOU AS THE PROTAG #I LOVE YOU DEARLY MY ROCK SON.

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huarens · 4 years

Text

everything | njm

pairing : jaemin x reader

genre : soulmates? idk hard to explain

word count : 3k

summary : you were jaemin’s everything, at least, everything but his.

notes : i’m tired of struggling to write this so i’m releasing it as is pls take this away from me it’s been taunting me in my drafts for almost a year

if someone were to ask jaemin what his favorite color was, he would, without doubt, reply with yellow.

'why?' they'd ask him, well why not?

all colors were stunning to jaemin, and to have a world filled with so many was astounding, he found yellow to be the prettiest of them all. it just felt, warm. like sitting by the fireplace on a cold rainy day, or sitting under the sun with a book in hand, just, home. and when he went to the park with his parents or bike-riding with friends, even when he was playing with his toys next to the window, he was always on the lookout for something yellow. he's also tried staring into the sun a couple of times to try and make out the yellow glare it radiated. but then his parents would scold him and tell him he would never see anything again if he kept looking.

and the stars.

his parents would take him out to the backyard, along with his dad's telescope, and point out all the constellations to him. he could care less about the shapes, meanings, and history. it was the faint yellow shine and twinkle they gave off that he was infatuated with.

so to say he was disappointed when his parents told him he'd be losing color in both eyes by the time he reached seven was an understatement.

he had a fit, a tantrum so loud that the whole neighborhood could hear. his screams, his desperate sobs for his parents to tell him that they were lying, that they were joking, all were heard. he only stopped once his parents told him that he would see color again when he met his soulmate.

jaemin asked them through small hiccups what they meant. someone you're destined to be with, they had said. someone who'll make you feel like you're flying, someone who'll love you in a way no one, not even his parents, could. and then they told him their love story, it was riveting. the obstacles and trouble they went through to be together, from being game buddies, both on different sides of the country, to present (jaemin blocked out the part where they decided to explain in explicit detail to how jaemin came to be). and it was then at the age of six, jaemin was set on the idea of finding his soulmate. they're out there somewhere, he thought, he just has to find them.

jaemin met you in second grade. you kept hugging him throughout the day, the teacher scolding you multiple times for touching him without permission. he didn't mind it though. from there, a friendship blossomed. play dates were scheduled every other day, either your house or his. his parents practically called you their own, they never saw a day where they came home and you weren't there to greet them. your parents also loved jaemin, saying they'd wish you'd end up with him so they'd keep him forever. a happy childhood you and jaemin had, although it was just a countdown to the inevitable.

before jaemin knew it, his seventh birthday came. he watched as the clock slowly struck down to 12. he spent the first hour of his birthday crying, tears flowing like waterfalls as he blew out the candles, his parents comforting him as he waited for the clock to strike one.

usually, a child would lose all color by the end of the first hour of their birthday, yet jaemin's fate never came. three hours had passed, cake all eaten, cartoons playing on the tv as his parents passed out on the couch next to each other.

jaemin sat in the kitchen, poking at the untouched fruit tray his parents bought earlier. the strawberries looked as red as ever, he still could see color.

how?

jaemin didn't know when he moved to his room, but jaemin woke up buried in his bed, covers pulled all the way up to his chin. he rubbed his eyes, barely functioning on the three hours of sleep he got.

once he got downstairs, his parents were waiting at the kitchen table, both in deep conversation as he walked by to get a glass of water.

he was watching TV when his dad came and sat next to him, handing jaemin his little paw patrol sippy cup then putting an arm around his shoulder.

"what color is that guys pants?" his dad had asked, pointing on the screen as a character popped up out of a hole.

"green. it looks stupid." jaemin replies, leaning into his dad as the cartoon continued on.

"jaemin.. how are you feeling?"

"i feel good, why?" jaemin looks up, his mother slowly making her way towards the couch to sit.

"it seems you must've already met your soulmate jaems, either that or we got your birthday mixed up. we're hoping it's the former though." his mother laughed airily, her smile not quite making it to her eyes.

jaemin is confused, who could it be? no one comes to mind as jaemin thinks about who he could possibly be destined with. as far as he knew, all of his current friends could no longer see color.

except for you.

you were the only one out of all the kids he knew that could still see color and your seventh birthday had passed nearly three months ago. in fact, just two days ago you had told him the brown in his right eye was shinier than the brown in his other eye (he still thinks it was because his eye was watering after you punched him straight in the gut during your game of tag.)

there's no doubt about it, it had to be you.

the next day at school, all of his friends crowd him, too many questions as to why he still knew what color shirt he had on, or if he could tell them what color everyone’s behavior card was. jaemin pushes them aside, spotting you on the other side of the room playing near the toybox.

"y/n, y/n, y/n! we're soulmates y/n!" jaemin gets ahold of your shoulders and plops himself right in front of you, knocking over your tower of markers.

you stare at him for a second, your small hands balling into fists before you scream,

"stop jaemin! don't say that, you'll curse me!" you clapped both hands over your ears, scrambling to get up and run as far as you could from jaemin.

he begins to chase you around the classroom, making kissy faces and extending his arms out as far as he could to get ahold of you.

"no! i don't want it to be you! you have cooties, and i hate cooties!"

jaemin slows to a stop.

"you have a big head too! if i have to be your soulmate, i'd... i'd run away to jeju island so you never marry me! i don't ever want to be your friend ever again! never!"

"you'll love me, you'll understand it in your big pretty head when we're bigger! i'll be your boyfriend" jaemin yells after you.

and that's the last time you ever spoke to jaemin for a while.

as time grew, so did the both of you.

jaemin is now 17 and entering his senior year. he has made it through middle school and lost a few friends. some of them finding their soulmate and leaving him for them. but he's also made some new friends, people who have yet to meet their lover.

he still sees you around the school, and if he’s lucky, in his classes some days.

today was one of those days.

you were handing out flyers advertising the after-school photography club, sliding one on jaemin’s desk while he was turned away talking to one of his friends.

you were gone before jaemin had a chance to ask you about it though, but it was alright.

he’d see you after school for the club.

photography club was lamer than he expected it to be.

the first day in and the teacher had already assigned projects, he didn’t even know projects existed in clubs.

“let’s start this year off with a picture portfolio yeah?” the teacher had said, “something meaningful, significant. something we can cherish for a while.”

partner projects, jaemin recalls, take photos of something that means a lot.

and he had been partnered with you.

jaemin doesn’t really know how to feel standing next to you.

everyone was outside taking pictures with their partners, taking pictures of random objects around them.

“jaemin! What do you think about this picture?” you appear by his side, handing him a camera.

“isn’t it a nice grey?”

jaemin is puzzled, “it looks red to me?”

“it’s red..? I couldn’t really tell…” you laugh, and jaemin realizes how awkward he made the situation.

“you… you can’t see color?”

“yeah, i faded back in seventh grade. you know, when we weren’t talking.” you smiled, although it didn’t seem sincere.

“oh.”

silence takes over for a while, and jaemin’s about to try and make an excuse to leave before he hears someone call out his name.

“jaemin! we finally found you.”

his group of friends come over, not yet realizing you were standing there. The five of them instead trying to find their remaining friend.”

“wheres renjun?” asked jeno, he pulled out his phone to call.

“oh he’s coming, he lost his phone” jisung answers, “well he thinks he lost his phone, i have it in my pocket.” smiling, he waves around the said phone in his hand.

“jisung, you’re the biggest asshole alive!”

renjun catches up with the rest of them, looking around until he had finally locked eyes with y/n.

there was a moment of silence, most of them asking renjun why he had gotten so quiet all of the sudden.

renjun runs up to you, taking your hand in his, pulling you in for a hug.

“it’s you.”

it took a while for jaemin to realize that it wasn’t him.

he wasn’t the one.

no, it was renjun.

renjun was your soulmate.

you weren't his.

everyday was a chore, you had now joined his group of friends, and there was never a moment where and renjun weren’t all on each other.

it was the same routine, wake up, go to school, watch you and renjun make out for 8 hours, then back home.

no day where it didn’t hurt less than the last.

but jaemin’s used to it at this point.

the day jaemin had found out you and renjun were soulmates, he ran home, making the excuse that he had chores he forgot he had to get done.

as soon as he got through his front door, he kicked off his shoes, making a beeline to his room.

he tore his folder of photos he had developed in the school's darkroom that day out of his backpack, along with the essay he had started on.

and he began to rip them, the heartache in his chest mixed with his rage threatening to tear himself apart.

after he had finished with his tantrum, he cursed fate once more, he cursed the broken system, his parents for birthing him in the first place, renjun, everything he could place the blame on.

everything but you.

because it wasn’t your fault,

it’ll never be your fault.

just jaemin’s for ever loving you in such a way.

it was new years, the clock only five minutes until midnight,

everyone was busy finding someone to kiss, everyone but jaemin.

he had gotten tired of the god-awful house music blaring through the speakers and just wanted to find a bathroom.

jaemin walked up the stairs, trying to remember where jeno had told him the bathroom was before he saw a glimpse of you pulling renjun into the same bathroom he was headed for.

as the door closes, jaemin can’t help but tear up again.

and spends the start of his year crying on a stairwell.

jaemin stumbles into his apartment,struggling to find the light switch next to the door as he takes off his shoes.

another tiring day at his job. he had messed up so many times, his manager took it out on his paycheck.

a pile of mail was waiting for him on the kitchen counter, his roommate had probably brought it in without feeling the need to sort it.

as he sifts through the stack, a golden envelope embellished with a red wax seal caught his eye. his name and address in silver sharpie on the front.

he wishes he hadn’t opened it, however, for as soon as he cuts it open, a picture of you and renjun falls out.

an invitation to your wedding.

he can’t help but stare at you on the front of the card, smiling at renjun.

jaemin leaves it on the counter, ignoring the rest of the mail and going straight to his room.

and he cries himself to sleep for the first time in a while

jaemin could barely hold it together as he waits, sweat forming at the back of his neck as he stands nervously. he was on the verge of losing it right then and there, his hands were shaking as if he had just come in from the cold. as if it couldn't get any worse, the crowd silences, the lights dim slightly as soon as the organ starts playing.

the doors opened, revealing you.

from your hair, your wedding dress to even the heels you wore on your feet, jaemin couldn't help but fall in love with you all over again.

you were beautiful. you were ethereal. you were everything.

he watched as you walked down the aisle, you were decked in yellow, the color radiating and bouncing off every surface in the room with each step you took. It was almost as if you were the sun, the center of the universe, everyone else just meaningless little stars and futile planets underneath you.

you stepped up onto the altar, hand in hand with renjun, a broad smile fitted on your face. he's sure it was brighter than the yellow marigolds you held in your hand.

the priest began his long monologue, but jaemin tunes it out. all he saw was you. the sweat was gone, his hands no longer shaking in his pockets.

“does anyone object to this marriage?”

’i do.’ jaemin says, wanting to run out and stand in front of you, to take your hand in his.

but, of course, jaemin doesn’t have enough courage to say it out loud.

he watches as renjun dips you down, pressing his lips against yours, sealing the deal as newlywed soulmates. the room erupted into a cheer, clapping and whistling, yet he couldn't seem to bring his hands up to clap, for he already knew what came next.

a tear found it's way down his face as the colors around him began to slowly fade. it started with his surroundings. the wedding venue, once decorated in mass amounts of gold and silver now just shimmering shades of greys and whites. He could no longer tell what color his suit was, or what shade his skin could be. your dress was no longer the mesmerizing yellow you once walked in with, the marigolds in your hands now a dull tone.

jaemin smiles. he knows you would most definitely be blushing now, the pink tint that usually adorns your face a dove grey. he continues to smile as he watches you and renjun run down the aisle.

what he didn’t know was just how much it was going to hurt. jaemin was sure fate was taunting him at this point, laughing at him as he stood there, barely able to contain himself.

it's okay, he says. jaemin tilts his head back, clenching his eyes closed as they started to water, his chin trembling.

you're happy. and that's all that matters to him.

he let the torrent of tears dampen the collar of his shirt, suffocating on each unsteady breath he took. jaemin rubbed at his eyes consistently, staining them red, and making his eyebags ever the more evident.

he knows his makeup is smudged by now, pale concealer a dark contrast to his suit and red lip balm all over his sleeve.

at least, that’s what he thinks the color of his lip balm was, he can’t remember.

everyone files out of the ballroom, making their way to the front of the building to congratulate the newlyweds, leaving jaemin by himself in the now empty room.

he feels someone pat his back, it’s jisung.

“i know it hurts.”

jisung sends him a sad reassuring smile and then follows the crowd out.

the silence is even more deafening now, his own sobs making his head feel like it’ll burst at any given second. All his defenses washed away along with his salty tears.

jaemin could barely hear the car drive off, applause and cans hitting against asphalt as party-goers get into their cars to drive to the restaurant.

he bitterly laughs to himself, it all finally setting into his skin.

he’s alone.

he’s truly alone now.

no one for him to love, and no one to love him.

jaemin finally calms down enough to step down from where he stood on the altar, only a few feet away from where you were no more than thirty minutes ago.

he could've been the one next to you

he could've been the one to slip that ring on your finger,

then take your hand, and laugh with you as you both ran out.

but it's okay he says,

it's okay.

jaemin walks out of the hall, and takes a breath of fresh air.

it was all going to be okay.

you were his everything.

at least,

everything but his.

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