my little scaredy cat
request: [anon] i would love to see watching horror movies with best friend!eddie and reader instinctively grabs his arm and hides herself against him and it leads to feelings and confessions haha
warnings: none! except it's unedited, which would be scary if that wasn't 90% of my writing on here lmao
pairing: eddie x fem!reader
wc: 3.1k+
i had a lot of fun busting this one out. it's just so cute and certainly how i wish i was spending my halloween! also, rest assured, i am also eyeing the other request you submitting anon. <3 happy haunting, my friends.
This was such a stupid idea. Such a stupid, stupid idea.
You’ve always been a scaredy cat. Everyone in your friend group was well aware of it – you loved the idea of Halloween, but your poor heart just couldn’t take most of the frights that came with the eccentric holiday.
It was fine, most of the time. If anyone had the urge to plan out a day at a pumpkin patch, you were eagerly accepting the invitation. If anyone wanted to bake any sort of sweet treats laced with pumpkin spice or caramel apple flavor profiles, you were already in your car and armed with the perfect recipe to help them. Someone wanted to peruse the decoration aisles of various stores? Wait no more, the perfect shopping buddy could be found in you. You, who could handle most of the trivial and sweet aspects of the holiday. You, who divulged in the more aesthetic side of it all rather than the scary side of it.
Your distaste of being jumpscared or unnerved by gore and ghouls alike only really caused issues when it came to your best friend, Eddie Munson.
His taste in experience of the frightful time of year was entirely the opposite of yours. It’s not that he didn’t like decorating caramel apples with you or that he didn’t find your choice in decorations cute, because he did. But he liked the terrifying aspect of it all – he liked the adrenaline rush of fictional danger.
And friendship, in all its glory, is about give and take, is it not?
Compromise. That’s what he called it when he’d begged and pleaded for you to join him in a movie night. Because the moment the suggestion fell from his lips, you both knew he had no intentions of watching one of your usual festive movies that only teased about the creatures that crept through the night. PG-13 films that didn’t really do it for him. No, Eddie Munson had insisted you join him for a movie night, and you both knew exactly what kind of movie he intended to play.
You just hadn’t anticipated the scariest fucking movie you’d ever endured for the boy beside you on the couch.
“Shit!”
Your squeak is muffled over by the crescendo of creepy instrumental echoing from the small TV across the room. A cycle had quickly been found during this movie night; the movie would fall eerily silent as a tense scene arrived, you’d tense every single muscle so hard that Eddie could feel you shaking from the other side of the couch, and then once the jumpscare occurred and your small squeals were let out involuntarily, his own laughter would follow.
“Oh, come on,” he coos a little, leaning closer to the middle of the couch, still a fair distance away from your figure bundled up in blankets that were being used more as shields than anything at this point, “That one wasn’t even that bad!”
“To you!” you snap, yanking the fabric back down from your eyes only to glare at Eddie rather than look at whatever grotesque was plaguing the screen, “I’m a scaredy cat, remember?”
And oh, remember he does. In all your years of friendship, Eddie had called you that nickname more times than either of you could count. He never meant it with ill will, but it was easier to tease you than to admit just how adorable he found your small reactions.
Easier to tease than to admit just how badly he wishes you would seek protection or refuge from him during the scares he put you through.
His face falls slightly, but he doesn’t let his small grin slip up, not wanting to give himself or his twinge of guilt away, “I’m sorry, kitty cat. C’mere – I can protect you from all the big bad monsters-”
Eddie’s opened arms are only met with one of the pillows you’d stolen off his bed to make the couch more comfortable. It smacks into the center of his chest with deadly aim and ferocious power, making him let out an exaggerated oomph.
“Fuck you,” you grumble, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders now that the scare had passed. You almost tack on a comment about how he’s lucky you like him, because you would never endure this for anyone else.
Robin had tried. Steve had tried. Nancy had tried. They’d all tried to entice you in the scarier, classic Halloween experiences to no avail. Every offer of going to a haunted house, or attending the premiere of the newest horror movies at the local theater, were shot down before they even finished their sentences.
Only one person could break your staunch demeanor on your limits. And right now, you sort of hated his guts.
Eddie softens a bit, watching the way you pout and curl into yourself just a little tighter.
“Sweetheart,” he finally drops the cool guy demeanor, his voice gentle as he leans over with genuine concern, “We can turn it off, if you really want. Hell, if you want me to, I’ll put on something in your taste. Little Shop of Horrors, or maybe Beetlejuice? Those don’t usually scare you.”
The offer is enticing. But you have a point to prove.
“No,” you sit up a little straighter, square your shoulders with a little more defiance and faux bravery, “No, you wanted to watch…”
You pause, and Eddie smiles softly as he supplies the title of his film of choice, “Poltergeist.”
“Right, yes, Poltergeist. You wanted to watch it, so we’re gonna watch it.”
Your stubbornness is admirable.
Even when it falters. Even when another jumpscare has you ever so slightly scooching towards the center of the couch, no longer pressed to the opposite arm from Eddie in defiance. Even when Eddie spreads his legs casually, and you bump your knee into his thigh, the slightest touch bringing immense comfort.
Once you discover that, it all seems downhill from there.
A press of a knee against the side of his thigh turns into your side brushing his. Suddenly, the blanket you’d wielded like a weapon becomes shared. Moments where you try to hold up a barrier between your eyes and the screen cause slight disturbances in Eddie’s own vision. And then, it happens.
The thing he’d been diabolically planning for years. The one scenario he’d dreamt of every Halloween season, the one intention he’d held secretly every time he’d put your through endless scares.
The one touch that could send him into cardiac arrest.
He almost missed it, it happens so suddenly. One moment, you’re just curling up a little bit closer to him. The next, your arms fully wiggly their way around his bicep, capturing his arm in your grasp as your face buries into his shoulder. He can no longer smell the buttery popcorn or faint chocolate on his breath as you invade his space. It’s all sweet shampoo and subtle perfume that tickles his nose, skin against skin in a quick flush as he can hear the vibrations of your predictable scream against the fabric of his shirt.
You hardly seem to notice the sudden entanglement of your bodies in all your fear — your knees practically in his lap and your torso clinging onto his forearm for dear life. You’re acting on instinct, seeking out humane comfort without considering what you were doing.
When you do notice, you don’t let go, only slacken your grip.
“Oh, I-“ you stutter, pulling back slightly to look up at a stunned Eddie, “I’m sorry, that’s- I just- I was scared and-“
“It’s fine,” he cuts you off, eyes blown wide, “It’s… it’s fine.”
It’s more than fine.
His heart races in a way no horror movie or haunted house could incite. Every nerve ending tingles, everywhere his body connects to yours burning in delicious warmth. He wants to spend an eternity like this — you, curled up to him, clinging to him like your holy savior.
Years, and years, and years of wait pays off. Patience is surely virtue as those big eyes of yours look into his.
After a couple awkward beats of silence, you whisper, “I don’t think I like Poltergeist.”
Just like that, you have him laughing again. It’s slow and steady, a gentle chuckle that stirs from his chest in disbelief as he tries to thaw from his shock and yearning.
“You think?” he breathes out, tone not nearly teasing enough to cover up the shakiness.
He swears he can feel your heart pounding against his shoulder.
“Don’t be mean,” you start to scowl, slowly unfurling. But he stops you — angles his arm so you can’t slip your arms away as easily as before, tilting his head in closer.
“Mean? I could never be mean to you, my little scaredy cat.”
“You’re literally being mean as we speak-“
And so, he decides to stop speaking.
It’s impulsive and an even dumber idea than you enduring such a scary movie to be around him. But you look so fucking cute, his heart is tearing up his throat, and suddenly his lips are on yours in his largest spurt of bravery to date. Even more brave than the time he’d made himself a human shield between you and that dude with a chainsaw at the local haunted house, despite the way chainsaws actually kind of made him shit himself.
You don’t fully reciprocate at first. His lips are pressed hard against yours, tips of noses crushed and eyes fluttered shut, and he starts to believe he’s made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake that just washed years of friendship down the drain.
Until your hands tighten on his bicep. Until that soft squeeze comes, and it feels like he can breathe again despite sharing the air with you.
He breaks away for just a second, “I-“
“Don’t be mean,” you repeat your earlier words with entirely new meaning now. He opens his eyes and finds yours already pleading up at his face, glossy and desperate, movie forgotten.
Those hands once squeezing his bicep let go and move to the collar of his t-shirt. Normally, he’d make a comment about you stretching it out, deforming the perfect fit that took him ages to wear in, but he can’t be bothered to feel anything but delight when you’re tugging him back in for another kiss.
And the last thing he wants to be is mean. So he kisses you kindly, kisses you with all the care in the world that he had buried beneath his skin since the day he met you. Kisses you like it could scare away all the monsters that wait in the shadows. Like he’d lay down his life to protect you from the very frights he’d been subjecting you to for far too long now.
“Hey,” he mumbles, pulling back briefly, “Hey.”
This time, his forehead doesn’t leave yours as he pauses the kisses.
“God, Munson, I’ve waited for this God knows how long, sat through so many fucking scary movies, and you’re really going to-“
“Hold on, what?”
He’s grinning so hard, it aches. In his cheeks, in his chest, in the back of his head. Your words sink in and he relishes each syllable, even in your frustration.
“I- Uh,” you pull back suddenly, fingers still loosely tangled in his t-shirt, “I-“
“Enlighten me, sweetheart,” he insists, eyes finally fluttering back open to catch the embarrassment painted plainly across your face. You wear a nearly painful expression that only tightens as you know he’s watching you, “Just how many scary movies have you sat through wanting me to kiss you?”
“Fuck off,” you sigh out, shaking your head a little, “I mean it. Fuck right off-“
“Cause I could probably give a ballpark number for how many times I’ve wanted to kiss you during them,” he continues on quickly, “Actually, I bet I could count how many times I suggested watching these fuckin’ films just for this moment only to chicken out.”
Your eyes are open again in an instant. Sparkling with hope and realization of what he was getting at. “Excuse me?”
“Do you really think I’m that mean?” he scoffs, finally reaching up for your hands, surprisingly calm despite the delightful storm wreaking havoc in his chest. He takes your knuckles in his and lets his thumb trail right over them, “No offense, but if I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t have-“
“You like me?”
Your voice is sweet as honey, bright and drowning out the horror movie still playing.
He smiles, boyish glint and all, as he confirms, “I like you.”
You put the first real amount of distance between the two of you since you’d started to cling to him out of fear, almost as if signaling that bravery beginning to bubble over in your chest, “You actually like me?”
“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”
“No, I- Well, maybe,” you bite your lip, and he’s suddenly dizzy with the need to capture it between his own teeth, “I just… I always thought you might like someone a little braver.”
His nose wrinkles, hands still twisting yours in his, “Excuse me? I think you’re plenty brave.”
“Eddie, you’ve said it yourself, I’m a goddamn scaredy cat.”
“So?”
“So,” you persist, shuffling so that your legs fold beneath you and you gain some leverage over him, “You’re the exact opposite. You love scary things. Not even just during Halloween, but year round. And you’re telling me you like me even though I’m a scaredy cat.”
“I like you because you’re a scaredy cat, thank you very much,” he corrects you immediately, “I love the way you always need me to protect you. I know, I know — not very feminist of me. I’m sorry. It’s just- it’s really fuckin’ cute, y’know?” now that his floodgates have opened, he’s pouring out all the words he’s held back for so long, “And besides, you’re more than just a scaredy cat. You’re also so smart, so beautiful, so funny. Yeah, you scare easily, but you’re also the same person who is the first to put me in my place when I’m being an absolute little shit. And don’t even get me started on all the cute faces you make when you’re talking about things you actually like, or when you’ve been baking with Nance and have flour all over your cheeks-“
“Okay, okay,” you stop his rambling before he can embarrass you any further. Any more affection, and your face might end up buried in his shoulder again, “I get it. You like me.”
It’s quiet for a few moments. The two of you only stare, both smiling stupid, the screams of whatever climax occurring in the movie not even reaching your ears. All you can hear is the echo of his words, of his admission. And all he can hear is the pretty way your breath catches when he gives a small squeeze to your palm.
It’s nice. It should be more anxiety inducing, it should be more dramatic. Eddie Munson should be absolutely losing his mind right now because he just kissed his best friend he’s been in love with for ages, but he isn’t. Actually, for the first time in a while, it feels as though he’s finally found it — he’s found his mind, he’s found his peace as he’s staring at your shy expression. It just feels right. Like a sigh of relief from the Universe.
“I like you, too,” you break the silence, unable to meet his gaze, “I mean, you probably already got that, but-“
“Say it again.”
“Huh?”
“I did gather that, but my God, please say it again.”
Your eyes meet him, and another piece clicks into place.
Right. It’s so fucking right.
“I like you,” you repeat yourself, a smile beginning to dance on your lips. He can’t help himself — he leans forward and pecks the corner of your upturned mouth, “I like you,” the repetition is music to his ears as he plants a second kiss on your cheek, “I like you, Munson.”
His peppered kisses mark every inch of skin available to him, making giggles begin to escape you. You even try to hide from his onslaught, but it’s no use. He’s quick to drop your hands and wrap his arms around you, tugging you in close and trapping you against him as each kiss grows more obnoxious. Loud smacking sounds, deliberately leaving spit behind that has you squealing. It’s nothing like the squeaks from when you were watching the movie; these small noises are filled with a little more joy, a little more happiness that only fuels Eddie.
“Eddie!” you try to scold, placing two hands on his solid chest, “Oh my God, stop it. You’re gross.”
“You love it,” he mutters with his mouth fully pressed to your temple, nose buried in your hair. That sweet, sweet shampoo intoxicating him.
You like him. He didn’t fuck it up.
You finally go slack in his touch, succumbing and letting him place you in his lap, curled up comfortably as you sigh, “Yeah. Okay, maybe I do. Whatever.”
“Oh, don’t act all tough now, kitty cat.”
Your hands are curled back in the fabric against his chest and you share the wonderful ache he had been feeling in his own cheeks and bones as you look down at him with playfully squinted eyes.
When he ducks down for another kiss, you stop him easily, “Nope. First, I have a request.”
“Anything.”
“Anything?”
“Anything. Name it, and it’s yours.”
“Please turn off that goddamn movie.”
He throws his head back in laughter that shoots straight for your heart. The kind of laughter that haunts a chilled autumn night as children prance the streets for candy, as teenagers get into mischief in distant bonfire parties, as elderly couples enjoy morning coffees over eerie fog.
It kind of feels like home. It kind of feels like everything is as it should be, finally.
“I suppose I can do that for you, my little scaredy cat,” he muses as his head tilts back forward, chest swelling with affection, “Besides, I think I know something we can do that’s a little more fun than watching the Poltergeist.”
“Oh, yeah? And what would that be?”
His arms tighten around you as he suddenly throws the two of you to lay down on the couch, his body hovering over yours and pick necklace nipping at your chin while he reaches out to click off the TV. The weight of him between your hips feels even better than either of your wildest dreams.
Years. You couldn’t believe it had taken years for this, and neither could he. But patience is virtue, and he probably would have waited another thousand years for this feeling, truth be told.
“This,” he says boldly once the TV buzzes in sudden silence, dipping down and continuing where the two of you left off. Two sets of lips fit together like the world’s easiest jigsaw puzzle.
It’s safe to say the rest of the night, any further squeaks and squeals you let out aren’t due to ghosts.
eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @gagasbee @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n
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A Local Delicacy
or the fic where hobie stares at pav and misses all the vital information
(please pay attention to the tags ✨✨ no cw's for this one)
"Wha's this thing called again?" Hobie frowned at the small, inflated crisp looking thing.
'It's called a Pani Puri, stop being so difficult," Pav reached up to hit him on the head, failing not so miserably. Hobie wanted to laugh at his disgruntled face. It had been a hot minute since they had hung out. Plus, Miles could probably use a break after the entire 'destabilising the multiverse' debacle. Pav had immediately dragged them to a nearby stall stacked to the top of the colourful umbrella with these Pani Puris, while blabbering non stop about foot traffic.
Hobie supposed some things transcend universes. Like crowds. Stray animals in narrow alleyways. Rude people. Rude cops. His crush on Pav. Capitalism. You get it. Hobie was broken out of his thoughts by the stall keeper handing him a tiny leaf cup. It was 5 centimetres at most.
"What are these for?" Gwen asked.
Pav smiled. Hobie's heart skipped a beat. "For eating. You'll see." He answered cryptically.
"Thoda time lagega beta, abhi kate pyaaz khatam hogaye," The stall keeper started chopping onions at the speed of light, his knife clacking against the ratty wooden board.
"Koi nahi kaka, aap aaram se karo," Pav bounced on the balls of his feet, replying to whatever the stall keeper said, in his sweet voice. Hobie loved when Pav spoke Hindi, there was something so flowy about it.
"What did he say?" Miles asked. Hobie was curious too. He only caught the heavily accented 'time'.
"He said it's gonna take a few mins, he just ran out of onions."
"That cutting board does not look hygienic," Gwen said, as Pav manoeuvered everyone to stand in a loose circle around the vendor.
"Arey bahut saaf hai beta! Very hygienic!" The stall keeper nodded at her, now chopping coriander. Gwen went red. Miles burst out laughing.
Pav looked embarrassed as well, and Hobie wanted to just. Hold him. He'd settle for standing close to him as he tried to sputter out something.
"Bura mat manna kaka, aapko pata hai yeh videshi log kaise hote hain." Pav scratched his neck, flashing a winning smile at the vendor and Hobie felt something stab in his heart.
"Chalega chalega, badi hi gori dikh rahi hai, pata chal gaya yahan se nahi hai." The stall keeper said while arranging the dishes around. "Uske liye kam tikha dun?"
"Gwen, do you like spicy food? Miles?" Pav asked.
"Nope." said Gwen as Miles nodded.
"What about you, Hobie?" Pav turned to him, his deep brown eyes glinting something pretty in the late afternoon light.
"Sure, why no'." Hobie shrugged, a grin inexplicably tugging at his lips. Pav turned back to the man, saying stuff in lilting tones Hobie didn't understand.
The stall keeper nodded, and cracked open one of the crisps, scooping peas and potatoes inside it and adding the green liquid and onions inside it. He swiftly placed it in Hobie's cup.
"Tha's it?" Hobie was unimpressed. This little thing?
"No, bro, you gotta eat it to get more. Put it in your mouth all at once. Don't nibble at it, or it'll get soggy and get all over your clothes." Pav said, entirely shoving his own Pani Puri into his mouth like a visual example of what to do. Hobie looked at the Pani Puri in his cup for half a second more before deciding to fuck it and copied Pav, mouth closing over the stuffed crisp.
Flavours exploded on his tongue. The sweet tanginess, the crunchy onions and the spicy peas; it was nothing Hobie had expected it to taste like and nothing like anything he had eaten in his life. He chewed, feeling the bits of the crisp puri poking all around his mouth, but that was the experience. It felt otherworldly yet somehow fulfilling. Hobie automatically extended his hand for another one.
Gwen got hers, stuffing it in her mouth, with no small amount of trepidation visible on her face. It was valid, considering she started coughing the moment she chewed it, going 'hoff, hoff, hoff!' which Hobie took to mean 'hot, hot, hot!'.
"Goddamnit Gwen, how are you gonna eat dinner with us?" Miles said easily eating the puri without breaking a sweat, his Puerto Rican taste buds used to the level of spice.
Gwen glared at him, face red and sweat dripping. "Can't you cook unspicy food for me?"
"Mami will never let you in again if you eat like a white person,"
"I am white."
"Yeah, and?"
"Hooo- kaay! Calm down children! Gwen, we can go get a kulfi for you later. Miles, stop antagonising Gwen," Pav made a 'chop' gesture at them, shaking his head frantically.
The vendor had plopped another one in his cup and was holding another one in his hand waiting for them to finish bickering. Hobie ate it, only a few drops of the green liquid spilling on his fingers. And the next one as well. And the next one. This street vendor was so fast, the fuck? With only Pav and him at the stall, because Miles was busy with Gwen, the vendor seemed to make three for each one Hobie ate. Pav didn't look bothered at all, scarfing down every one as it came.
"'oly shit, Pavi, ask 'im to slow down, 'M strugglin' 'ere, mate," Hobie managed to speak in between the positive barrage of puris.
"No way, it's part of the vibe, dude, keep up," Pav was way more graceful, easily talking between the Puris, time seeming to favour him and him only.
"Seriously?" Hobie muttered on the tailend of a particularly large Pani Puri. Pav grinned again, his right canine getting caught on his own lip. Hobie was well aware that he had a staring problem, and if he didn't get himself together, Pav will be too.
"Okay, okay," Sometimes Pav looked at Hobie in a way that had him swearing his feelings were requited, and this was one of those looks that made Hobie wonder how he's still standing up straight and not a puddle on the floor like he felt on the inside. "Kaka, thoda ahistha dena, Hobie bhi yahan naya hai."
"Theek, theek, beta," The vendor laughed. "Apke aashiq ko impress toh karna padega."
Pavi choked on his Pani Puri. Hobie turned to him concerned, as he said something in 3 octaves higher than his normal voice.
"Kaka- aashiq nahi hai woh- hum bas dost hain," Pav said, wiping tears from his eyes with his sleeve.
"Meri beti bhi apne bf ko dost bolti hai. Woh dono bhi ek dusre ko aise hi dekhten hain. Usko lagta hai mujhe nahi pata lekin ham bhi toh aapke umar ke the," The vendor winked, and Hobie was sure this conversation was not about anything he could imagine. Why on earth would this random man be winking at Pav? "Aur hum yeh bajrang dal jaise vishwas nahi rakhte, pyaar toh pyaar hota hai na?"
"Ji kaka." Hobie could see Pav's blush that seemed to radiate because why else Hobie would feel flustered too? "Ahem," Pav looked at his wrist like he was looking at the time, except he did not have a wrist watch on. "Kaka abhi hame jana padega- chemistry coaching hai- kitna hua?"
"Itni jaldi? Theek hai, sukhi puri lelo," He said, handing over two flatter crisps. Without the liquid. Hobie felt it was easier to fit this in his mouth after all the other Pani Puris. "Sath rupay hue,"
"Kya kaka, angrez dekhte bhau badha dete ho? Main akele khata toh chalis ka hota," Pav said, his voice taking a complaining tone and Hobie was surprised to find him even more endearing.
"Beta, jab aap dhanda karoge tab samajh mein ayega, abhi apko coaching nahi jana?"
"Han, kaka, din dahade loot lo," Pav said, and Hobie got a sense of defeat from his slouch, as he forked over what Hobie assumed was the price of the Pani Puris. "Let's go, before uncle embarrasses me in front of someone."
"You paid money to your uncle?" Hobie thought it'd be easier to get around in Earth-50101 as time went on, but here he was, getting more questions and no answers as he hung around.
"He's not actually my uncle, I'm calling him that out of respect. It's a cultural thing, don't worry about it," Pav answered, grabbing Hobie's hand as he wove between the forming crowd. Hobie sighed, letting Pav drag him around, his hand warm in Pav's soft palms.
___
i have nothing to say.
translation (not literal translation bc then id have to explain a shit-ton of grammar, slang and indian pop culture to yall):
Thoda time lagega beta, abhi kate pyaaz khatam hogaye - it's gonna take some time, [I] just ran out of the chopped onions
Koi nahi kaka, aap aaram se karo - no problem uncle, take your time
Arey bahut saaf hai beta! - oh its very clean, kid
Bura mat manna kaka, aapko pata hai yeh videshi log kaise hote hain. - please don't be offended uncle, you know how foreigners can be like.
Chalega chalega, badi hi gori dikh rahi hai, pata chal gaya yahan se nahi hai. - It's okay, she looks very light skinned, [I] assumed she wasn't from around here.
Uske liye kam tikha dun? - should [I] make it less spicy for her?
Kaka, thoda ahistha dena, Hobie bhi yahan naya hai. - Uncle, please slow down [the pace], Hobie is new to this too.
Theek, theek, beta - Alright, kid
Apke aashiq ko impress toh karna padega. - [I know] you have to impress your boyfriend.
Kaka- aashiq nahi hai woh- hum bas dost hain, - Uncle- he's not [my] boyfriend- we're just friends,
Meri beti bhi apne bf ko dost bolti hai. Woh dono bhi ek dusre ko aise hi dekhten hain. Usko lagta hai mujhe nahi pata lekin ham bhi toh aapke umar ke the. - My daughter also claims her boyfriend is just a friend. They look at each other the same [way you do]. She thinks I don't know [about them], but we [adults] used to be your age.
Aur hum yeh Bajrang Dal jaise vishwas nahi rakhte, pyaar toh pyaar hota hai na? - I don't believe stuff like Bajrang Dal. Love is love, isn't it?
Ji kaka. - Yes, uncle. (in this case)
Kaka abhi hame jana padega- chemistry coaching hai- kitna hua? - Uncle, we need to go- It's time for my chemistry tutorial classes- how much [were the Pani Puris]?
Itni jaldi? Theek hai, sukhi puri lelo, - So fast? Okay here's your [aftersnack snack (that's that least complicated way to explain what a sukhi puri is)]
Sath rupay hue, - it's 60 rupees.
Kya kaka, angrez dekhte bhau badha dete ho? Main akele khata toh chalis ka hota - C'mon, uncle, y'all see a foreigner and increase the price? If I was here alone, this would have cost 40 rupees.
Beta, jab aap dhanda karoge tab samajh mein ayega, abhi apko coaching nahi jana? - Kid, when you grow up and have a job, you'll understand, now, don't you have classes to attend?
Han, kaka, din dahade loot lo - yeah, okay, why don't you just rob me,
Some context (you dont need to read this)
kulfi is an ice cream equivalent, usually flavoured with almonds, pistachios and saffron
beta literally means 'son' but its used to refer to any kid who's very young relative to the speaker's age; and also for jokes b/w buddies but that's a different thing
kaka literally means 'father's younger brother ie uncle', but can used to referred to any man who isnt related to you and is about the age of the speaker's parents; there are also other terms depending on by who and how you were introduced to the person
Bajrang Dal - an anti-societal group against religious and sexual minorities(as defined in the indian constitution, do not come at me with politics). Famous in pop culture for being vehemently against valentine's days and premarital eye contact (you think im joking)
The Chemistry Coaching thing is a big deal. Kids have great pride about which institute they go to. The institutes teach accelerated courses for specific competitive examinations, usually in an unethical way. It's considered kinda shameful if you don't go to one. (very dystopian, ik)
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hey guys do you wanna hear about my bad idea ahahaha i'm just joking i'm going to tell you whether you like it or not.
anyway! au where jiang fengmian brings back a starving orphan from the streets, and his name is yue qi.
(what happened to wei wuxian? don't worry about it it's fine) (idk maybe he doesn't exist? whatever)
yue qi is strong. yue qi is talented. yue qi tries harder than anyone. yue qi is perfect and you can't even really be irritated at him for it, because he's nice and polite and good-tempered and absolutely everything you could ask for in a da-shixiong.
jiang cheng feels so fucking bad about this. second best even in a whole new au, huh, a-cheng? but it's not your fault. even op protagonist bing-ge couldn't beat yue qi in a fair fight!
nobody knows this, though, so you're just going to have to suffer through the comparisons. it's your mom and your dad and all the little disciples thinking that yue qi is better than you. ooooh, that can't be good for that burgeoning inferiority complex your mom's instilled in you, huh?
but, you know. jiang cheng's going to be sect leader. he's going to need a strong sect. even if his mom fuckin bitches at him for not being as good as yue qi -- yue qingyuan -- then at least he's going to have a strong right hand, right?
HAHAHAHA.
so there are two routes we can go here. for the sake of my early morning ramblings, we're going to go for the more unrealistic one that requires me to jump through more hoops, because i think it's hilarious.
yue qingyuan starts getting more distant as he gets older. going on long nighthunts away from the lotus pier, you know. he stops leading the disciples in morning drills -- or, well, it's less that he stops, and more that he's not around to actually do that.
he's not around a lot.
snide, snide commentary about how yue qingyuan is going to run away to become a rogue cultivator, just like -- (but we don't talk about them). how yue qingyuan's not going to be da-shixiong for much longer. every time yue qingyuan returns to lotus pier, he seems to be more tired, more wound up, more stressed out --
and then everything stops. yue qingyuan comes back one day emotionally catatonic. he doesn't respond properly when people talk to him. unrelatedly (of course it's unrelated), there is some wailing and weeping in the night. some little shidi thinks that somehow a resentful ghost has made it into the pier and alerts da-shixiong about it in the morning.
thankfully, da-shixiong is back to normal in the morning. "i'll take a look," da-shixiong says, and then everybody forgets about it because da-shixiong is back and da-shixiong stops going on those long nighthunts away and everything is fiiiinnnne, don't worry. and if da-shixiong is a bit more brittle after that -- well, you're probably just imagining it.
jiang cheng worries about it. but yue qingyuan never says anything, because that's what yue qingyuan does. he never says annnnnnything to anyone.
of course, there's only so long you can argue with da-shixiong when the plot is coming up. gusu happens. the wens happen.
jiang cheng and yue qingyuan get sent to the wen evil summer camp, or whatever it's called. indoctrination, right?
lectures. drills. meaningless busy work for the sake of beating people down. obedience, and more obedience. there's a wen staring down every class, just waiting for them to slip up. there's one in particular that seems to have it out for yue qingyuan, sharp mouthed and pointy and HAHAHA OKAY, you've probably guessed who this is, haven't you? you're a genre-savvy audience, i bet!
ah, but i'll spell it out anyway, don't worry. for a-cheng, maybe, because jiang cheng can't guess, because yue qingyuan doesn't tell him anything. jiang cheng's out of the loop, on the outside, like he always is with yue qingyuan. don't worry, jiang cheng -- you're not special. he treats you like he treats everyone else.
but ah, that's the problem, isn't it?
jiang cheng stumbles over da-shixiong at night, past curfew, arguing with the wen. or, really, it's not arguing -- the wen is verbally eviscerating him, and yue qingyuan is just letting him. attacks on yue qingyuan's character and talent and everything, and about how yue qi's CLEARLY found a replacement (replacement? what does that mean?) and fine, you think you're so respectable now, of course only a high-bred sect heir is good for you (that jiang-gongzi, do you think he's a better version of me) (is this the version of me you've always wanted?) --
all yue qingyuan says is "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry--"
there's got to be one question on your mind, huh, a-cheng? yue qingyuan seems to know this wen. pretty well, it seems -- those insults aren't generic, this seems personal. why? how?
who the hell is wen qingqiu?
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