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loveundrwrld · 3 months

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(ex) bully x fem reader oneshot

i tried to make sure new readers could understand the situation, but you can read his intro here for context if you'd like.

(cws: stalking, yandere shenanigans, reader has been bullied by the yan in the past and struggles with some trauma from it)

you’ve been stalked for a while by someone from your past. and to your horror, he seems to be finally making the move to approach you…

you aren’t doing so well. every day you feel your skin crawling, feeling someone’s gaze on you.

you’ve always had issues with feelings of anxiety ever since high school. for a long time, you’ve been skittish and untrusting of people, especially men. you know that you can take something small and your mind quickly spirals, turning a small problem into something huge in your mind.

and initially you were concerned that this was what was happening now. that your brain was connecting small things from your life together into something a sinister pattern.

unfortunately, this time… you think you are right to be afraid.

lately, every once in a while when you look behind your back you can see someone following behind you in the distance. someone with their face hidden in a scarf or wearing a dark hoodie. at first you think its just a coincidence... but, the person is always looking in your direction. and in some way or another, they’re always disguised.

later on, you check your mailbox, and there’s always a letter there waiting for you.

you knew it was from your stalker. you didn't really have any friends, and nobody in your family had that kind of handwriting you saw on the envelope.

you didn’t read the letters at first, afraid of what could be in them. in your mind, it would only solidify your fears of what was happening. you could deny that you were being stalked, chalk the person following you as just a coincidence- but seeing it written out in front of you would make it all feel real.

eventually, though, you decide that you need to read them. when you did, you realize with a sinking feeling that your stalker was the very person you wanted to avoid the most.

it's tanner- the person who made your life at school a living hell for you. all of the details and context that he’s sprinking in make that very clear that it’s really him.

it's hard to read, and not just because you feel disturbed by them. they're almost incoherent, his handwriting nearly chicken scratch as he is clearly writing them quickly and desperately. the letters themselves also seem to be just stream-of-consciousness too. from what you can make out of it, it’s absolute insanity- ramblings about how he could hurt himself if it pleases you, desperate pleadings for you to please, talk to him.

you think he's likely trying to mock you or scare you with his words of praise and obsession. you doubt that he's genuine in his intentions- though you don't doubt at all that he's obsessed with you. he’s taunting you by letting you know that he knows, you’re sure of it. his letters are simply too well timed- and have too many… ‘coincidental’ questions that relate to what happens in your life. you feel nauseous with fear thinking of him coming back into your life and tormenting you once again.

you try to go to the police with what you've seen, but nothing happens. no matter what you say, the police seem to not be willing to hear you out. to them, you sound paranoid… even though you tried to show them the letters, they still didn’t think it was worth their time. "well, he hasn't hurt you yet, right?" they would say. it would take you being kidnapped or dead for them to care, you realize.

you tried your best to ignore the pit of fear and uneasiness growing in your stomach and simply went to work.

your shift at work felt long. despite trying to calm yourself down and think of other things, you still kept thinking about tanner. your mind reminded you that you probably would not even be able to recognize him from all the years it’s been since you’ve last seen him- memories tend to distort and fade after time.

what if he wasn’t only trying to stalk you from afar, but he was actively trying to get close to you? it could be possible, your mind reasoned. he could’ve been the grocery store cashier, the neighbor next door who said hello to you, anybody. he could be any number of the customers you see walking into the store you work at.

all throughout the day at your workplace whenever a customer surprised you by walking too close behind you, or tapped you suddenly on the shoulder, you were certain that it was going to be him.

but, in the end, nothing happened. and just as you did every day, you needed to head back home.

it's pouring outside, and you're walking back out of the subway station. you look behind you, and someone in a black raincoat is walking quickly behind you. he turns his head a bit to the side and you see a flash of blonde hair sticking out of his hood.

you start walking faster- it has to be him.

just like you remembered- blonde hair, tan skin, tall, and lanky.

he’s closer to you than he’s ever gotten, and you don’t like that he feels confident enough now to change up his routine.

you walk quicker, turning left. but he's still right behind you, walking close behind.

you see someone close by your apartment stairs, a tall man with a shaved head wearing a long coat over a suit- you rush near him, hoping that the prescence of another man would deter your stalker.

it does not work, it seems- he keeps looking at you with some sort of strange desperation in his eyes.

you grab the stranger in the suits arm. you look over at his shirt- seeing a badge for the nearby bank on the front of his shirt. a security guard who just got off work, you think- he’s perfect.

the man in the raincoat gets even closer to you now, his brows furrowing. he opens his mouth as soon as he sees your hand on the other man’s arm.

"you're the person who lives in room 509, right? i need to-"

"hi, honey- did you wait long?" you ask, looking up at the man in the suit with a nervous smile.

he freezes, looking at you with wide eyes. in a few seconds though, he calms down and returns your smile.

"no, i didn't," he says, looking down at you with a sweet look.

he turns and looks at the man in the raincoat with furrowed brows, his voice immediately dropping. "is this guy bothering you?"

you freeze, not expecting him to address him directly. but you simply tug on his arm, trying to direct his attention away from him.

"don't worry about him, honey, just come inside."

he gives you a warm smile and opens the door for you, closing it quickly. he laughs softly at an alarmed sound coming from outside the door. you drop your shoulders, relaxing now.

once you’ve calmed down you feel a bit bad that you don’t recognize him- you haven’t been the best at being friendly to your neighbors.

you give the man in the suit an appreciative smile, wanting to show that you’re grateful for him playing along with your story.

“thank you for helping me! i don’t know what i would’ve done if you weren’t there.”

he looks down at you and gives you a confused look, but he smiles brightly.

“you're a sweet girl. no need to thank me for anything.”

he moves towards the elevator and you follow him. he presses the up button for you, and looks back at you with a bit of a blush on his face.

you look down where he was looking, and you blush as well. you didn't realize that the rain had soaked through your shirt, causing it to cling to your chest. you adjust your jacket, buttoning it up.

you two wait for the elevator, and he shifts a bit closer to you.

“what happened, by the way?” he says softly, looking at you curiously. “you seemed shaken up. did he ever do something to you?”

you nod, hesitantly.

“something like that,” you say, a bit bitterly.

he looks down at you with a concerned frown, and you two walk into the elevator together. you press the “5” button on the keypad.

"you should be careful. he lives in the floor above you. room 609," he says to you, his voice dropping a bit, becoming low.

he puts his hand on your shoulder, and you flinch a bit instinctively.

“do you need me to do anything to him? maybe... pay him a visit?”

you look at him with wide eyes, becoming uneasy. you slowly shake your head.

"no... you don't have to do anything."

“no, y/n, i do. if anything happens to you, it’s my fault.”

you freeze, taking a step back instinctively. there isn't much room for you to move- your back hits the back of the elevator.

you’ve never told him your name.

“… your fault?” you say, warily.

“i should’ve been more careful. i don’t know what he did… but i should have been there. he must’ve gone after you after he got my letter to you by mistake. it’s my bad handwriting that got you into this mess.”

you remember now that the address of the letters… the messy “5” he wrote for your room number looked awfully like a “6.”

the elevator door opens, and suddenly the man- tanner, you realizes, turns to you. his guilty frown turns into a small smile.

“well, anyways, no need to worry about him. it’s a good thing that i was there that time, right, honey?”

#yandere x fem reader #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #yandere bully #sorry this one is gendered lol i just thought a female reader would work better for this scenario #tanner whitlock

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chaotic-iguana · 9 months

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Home

masterlist. ao3.

Summary: reader leaves joel and sarah to pursue a job offer in nyc, thinking it would be easier than watching the relationship die from a distance. she soon realises her mistake and scrambles to fix it. based on this request.

Pairing: joel x fem! reader (no use of y/n) no outbreak au

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings: no smut, just a lot of angst, fluff and attempted humour

A/N: So, I’m clearly incapable of writing short drabbles (sorry lmao) let me know your thoughts!

“‘M just not gettin’ why we can’t make it work?” Joel throws his hands up, hot at your heels while you wipe your eyes on your sleeve and rush to the bedroom.

“I’m not saying I don’t want to. I’m just saying its unfair to the both of us. I don’t know how long I’ll be down there. What if we find other people? Long distance never works, Joel. I don’t get why you can’t just let it go.” Yelling over your shoulder, you start shoving your clothes into your suitcase, wincing at the harsh scoff he lets out.

You’d known how this was going to go. You loved Joel, so much. But you had worked practically your whole life to get the job you’d been offered last week. It started in a month, but it was all the way in New York. And you’d known while reading the email, as your initial excitement settled, that the slimy feeling coiling in your gut was right - you’d have to leave Sarah and Joel behind.

Your experience with long distances in relationships wasn’t great - and more importantly, it would be unfair to both your boyfriend and the girl you considered your own daughter for you to expect them to sit around and wait for you, indefinitely. Because you truly had no idea how this was going to go, at all.

You wanted to wait until the flight tomorrow morning to break things off with Joel, but he’d been so sweet while helping you get everything together last minute and he’d figured out that something was up almost immediately. So now, here you are. Having a messy breakup with the love of your life 9 hours before your flight to New York. Where you’d live, for god knows how long.

But this was good, wasn’t it? You were finally reaping the benefits of all the summers spent indoors and working, the missed birthday parties, the cancelled plans. You were finally getting everything you’d ever wanted, right? Except your palms felt clammier, your eyes glossed over with tears and your mind was completely blank as each sharp breath you gulped made you wince like a shard of glass.

Joel stood to your sight, arms hanging limp to his sides and his eyes on the ground, brows furrowed. He looked heartbroken, and it felt like it was physically tearing you apart not to go and smooth his frown away, kiss away his scowl. You wanted to fix his hurt, but you couldn’t - you were the one hurting him. It was for his own good though. He’d find someone nice, how could he not, and he would be happier. The thought of him holding someone else, of Sarah running up to anyone else with that twinkle in her eye, of someone else fitting into your family made your chest ache.

Nothing is permanent, and they know I love them. They have to know I’ll always love them. They’ll get someone better, they’ll be happier. It’s going to be okay, everything’s gonna be just fine. A stream of rambling consciousness starting playing like a broken record player in your mind, reasoning and justifying what you were doing even as your body-your whole fucking being was protesting it. Your hands were trembling, it’d taken you three tries to close the damn zipper and you knew it.

Turning to your Joel-not anymore, is he? you’re letting him go, you goddamn idiot (helpful supplication, brain, thank you for making me cry harder)- you sidestep him, leaving him standing dejectedly in the bedroom to drag your suitcase to the curb. The image of him with his head bowed; shoulders slumped as he closes his eyes and clenches his fist, agony radiating from him, is one that sears itself into your memory on your way out. Double checking your passport, boarding pass and phone, you walk in to stand in front of him again, gently bringing a hand up to his cheek to make him look at you. When he opens his eyes, they’re completely bloodshot and lined with unshed tears, breaking you; using all your willpower not to break down and pull him closer, take his pain away. Reigning your raging feelings, you stand on your tiptoes to brush a kiss against his cheek. “Be happy, Joel. Tell Sarah I love her.” You whisper into his skin and turn to leave, startling when he grabs your wrist.

“Tell her yourself. ‘S gonna break her heart tomorrow mornin’ if she wakes up an’ you’re not here.” He’s searching your sorrowful eyes, watching his words break your façade as you clamp your teeth down on your bottom lip and shake your head fast as more tears spill down your cheeks.

“C-can’t. I can’t. Please.”

Joel wants to gather you in his arms, stroke your hair till you calm down. But you’ve got your walls up now - crumbling, shaky walls but still, a barrier you’ve very much built between the two of you. He wanted your happiness, your successes, more than anything, but he wanted to cheer you on by your side, too. He was willing to wait, to call when you could - phones were getting smart now? - but you’d convinced yourself you were doing yourself and him a mercy by ending it. So he just nods, once, before gulping and pawing at the table to swipe his keys. The question written all over your face makes him want to laugh - did you really think he loved you so little he’d leave you to find your own ride to the airport at 9 fucking pm even if you couldn’t stand to look at him anymore?

So he hauls your bags off the curb and into his truck, yanking the passenger side door open and gesturing for you to sit with a jerk of his head. Once you clamber in, he walks over to the other side and starts the truck, hating every second of this. He wants to scream, shout, and beg you to stay so badly. But if you think this’d make you happy, he’d do it. Anything.

He just couldn’t understand why you kept saying he’d find better, be happier. As if he’d even try. Sarah’s mother had left, and he’d been crushed - had sworn off dating altogether. But you had come along; your lilting giggles and twinkling eyes carving a place in his heart. He hadn’t been with you because he was looking for anyone, he’d been with you because he thought he had found the one. But clearly he was wrong. Again.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he clenches his hands tighter around the wheel to steady them . His mother had always told him if it’s meant to be, it’ll be - and you won’t have any say in it. He knows it’s cliché, but if there’s even a grain of truth to be found in it, he’ll treat the saying as if it were gospel.

He can hear you sniffing your way there, heart breaking at the soft sobs that escape you, but he makes no comment. There’s no need to make this harder for you. You’d nearly fallen apart when he mentioned Sarah, and he could see in your eyes that if he asked you to stay with him, to sacrifice everything entirely, you’d do it without thinking. But he didn’t want that- could never want that for you. And so he stayed quiet, the stifling silence of the truck broken only by your muffled crying.

Pulling up outside the airport, he steps out and takes your bags down in complete silence. Itching to fix the awkwardness, he smoothes his hands over his shirt and sneaks a glance at you. You-his headstrong, terrifying little thing - looking this small, this defeated - feels so wrong that he can’t help but grasp one of your hands in his. Hooking a finger under your chin, he tilts your head up and smiles softly when you meet his eyes. “‘F you ever need me, you call me, you hear? Don’t matter if it’s five am and you’re thousands of miles away. I’ll find you, okay?” Your head barely dips in a nod as you stare at him like you’re trying to memorise the curve of his nose; the set of his jaw.

Releasing you and stepping back, he plasters a wider grin on his face as he ushers you inside, stopping only to whisper “Don’t be a stranger, hotshot.” The tiny grin blooming on your face sends victory-fueled adrenaline pumping in his veins, his stomach twisting with butterflies at the final step: watching you walk away. He waits till you’re inside and out of his sight, letting a long breath loose in resignation.

He can see how unsteady your feet are, how you stumble and nearly trip over yourself. She’ll be okay, she’ll be happy. If Joel was a better man, he’d try and understand why you just left him. He would gladly have learned it all for you - the SMS texting, even the Skype stuff he’d heard of from a colleague; apparently you could see someone on your phone while talking to them - even if he was all thumbs at it. Sarah would likely have helped him with it, too, the girl loved you so damn much she would have gone outta her way to find ways to make the distance feel as normal as possible. But you didn’t ask for any of that. No, you asked him to let you go. So he would.

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You sit in the lounge, miserable. Forcing yourself to take your mind off the clusterfuck that your life has become, you reach out for a magazine and start flicking through some mindless droning bullshit about a celebrity being spotted at a bar. Anxiety and unease had the wheel now, so you decide what the hell, and walk to the airport bar, ordering whiskeys one after the other until your head is swimming and you can’t remember how to stay upright walking in god knows which corridor of this too-big airport. Funnily enough the only thing the alcohol isn’t strong enough to wipe is Joel. How you didn’t even say goodbye properly, not to him and not to Sarah. They deserved better. You’re doing them a favor by leaving.

Your head swarming with stinging taunts directed towards yourself, you stumble into the bathroom and begin a four-hour-long stint of curling up next to the milky white porcelain, hurling intermittently as you lay on the filthy vinyl floor and relish the cold bite against your burning skin. Drinking on an empty stomach had been shit oversight on your part, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d made more mistakes than one tonight…

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Your job was all you could have asked for. The opportunity of a lifetime, with a salary high enough that your account was close to hitting 6 figures in less than a year. It had taken a long time and a lot of hard work to reach here, but it was worth it. The job was, atleast. But when you swung your door open late at night, walking into a dark, cold apartment; when you got sick and had to lay shivering in bed alone for a week; when the weekend rolled around and all you could do was curl up in bed and sob into your pillow - you knew that this wasn’t worth the cost of your relationship. You’d lost weight, your eyes had semi-permanent bruises under them, your hands shook most of the time now.

It was getting worse and worse, until one morning when your alarm went off for work, you just shut it off and slept in some more. Then cleared out the depressive clutter that had started to overflow on every table, in every cabinet. Threw out the half-empty liquor bottles and for the first time since you had landed here, you knew what you were doing.

You were going back to Texas. Fuck your two-week notice. You’d made enough money to sit on your ass and do small jobs for the rest of your life if you wanted to. The eight-month stint at the firm you were currently working at - even just summarized in two lines on your CV - would help you get better jobs than you were doing before. But you weren’t going back to Austin for work, not really.

You missed Sarah like a phantom limb; it felt like someone had ripped away a part of you and forced you to live with it. You missed her jokes, her laughter, the way she’d get excited about something and talk your head off. And him. You didn’t miss him, you fucking ached for him like a lovesick puppy. His name alone made you ache, and he plagued every single minute you spent awake since you left. You kept replaying that night over and over again; every single minute of it immortalized in your memory like your own personal purgatory (fun!). Joel, who would have held your hair back when you hurled your guts up at the pavement on the bad nights. Joel, who would have held you and fed you and loved you and why the fuck did you ever think it was a good idea to leave him, again?

Snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you packed your things into the same bag you’d arrived with. You hadn’t even bought anything to furnish the apartment, making do with the too-small bed, cabinet and wonky table the landlord had provided - as if you’d known you wouldn’t stay. And you suppose, perhaps, a part of you did know. How was any of this worth anything if he wasn’t with you? The long-term good can go fuck itself. I need to see him. Should I just knock on his door randomly like a creep? No, that’s weird. What if he has another girlfriend now? Yeah, I should ask him before showing up. What if he doesn’t pick up? Where will I go if he isn’t there? God, fuck this. Get on a goddamn plane before you change your mind, idiot.

With these (wonderful) thoughts dizzying you, you reach the airport and ask the counter for a ticket home. Turns out there’s a flight in thirty minutes - which is great because on one hand you can get rejected earlier - but also means that you need to decide whether or not to text him beforehand. Within the next half hour. Which you then spend wringing your hands, pacing, and by the time you decide to text him, your phone has run out of battery. See this? This, my friends is luck. (or, you know, dramatic plot writing.)

Huffing, you debate yourself every single step of the way onto the plane, practically having a panic attack by the time you find your seat and settle in. There are just so many reasons this could just be another shitshow. You can’t go back in time and fix what you did, but you owe it to yourself and to him to apologise and give him the truth. And so you lie back in your seat and browse yet another crappy magazine to pass the time, eventually giving up and fitfully sleeping through the turbulence.

By the time you reach his door, its eleven pm on a Tuesday night. Meaning Sarah’s gone to bed, and Joel’s halfway there himself. This is not the time. Or the place. But you don’t find yourself having any better, genius ways to do this - so before you talk yourself into going home quietly - you’re rapping a fist against the door, careful not to be loud enough to wake Sarah up. It’s a school night. Holding your breath, you become suddenly all too aware of your flushed face and the sweat on your palms as you hear familiarly heavy footsteps reaching the door. One half of your mind is yelling at you to turn the fuck around and run what are you doing he won’t take you back you broke his heart get out get out get out while the other half seems to have just short-circuited, leaving you frozen on his porch as his door swings open.

You watch his eyes widen in surprise, and the slight furrow in his brow as he starts scanning you - for injuries, you realise - he thinks you're hurt or that something’s gone completely sideways. Clearing your throat, you wait for his gaze to snap back to yours before flashing him a meek smile. “C-can I come in? Please?” He just stares at you for a second, and then he’s nodding, stepping to the side and opening his door wider. And God, even that’s enough to have butterflies fluttering in your stomach, your throat going dry. He’s clearly mad at me, but he’s letting me in. At eleven pm. Fuck, I love him.

You sit on your side of the couch and the sheer mundanity of it hits you like a brick to the face. Joel brings you both beers from the kitchen before sitting across from you, still eyeing you with equal parts suspicion and concern. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, looking down at your hands and trying to figure out what the fuck to do with my mouth what do I even say until he breaks the silence. “So, how’s work been?”

And now your hands are shaking again, and you freeze. Because what do you say now? Work’s great, practically a corporate wet dream, but useless. See, turns out I made the biggest mistake of my life by leaving - fucking moped about like an idiot the whole time, was practically a minute away from writing you some big shitty sonnet or something to beg you to take me back. Decided against it because that would have taken like $50 dollars just to SMS. ‘Course I could have boom-boxed it, ‘Say Anything’ style, but recording a fucking sonnet on a cassette would probably have shredded my dignity irreparably. Not that this isn’t, it’s just less of a socially-masochistic option, you know?

And it isn’t until you hear him choke on his beer and look up at the amusement on his face that you realise you just said all of that, out loud. You slap a hand to your mouth just as he starts laughing: head bowed, eyes closed and his shoulders shaking - just like that night, but he’s not in pain this time; he’s practically howling with laughter, clutching his stomach with one hand and holding his beer in the other.

You freeze again, eyes wide and staring in shock at the fact that that just came out of my mouth. And he just heard it. He shakes his head, still chuckling, and pointedly wipes a tear from his eye. Bastard. You, on the other hand, are completely panicking still - that was the shittiest apology you could have given him and where the fuck did that messily written draft you wrote drunk on the takeout bill last night go? It isn’t until he’s looking right at you with a shit-eating grin on his face that you react, blinking and looking down at your hands again.

“What I meant to say was that I’m sorry. I think I was just so convinced that I’m not the effort of you trying to stay with me long-distance that I convinced myself the only thing possible was to end it. Which, y’know, of course it wasn’t. And I didn’t even say bye properly. You drove me to the airport and I said nothing. I was trying so hard not to cry, because I thought I needed that job since I’ve been working for it so long, but fuck the job. I mean, it was amazing, don’t get me wrong. Great pay and everything, the work itself wasn’t too bad. All in all, amazing. But I was fucking miserable without you. And I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve what I did to you. I fucking love you and Sarah. You’re my whole goddamn world, y’ know? Sundays weren’t the same without chocolate chip pancakes and Sarah telling me about something that happened at school first thing in the morning. I just-I get if you’ve found someone - and feel free to tell me to fuck off even if you haven’t - but I just can’t anymore, I can’t stay awake every night and cry in bed and feel like shit all the time and not tell you that I just miss you so much all the fucking time and I’m so-“

“Breathe.” One word, he’s cutting your rambling off with one word, and you’re fucking obeying it. You swallow a deep breath before opening your mouth again, before he cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours. It’s not a soft kiss, but it isn’t forceful either. Desperate, like he needed to touch you again - the way you’ve needed to every single minute of every single day. Resting his forehead against yours, he’s smiling again. “Sonnet, huh? Would’a been a pretty shit one, I reckon. Lost your train a’thought like four times there, sweetheart.” Your stomach is doing somersaults at the fact that he’s abandoned the beer to cradle your head against his, at how he’s right there and he isn’t pushing you away.

“Wasn’t right, what you did. But we can’t make the right decisions all the time. I know you thought you were doing us a favor, but thinking you weren’t worth the effort? Now that’s a fuckin’ lie, baby. Woulda learned all kinds of phone voodoo to talk to you, and it would have been worth every damn secon’ of my time if it saved you from whatever the hell New York has done to ya. Staying awake every night and cryin’ in bed?” He tuts disapprovingly, continuing: “Shoulda called me, honey. How’s this: let’s get into bed now, an’ I’ll make you those pancakes tomorrow mornin’, I promise. And we can figure it out from there, okay?” And it takes you a second to process the fact that everything’s okay, before you’re nodding and your face is scrunching into a sob. His hands are immediately cradling you on either cheek as he’s shushing you softly, moving closer to move you into his lap. You were right. No matter how far you went, nothing could replace this right here. This; Joel; Sarah. After a long, tiring, painful eight months, you were finally home.

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @theywhowriteandknowthings @suckerforfanfic (sorry this tag wasn't working earlier)

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou hbo #the last of us fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #sarah miller #joel miller/you #no outbreak au

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stevethehairington · 1 year

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"and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for."

- you are jeff, richard siken

The back of the Winnebago is so quiet. It is so so quiet.

Four rowdy children under the same roof and not a single one of them says a word now. No jokes, no laughter, no bickering. The only sound amongst them all is their shaky inhales and measured exhales as they all marinate in this— this.

The plan that has to work, the uncertainty of what lies ahead. The heavy truth that this may very well be the last time some of them see each other.

Even Robin and her near constant stream of consciousness rambling is silent beside him. The only way he knows she's actually there is when they sail over a pothole and her shoulder bumps into his.

It's fucking eerie.

The silent knell of a death march — or ride. Whatever.

It makes Eddie's stomach turn.

Eddie is nervous. He's terrified, actually. This is bigger than anything he's ever dealt with in his life before, and he doesn't know how he's made it this far, he really doesn't.

But even more, he doesn't know how everyone else around him is so... calm. Sure, they've all done this before, it's far from their first time, but jesus fucking christ, have they really gotten used to fighting interdimensional monsters that threaten to destroy the world? Does that not scare the absolute bejesus out of them? He doesn't understand how no one else is losing their head about it. How an eleven year old is facing fucking doomsday like its nothing while he quakes in his god damn boots over here.

Eddie tightens his grip on his makeshift spear, knuckles going white. Clenches his jaw so hard he's scared he'll crack a tooth.

He tries not to think about how a cracked tooth is the least of his worries right now. How that actually doesn't even sound all that bad compared to the cracked limbs and cracked jaw and fucking vaporized eyeballs that loom in their futures. In Max's future.

Jesus christ, she's so young. Chrissy was so young. Eddie is so young.

His chest feels tight all of the sudden, his brain fuzzy and unfocused. His vision starts to go a little spotty and he can't breathe, he can't fucking breathe.

He can't fucking lose it, though, he can't. Not here, not now. Not in front of everybody else who's fucking cool as a god damn cucumber.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, tries to slow back down. Digs his nails into his palm until the pain of it grounds him. Brings him back.

The fist around his lungs loosens, just enough, as Eddie walks through the breathing exercises Wheeler taught him when he'd nearly lost his marbles last time.

He hasn't even noticed that the Winnebago has stopped moving. Doesn't see that it's all but emptied out. He's the only one left.

Until Steve god damn Harrington slides into the empty space beside him, close enough to touch, and says, "Hey."

Eddie startles, whole body spasming and flinching back until Steve holds up a hand like Eddie's some spooked wild horse and he's trying to ease him back down.

His heart rate slows, but he's still trembling.

Steve reaches out, and his hand curls around Eddie's wrist, thumb coming to rest just over his pulse point. His hand looks rough, still scraped to hell, covered in dirt and blood and dried bat sludge, but his touch is soft. Gentle.

Despite that, it's still solid. Grounding in a way that Eddie needs.

Eddie looks over, because how could he not, and Steve's... he's already looking back. His eyebrows are drawn together in concern, his mouth pursed, like he wants to say more, but chooses not to.

He looks so... he looks so.

And Eddie feels this, this thing expanding in his chest, looking into those glossy eyes, and it's— it almost feels like, like hope or something equally as ridiculous.

It makes him want to laugh, because who the hell could hope in a time like this?

This situation? It's fucking dire. And their plan? It's built on assumptions and fucking faith.

Someone isn't going to make it. That's just how these things work. Eddie's run enough campaigns with storylines just like this one to know the bitter truth of it. There are too many of them, too many moving parts, too many unpredictables. The odds are just not fucking on their side.

(And he has this terrible, horrible feeling, this rock solid pit, in the bottom of his gut, that it's going to be him.

He's the least experienced here, after all, and he's the most likely to freeze in the face of danger.

If someone's going to die today, it's going to be him.)

It's a fact that Eddie has resigned himself to. He's— he hasn't accepted it, per se, but he's acknowledged it. Has started to let it set into his bones.

It doesn't feel real. But it doesn't not feel real either.

He doesn't know what to feel anymore, really.

But Steve, with his big eyes, and his sturdy hands, and his reassuring touch — he feels a lot like hope, like something better than hope.

Something that Eddie can't quite put his finger on, but it seizes his chest in a whole new way.

Eddie wants to chase that feeling.

Wants to let himself believe.

(He knows he shouldn't.)

(Lying in the dirt and a pool of his own blood four hours later, he's glad he didn't.)

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #yeah so like. i read some siken and i uh. spiralled.#i invite you to spiral with me now #if you ignore the last two sentences the ending is actually pretty hopeful!!!!!! lol #mack writes #macks ficlets

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vintageshanny · 6 months

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Seeing Red

I haven’t been able to get this suit off my mind, so I had to write this one-shot about it. Even though I’m the one that brought it up, I blame these lovely ladies for fueling my fantasies. 😆 @lookingforrainbows @whositmcwhatsit @thatbanditqueen @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @missmaywemeetagain @powerofelvis @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @from-memphis-with-love

Content: Backstage hanky-panky, 18+

Tia felt like she might pass out. Even in just a skimpy sundress, it felt so hot in the arena. Or maybe it was the man on stage making her feel hot. And lightheaded. In her 21 years of life, she had never experienced this sensation just from looking at a man. She bit down on her lower lip, forcing herself to stay focused, not wanting to miss a millisecond of this experience. She couldn’t believe her good fortune to win front-row tickets and a backstage pass to meet thee Elvis Presley from the local Richmond radio station.

His performance was so dynamic, she couldn’t tear her eyes away for a second. His playful banter with the audience felt like a private conversation just for her. She tried to sing along to the songs, but it was like her brain was short-circuiting as she watched him lay down on the floor of the stage. He crossed one ankle over his opposite knee and rocked his hips gently in time with the music. Tia could hear the gentle clanking of his gold belt against the stage as he continued singing “Polk Salad Annie,” his long fingers playing with the microphone cord.

Suddenly all the moisture in Tia’s mouth had disappeared as she stared at him, slack-jawed. From her perch in the front row, she could see the way his tight red jumpsuit molded completely to every part of his body. She’d never wanted to reach out and grab a man’s butt this badly, but he was just asking for it, with the way his perfectly sculpted glutes rolled back and forth on the stage as he finished the song and started joking around about being crushed under one of the ceiling fixtures. Elvis turned his head and locked eyes with Tia right as she was staring at his butt and licking her lips like a wild animal locked in on its prey. His voice broke just the slightest bit as he laughed and turned his gaze back toward the ceiling. Before climbing up off the floor, though, he turned back to Tia and gave a little wink. Tia gasped, feeling a throbbing in between her legs. All she could think the rest of the show was, “Elvis winked at me!”

After the finale of “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” Tia made her way backstage, clutching her pass tightly in her hand. She nervously looked around, hoping to find Elvis before he was mobbed by other fans and his entourage. Too late. There were several girls smushed up close to him already. She sighed and hung back, too nervous to insert herself into the conversation, but unable to stop looking him up and down. She grabbed a bottle of Coke from a table of refreshments and turned back to ogle him some more. He was still in the bright red jumpsuit, and now that she was so close to him, she could see that it was soaked with sweat. That pulsing feeling came back as she clenched her thighs together, trying to stay calm. As she dragged her eyes up from his muscular thighs and a not insignificant bulge, she saw that he had caught her staring again. His full pouty lips pulled up on one side as he left the harem and made his way over to Tia.

“Ya here by yourself, darlin’?” he asked, his honey-coated accent making her heart skip a beat. “Well, I won two tickets and my best friend was supposed to join me, but she got sick at the last minute. It was an amazing show, but I was nervous to come alone,” Tia rambled on in a strange stream of consciousness that she couldn’t seem to stop. Elvis smirked with a twinkle in his eye. “Yeah, it’s always better to come with someone else.” Tia felt her face heat up at his obvious innuendo and lowered her gaze. “Sweetheart, if you’re gonna keep starin’ like that, ya could’ve at least come over right away ta say hi,” he teased as he grabbed the Coke from her hand and took a big swig before handing it back to her with a grin. Tia blushed and looked down at where his lips had just been on her bottle. “I’m sorry, Mr. Presley, I was nervous to interrupt your conversation,” she said, running her hand through her thick curly hair, her voice barely above a whisper. Elvis looked at her with a tenderness that caught her off guard and leaned in close to her ear. “Honey, jus’ call me Elvis. And I know a place we can sneak off and talk, jus’ the two of us.” Tia looked up in surprise but nodded. She was nervous, but not about to pass up an opportunity to talk privately with the sexiest man she’d ever seen.

With a glance around to make sure no one was following, Elvis grabbed her hand and pulled her quickly around the corner and into his temporary dressing room. He closed the door behind them and turned to smile at Tia again, his nose and eyes crinkling the slightest bit in a way that made her heart flutter. “Now that we’re alone,” Elvis said in a soft, low voice, “can I stare at you the way you’ve been starin’ at me?” His eyes wandered over her entire body, and although Tia felt herself flush under the scrutiny, his gaze held nothing but admiration. As he looked back into her deep brown eyes, he made an exaggerated motion of licking his lips. Tia finally loosened up, giggling and swatting at him playfully. “I did not do that when I looked at you!” she exclaimed. “Baby, ya can’t lie to me. I saw ya from the stage,” Elvis teased back. “Like a horny wolf on the prowl,” he laughed. Tia smiled but her breath caught in her throat as Elvis lifted a hand to her neck and gently traced his fingers over her caramel-colored skin. She couldn’t stop the involuntary shiver that ran through her body.

“Ya okay?” Elvis whispered as he gently pushed the strap of her dress over her shoulder, leaning in and pressing a soft warm kiss to her upper chest. Tia nodded and ran her fingers through his still-sweaty hair, eliciting a small moan from him as she gently scratched his scalp. He pushed his face down further into her cleavage, and she could feel his warm wet tongue dragging across her skin. “Let’s get more comfortable,” he whispered as he grabbed the hem of her sundress and pulled it up over her head, leaving her in just her simple cotton bra and panties. “I’m sorry,” Tia whispered with a hint of embarrassment. “I would have worn something sexier if I would have known…” “Naw, baby, ya look perfect jus’ like this,” Elvis said with a soft smile.

Tia blushed as she reached to help him get undressed. She unfastened his gold belt, which came off pretty easily but almost clanged to the floor with its weight. “Woah,” she said in surprise. “This is pretty heavy. Doesn’t this hurt to wear?” Elvis smiled at her sweet concern and said, “I’m pretty strong, honey, I can handle it.” Tia moved her hands to help him out of his jumpsuit and then paused. “Whatsa matter, baby?” he asked, studying her face. “Um, before we take this off, can I do something?” Tia whispered shyly. “Sure, doll, what is it?” Tia’s face turned red as she wrapped her arms around his torso. “When I was staring at you on the stage,” she said softly, “it’s because your butt looks so good in this suit.” Her hands wandered down and cupped his ass, giving it a gentle squeeze. Elvis’ face turned as red as the jumpsuit, but he let out a big laugh. “I just needed to feel it,” she explained as she buried her head in his sweaty chest and then pulled back to help him out of the suit.

It was so tight and sweaty that Tia had to basically peel it off of his body. She took the opportunity to press kisses to his salty skin as she moved down his torso. When he was standing there in just his white briefs, she could see that he was trembling the slightest bit. He pulled her in close and kissed her tenderly, slipping his tongue softly into her mouth as he reached around and unhooked her bra. Her nipples hardened instantly in the cool air, and Elvis leaned down to lavish each one with the attention of his warm wet mouth. When he straightened up, she could see how much it aroused him to make her feel good. His briefs could barely contain the erection he now had. She gently pulled at his waistband and reached her hand inside. He jerked forward slightly as she carefully massaged his heavy balls and then moved her hand up to stroke his length, rolling the foreskin back and forth.

As Elvis stood there with his eyes closed, softly moaning, she pulled his briefs down to his ankles so she could get a full view of him. She sucked in her breath a little bit at the sight of him standing before her fully exposed. “Wh-wh-what is it?” he asked, and Tia smiled at his sweet nervous stutter. “I’ve just never seen such a beautiful sight,” she said as she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the warm tip of his cock, tasting the salty precum. Elvis smiled at that and guided her toward the couch. Instead of removing her panties, he laid his body on top of hers, humping against her passionately, his bare cock rubbing her clit right through the fabric with each stroke. Tia couldn’t believe how good he could make her feel without even entering inside her. As he continued kissing her and gently rolling one of her nipples between his fingertips, her orgasm caught her completely off guard. She tried to call his name but it stuck in the back of her throat as her legs squeezed around him. Elvis’ body shook as he thrust against her and then pulled back quickly, using his hand to finish himself off on her stomach as she watched in amazement.

“Wow,” Tia whispered as her heart tried to find its normal rhythm again. “That was…something.” Elvis looked at her as he grabbed an extra scarf to wipe off her stomach. “Disappointed?” he asked, only half-joking. “I-I-I know ya probably were expectin’ somethin’ more, but I w-w-wanted to show ya what I enjoy,” he explained nervously. “If it wasn’t enough for ya, ‘m sorry,” he rambled on, and Tia grabbed his hand. “Disappointed?” she asked in surprise. “No, Elvis, I was amazed. That you could make me feel that good just from, I mean without even, well, feel for yourself,” she stumbled over her explanation, moving his hand to the center of her panties, which were soaked with her own sticky cum. Elvis looked a little bit surprised and she added, “I think you underestimate your power to satisfy.”

After they got dressed and Elvis wrapped her in a warm affectionate hug, Tia looked up into his face and said, “Plus, you made me feel good tonight in a way that goes way beyond something sexual. I will remember the magic of this night for the rest of my life.” As Elvis looked down at her, she knew his sweet, sincere, lop-sided grin would be seared into her brain forever.

#elvis #elvis on tour #Elvis x oc #Elvis fan fic #elvis fan fiction #i love this man

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forgottenarias · 3 months

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ooc || stafford family history i guess?

@forgotteneilionora Kate this is so much rambling nonsense i hope it makes a small bit of sense lol

Stafford Parents Okay but I am LOVING the idea that their parents put a lot of importance in action-- I definitely think it makes a lot of sense for both sisters!!! I am imagining since their mother died so young were actively involved in their father's royal affairs as soon as they were old enough? (especially considering Eilia was the heir which would technically make aria the spare?? which aria DEFINITELY ignored at all cost-- she def would spiral any time she considered that possibility.) i was wondering if perhaps aria, when she was old enough too, took up the mantle of being a patron/etc to these different things/groups/etc around Astaira which had originally been her mother's! i feel like the court/friends/whatever had tons of stories about her mother (because Aria would've been like..2 years old when she died I think?) that she'd heard over the years and she was aspiring to be as good as her mother! i dunno where this would really come from (mostly their dad i guess?) but i think they were trying to push the idea that being a queen/ruling class is about caring for the country and its people and their happiness/safety reflects back on a successful monarchy ruler. (also now wondering if they considered themselves/the queen/king "gods chosen" in the same way roderick does-- it seems like maybe that's not how the old religion would really see them but that's neither here nor there really...)

also knowing that their dad died pretty early on and while they definitely have more memories of HIM that their mother I could see where the whole lot of them have this very idealized versions of both their parents in their mind that is almost impossible to live up to in some way? that might be part of the reason why she (and maybe eilia too?) has this very strange idea that she isn't doing enough to try and fix the situation they're all in thanks to roderick!!

and because this is sort of a stream of consciousness word vomit rambling thing i'm ALSO wondering if even though they had fairly good familial relationships, maybe there was not really a forum to express emotions/concerns/etc within the family unit which is why now Aria/Eilia are in this weird sort of 'i don't want to be a burden/i am a burden/i don't want them to feel like a burden!' cycle because they aren't really that great at expressing their emotions to each other?? the whole like "we have to be strong for each other/our country" and a kind of guilt trip "things could be WAY WORSE" sort of thing

Old Religion/Guardians/Etc so to then pivot to Aria's abilities... i think she has had the ability for as long as she can remember! my idea was She talked a lot about seeing things/creatures/etc as a kid and I image her family probably thought she was just a kid who had imaginary friends, etc… but then as she got older and the stories continued/she could better articulate exactly what she was seeing they were like “ohh okay, that’s not just imagination.” Knowing there’s sort of two paths to follow when one has the ability to see/sense the guardians— being okay with it or kind of going crazy— she was probably kept a bit more secluded for a time so that if she did go the crazy route, she wasn’t out in public raving like a loon. I DO think pretty quickly it was concluded she was not going to lose her mind BUT then her abilities set up another set of concerns— even though the idea of seers wasn’t necessarily treated as a crime in Astaira it still would open her up to being a target from foreign entities (#roderick) along with potentially being seen as promoting the “old religion” despite the fact Astaira had a more open view on people’s religions! so the decision was made that it needed to remain a secret amongst the family (which really wasn’t that hard honestly). also now thinking this all maybe happened not long before their father died so she was kinda struggling with coming to terms with this ability/what it meant while they're all in mourning and her older sister is now the queen! (which obviously meant aria saw her less and while i think aria always knew that was going to happen it was still a shock/hard thing for her to deal with and i think aria tried to step up and be that person for siobhan but never felt like she actually was any good at it!) buuut anyway I think she had to figure out a lot of this guardian business out for herself along with trying to keep it under wraps so again it’s a part of her life she MAYBE put some unnecessary pressure on??

(also on the same note going off all that awesome info regarding witches lizzy posted, i was also thinking that aria never had an powers manifest which could be potential drama in the future for everyone if something happened that WOULD make some power manifest-- especially depending on who that might happen in front of!)

anyway this is, like i said, semi insane sounding rambling about things and i'm always open to changing thoughts on ANY of this but yes... it is here XD

#eilia stafford #siobhan stafford #ooc #kate rambles

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pregnantseinfeld · 4 months

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Stream of consciousness political rambling. Because this is not fully thought through I'm putting it under a read more.

Something that bothers me about the typical social democrat 'tax the rich' suggestion (not that I'm outright opposed) is that it would make the most sense in a scenario where the wealth of the owning class is derived from their own countries proletariat, right? If you cannot overthrow that class, then reforms that attempt to squeeze some of that wealth back out into programs that could benefit the working class isn't an entirely bad idea.

But in a country like the US (UK, Canada, etc.), where is the wealth of our ruling class actually derived? What percent exactly is our labor versus that of other countries? You can't just fold your arms and tell capitalists they really should pay their fair share everywhere they do business. That they don't have to do that is kind of the point of this whole imperialism thing. But it certainly feels like 'how do we treat the loot of empire?' isn't being interrogated enough.

And I can already hear "Why talk reforms?! Tear it all down!" As much as I hate the way -progressive- liberals pull the covers up over themselves and mutter "But today isn't the revolution..." every morning to excuse their sloth, most of us know by now we can't will a revolution into being. So how do we reckon with all this if we're still attempting to engage with politics outside of the revolutionary moment?

And all types of chauvinists that don't like difficult questions will paint this as 'guilt' of course. But do we stand for anything at all if we don't have international solidarity? Can those who desire to get back that slashed welfare at any price actually call themselves Marxists? I'm reminded of how Marx and Engels talked of the English unions, or even Lenin on economism, etc... But it's so especially rotten here since, well, haven't you just wound up a Keynesian if your aim is reliving unsustainable post-war capitalist glory days?

On the one hand its dishonest to go about our business pretending none of this matters, but on the other "American lives (under the current order) should not get better" is not a political position with any legs here, for obvious reasons. It's tougher than the banana discourse because there you only had to put cheap year-round bananas on one side of the scale and all the rewards that could only be gained from liberation in the third world and the victory of the working class on the other and the banana defenders look super silly. But outside those hypotheticals, when we are organizing here and now, how does this factor in? Can it? AM I just moralizing over everything being blood money? Am I up my own ass?

So I'm left just bitterly rubbing my chin about it, like this is a crossword that I'm definitely going to figure out by myself if I ponder long enough.

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kokiri · 2 months

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I'm still bummed in a way that Tears of the Kingdom left little impact on me, because I loved Breath of the Wild and Zelda has been a lifelong special interest of mine. I didn't even finish the game because I got bored of the sandbox crafting. I dropped the game at putting the Mineru construct together. The world was too big with a boring archipelago of sky islands and an underwhelming underworld.

The Depths had potential and were super fun at first! But once you activated and unlocked sections of the map it really showed just how empty it is. I think there should been a time limit on how long the light stays active because the gloom is too powerful. Maybe a dark/shadow Link spawns from the gloom if you stray too far from the light, similar to the phantom Ganondorf. Just something to keep that initial tension of the dark unknown.

Plus, the big emotional climax and story twist was muddied by the non-linear story delivery. The second tear I found? Sonia's death. And, like, I cried at the end of the Dragons Tears quest line! I've gotten so attached to this incarnation of Zelda over the years! It made me so, so happy to see that she became a teacher! It's so in line with her character! So it really did hurt to see her have to sacrifice her happiness for the sake of higher callings and destiny and whatnot yet again.

The game certainly made improvements from BotW. Dungeons were uniquely different and challenging (Fire Temple don't interact) with fun bosses! Teaming up with the Sages made them feel more essential! Monster variety was vastly improved! I loved throwing items and attaching them to arrows as a strategy to disperse monster camps!

But the story just didn't work for me and it felt like taking two steps back. TotK was much more story focused yet, to its detriment, it kept that storytelling method that BotW used. The reason it worked well for BotW is because we're as lost as the amnesiac Link is in BotW. It had a focus on the melancholic wonder and loneliness of adventuring in a post-apocalyptic yet quietly healing world. It was supposed to evoke the feelings of exploring Hyrule in the original Legend of Zelda. Memories as a form of storytelling worked. I understand the complaints about non-linear memories but it just made sense because memory is a fluid thing.

I really wanted to like TotK but man I don't know how to close out this post. I'm just rambling my stream of consciousness.

#emi talks #zelda talk #tears of the kingdom #also all the Sheikah stuff being handwaved away in place of the Cool Zonai Stuff upset me

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mapletine · 3 months

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silly celeb au concept sketches (wing photocard next week <3)

+ i have so many thoughts abt this au guys i need to be sedated (don’t open the cut unless u rly want more info bc. there's. A LOT. it will be a wall of incoherent rambling text im sorry)

ok first disclaimers: i know very little abt idols and even less abt modeling so!! if anything is horrifically inaccurate forgive me im stupid!! and also this will literally be stream of consciousness unedited so if it makes zero sense im very sorry

now we begin the madness

some background info: kite was scouted off the street (as he was walking off from pickpocketing someone LMAO) for his height and build, currently very sought after to model for many brands because he’s literally the same as the sketch models on paper so the designers don’t have to compromise on their clothing designs to fit the model, bc he just. looks exactly like the paper sketch. also the white hair is very distinctive!! and his prep/management team is his research team <3 he’s currently the face of several brands, including the zoldyck brand (i see the zoldycks as a very influential family in the fashion/modeling industry, kikyo was a former model until an accident, now she’s focusing on designing, all the kids are involved in the industry somehow, illumi is within the same agency (?is that how modeling works) as kite). he’s in his mid-twenties ish and hes 6'3" - 6'4" (190 - 193 cm)

wing and his idol group debuted a couple years ago (haven’t thought too much about the members, but im thinkin feitan maybe? kurapika?? shalnark?? idk guys maybe he’s a solo act) and they’ve skyrocketed to fame. uhh in terms of content they produce, thinkin something similar to wayv/bts type music (stuff that crowds just eat up LOL like love talk by wayv, luna by oneus that kind of music) and im thinking that wing’s debut look was REALLY BAD (they made the poor man blond) but when they put him back to his normal hair color he got rly popular. he’s had some bad eras where the stylists made him look a little goofy but… he’s good now (his best era was the mullet era). also he was trained by bisky who was a former idol who has retired and she's a legend in the industry… and wing is currently guiding an idol trainee (zushi lol). wing’s in his early-mid-twenties i think and he's 5'9" - 5'10" (175 - 178 cm)

ok and the main 4 fit into this uhh... i think gon is also an idol trainee along w zushi. and killua is currently modeling for a popular teen's clothing brand. i think i mentioned kurapika as being a part of wing's idol group but lowk i think maybe he's an actor instead. leorio is also. an actor. yeah ok there we go

uhhhh ok general thoughts:

i see them meeting at like.. the met gala or its equivalent and they meet when wing trips over kite’s clothes (he’s wearing something with a ridiculously long train and wing isn’t looking where he’s going), and at first wing thinks kite is super standoffish/rude bc he doesn’t apologize or offer a hand when wing trips… he just.. sorta stares at him on the floor for a second then clacks off in his very pointy shoes (he was flustered abt the very pretty stranger who just fell for over him. also he was STRESSED asf) (also the perspective that wing had probably didn't help bc bro was on the floor and kite was staring down at him from a height of like 6'9 with the heels)

afterwards there’s a bunch of pictures and edits of wing falling over all over the internet bc it was kind of funny… and ppl are telling him like “oh my god you tripped over yorknew’s top model the LITERAL FACE of fashion right now” and wing is like “damn i didn’t know also he’s a jerk”… and to kite ppl r telling him “oh my god the country’s MOST POPULAR IDOL tripped on you” and kite’s like “uhhh.. who?” (he doesn’t keep up with the entertainment industry despite being a part of it) and they both search each other up and they both have a moment like “oh my god i fucked up (also he's really hot)”

anyways they continue randomly (not at all random very much orchestrated by the people around them) meeting at things,,, there’s a very awkward apology from kite where he explains (sortof) why he didn’t help wing up… uhh stuff happens they fall in love and start dating LOL (i didnt think abt this part that hard) and for a hot minute there r paparazzi photos circulating of them together and the media is losing their collective shit

fast forward a little bit and they r like “yea we r together LOL” and then u start seeing kite at wing’s concerts in a spectator box staring very lovingly at wing on the stage and wing (and sometimes his whole idol group) starts showing up to fashion shows and wing looks like shellshocked every time kite steps onto the catwalk hes got kind of an awed stare on his face

ok future thoughts:

after abt two? ish years dating (engaged for 6 months out of those 2 yrs) they have an extremely private wedding with only close friends invited, and when ppl start noticing theyre wearing wedding bands (takes a while bc wing usually wears a lot of rings anyways, and kite wears his on a necklace and not on his hand) the media has a collective meltdown. again. (i am the media in this i think. i have meltdowns bc of them.)

um and eventually (around when him and kite get married) wing's idol group splits apart as they all go to pursue individual passions/careers, so now he's workin on his own music/vision. i think his personal music is much more peaceful and vibey than what his old group produced, more gentle love songs and poetic music and whatnot.

and kite steps out of the spotlight and is focusing on nature conservation philanthropy type stuff,, so he'll still step out and model for charity/fundraiser type stuff and he's the face of a large conservation foundation. (also bc sometimes he'll join like.. ocean cleanup initiatives or similar things and like. imagine ur volunteering to pick up garbage on the beach and u literally see like. anya taylor joy and her husband also out there picking up garbage or smthn. that's how the other ppl feel.) hes also a big advocate for no kill shelters and donates a shitload to them i like to think.

so yeah ok if u made it this far bless u!!! i dont really have any coherent storyline thoughts just this aggregation of random world building thoughts ok bye (btw if u have thoughts on this feel free to dm me abt them or tell me what u think in the replies or tags im brain rotting abt this stupid au so hard rn)

anyways im no writer (if u couldnt alr tell from this word vomit) so no fic but i may continue churning out thought fragments like this

#kitewing #silly celeb au

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