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#so lmk if you want more guitar stuff too
pedgito · 1 year
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Request idea for Eddie and reader where one day she gets him a few new things like band tees a new pair of jeans a pair of sweat pants and maybe a pack of socks, and Eddie is so confused like why did you do this? I can’t really give you anything in return and she’s just like I was just thinking of you, I love you. And he’s never really had a thoughtful gesture like that.
author’s note: crying at the thought of this, i hope this does your request justice, i was too invested in the storyline of this lol.
cw: 18+ (to be safe) mentions of sex/roleplaying, sad eddie headcanons, reader being the best partner, eddie doesn’t know how to accept gifts, established relationship, if i missed anything lmk!
word count: 1.7k
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Eddie wasn’t used to new things. Everything he owned was either hand-me downs or well-loved from a secondhand store—or stolen, because yeah, he’d never had the easiest life. He lived in a mess, compiling almost too much stuff at a certain point, too afraid to part with anything because every piece had some type of meaning to him and he was scared to lose things. Everything always left him, people included, and it was a constant fear that he lived with.
When he meets you, he latches on immediately. But, you start to recognize the patterns early, his obsessive nature with collecting and always taking what was offered to him without question, even if he didn’t really need it, even if didn’t really want it. Eddie had always been raised to appreciate everything, even the most mundane.
Wayne bought him his first guitar, used and always slightly out tune, but it was his first love. So, when he wanted more and couldn’t scrounge up the money, he improvised. He’s never been proud of his habits, even if he didn’t steal anymore—it was a reminder of where he came from, the obvious missing piece in his life that reminded him how unwanted he was. His father left him alone, his mother having been taken much too soon. Wayne was there to mend the broken state of that boy, but he was never well and truly fixed.
His jacket is the one thing he has that’s semi-new. He’d collected the pieces over time, a true creation of his own. There wasn’t a single thing like it in the world, that’s why it was considered new—even if it was falling apart at the seams and constantly having to be sewn back up.
He hates when you clean up his room, afraid he might lose something important—but the whole idea was that you wanted to make sure everything was organized, to relieve the panic he always felt when he couldn’t find something.
When he finally relents, it’s a mountain of discoveries that lead you to the final decision. Eddie needed something new, something untouched and untainted, all his own.
Holes in his socks, his boxers—rips in old shirts that clearly didn’t fit him anymore, jeans marked up in sharpie and shoes that were barely hanging on, worn down to the sole. Despite the obsessive amount of graphic shirts he owned, he always cycled through the same eight or nine, one for each of his favorite bands and a couple Hellfire shirts. His jeans were all black, accompanied with the same rips, though in unique places for each pair. He didn’t own a suit, nothing of the sort—not even a fancy jacket or nice dress shirt.
He always complained about wanting to dress up for you but feeling like it wasn’t worth it, knowing he’d ultimately look like a fool. It wasn’t true, Eddie just didn’t have the money to manage treating himself to something nice. Wayne worked long hours but the pay was horrible, only managing enough to pay bills and put food on the table—and Eddie’s dealing business wasn’t exactly booming, especially when half of his profits went back to Rick.
Luckily you were slightly better off, having never fallen on hardships as hard as Eddie. You didn’t have to work, didn’t have to worry, and Eddie envied you greatly. But, he always noted how you were different from the others at school—the ones who had money, showed it off. You were humble, you kept to yourself, and you never tried to shove it in Eddie’s face.
Still, it didn’t change the fact that you wanted so desperately to treat Eddie, even if he ended up hating you for it. Because if there was anyone he’d refuse to receive gifts from, it was you.
Unfortunately, you weren’t putting up with it this time.
Eddie comes home late on a Friday night, fresh off the adrenaline of his performance at The Hideout, practically bouncing with the lingering energy. He pounces onto you immediately, hands slipping up under your thighs to lift you up, a surprised squeal leaving your mouth.
“Eddie, put me down,” You beg through a weak laugh, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, feet hitting the floor soon after, “thank you.”
He smiles slightly, eyes darkening with excitement—you knew what he wanted, what he needed, but you needed to get out your surprise first and let him decide then. He doesn’t even notice how spotless the trailer is until he’s peeking into the fridge, the normal, mucky smell now gone.
“Don’t tell me Wayne started sleeping with that one lady again,” Eddie says offhandedly, because you knew just as much about that situation as he did, having lived through the chaos, “last thing we need is her stealing from my stash again, even if she does clean the place spotless.”
“Wayne would never,” You assure him, “not after that shit we gave him for it.”
Wayne was lonely—but it wasn’t lost on him that he had Eddie, and you by association. He’d retired from the dating life soon after a few bad run-ins, settling for nights in with both of you and home-cooked meals when Eddie was busy with his own stuff and you couldn’t keep your hands and feet out of the kitchen.
“It was me,” You shrug, “I got bored and this place reeked.”
“Yeah—and now it smells like a fuckin’ lemon cake.” Eddie grimaces slightly, nose scrunching up in minor disgust.
Your eyes narrow a little, threateningly as you approach him.
“I mean, not that I don’t appreciate it.” Eddie recovers, “fuckin’ love lemons, you know?”
“Uh huh,” You answer mockingly, draping your arms over his neck and forcing him to look at you, eyes gliding over your expression curiously, “—I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Eddie perks up at that, “Please tell me it involves sex.”
His fingers are crossed from where they rest at your waist, wishing and hoping.
“Not quite,” You tell him with a short laugh, “it’s not off the table, though.”
And Eddie doesn’t have any idea what it could be if not that, letting you drag him by his hand to his room, forcing his eyes closed as you cross the threshold.
You reach for the stack of clothes and new pair of shoes and place them into his waiting hands, his face turning up in confusion as he feels it out with his thumbs.
“Role playing, babe—“ Eddie smiles widely, “you really shouldn’t have.”
“No, it’s—“
But, Eddie continues on.
“I know I mentioned something about an elf princess and a knight but we need to, like, plan that out—I had a script planned and everything—“
“Eddie, it’s not clothes for role playing.” You tell him monotone, patting his cheek lightly until his eyes flutter open, glancing down at the clothes briefly before it clicks with him, eyes turning up to you wide and bereft.
“Hey, no—“ Eddie says immediately, voice soft, “I told you no gifts, I don't need them.”
“Shut it, Munson.” You warn lovingly, pushing the clothes back toward his chest that he extends to you, “You don’t get to treat me to things without at least getting something in return.”
“Eating in the parking lot of Benny’s is pretty lame, you know.”
You smile fondly, thinking of all the small, practical dinners you’d have after a long day at school—finding it best to unwind over a burger, feet propped up over Eddie’s lap, the wrapper of his burger resting over the top of your shins and sometimes he’d drop a topping on purpose just to find a reason to touch you. It never failed to make you laugh, watching his tongue swipe against your skin to wipe it clean.
“It’s not,” You tell him honestly, “it’s what I love about you.”
Eddie huffs slightly at that, looking down at the clothes with a tinge of sadness.
“You didn’t have to do this,” Eddie insists, “I have plenty of clothes.”
“But nothing new,” You point out, “fresh off the rack, tags attached—I even got you a new pair of Reebok’s.”
Eddie can’t deny how crisp they look, so drastically different from the shoes on his own feet—a half size to small now and ripping at the seams.
“They are nice,” He smirks slightly, “I just—I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say thank you,” You tell him, “I know it’s implied.”
Eddie drops the clothes abruptly on the bed, opting to grab your face with his hands, touching as gently as ever.
“I love you.” The words hit just as strong each time, his eyes watering slightly but not quite reaching the point of tears.
“I know,” You smile, bottom lip pulled between your teeth briefly, “they can be your dress up clothes, yeah?”
Eddie snorts, pressing his mouth against your forehead—not kissing, only touching, pulling you into a warm hug.
“It’s just some socks and underwear—a couple shirts and a pair of jeans, too. I can’t stand the holes, Eddie. I can’t.” Eddie nods knowingly, though the laugh he gives you is full of amusement at your obvious annoyance with the matter.
“I hope you weren’t trying to turn this into an opportunity for really sappy sex,” Eddie says, arms squeezing around your waist to lift you again, “I can’t do slow tonight, sweetheart.”
You nod slowly, “I hate slow,” You didn’t—it was actually nice, the tenderness Eddie showed when he took his time; soft touches, longing looks that made your face heat in embarrassment, knowing how badly he affected you, but the dirty sex was just as good, if not better, “you know that.”
Eddie kisses you quickly, fully, his hands squeezing at your thighs as he bounces you slightly, adjusting his hold on you.
“I meant what I said about the roleplay, by the way.” Eddie interjects, “I’ve got this vision and—“
If you didn’t stop him now, it would never end—so you kiss him quick, deeply, tongue dipping into his mouth and igniting a fire in the low pit of your belly that has Eddie moaning into your mouth.
“Shutting up, got it.” Eddie nods, finally taking the hint.
He doesn’t complain when you buy him new clothes anymore, accepting them with a soft smile and shy acknowledgement of appreciation—because he deserves it and he deserves you.
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Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡
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akutasoda · 4 months
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omfg dazai and chuuya with a rockstar gf bro 🙏🙏
love that can light up a stage
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synopsis - they truly are your number one fan
includes - dazai, chuuya
warnings - gn!reader, reader is a rockstar, fluff, slight crack?, wc - 459
a/n: genius. wasn't quite sure if you wanted them together so i did them separate, lmk if you wanted otherwise!
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osamu dazai ★↷
↪he probably listened to your songs unironically but never bothered to learn who you actually were, not until he heard you speaking and started connecting some dots about your voice.
↪so before you two even got together he was secretly fangirling over you as he did quite like your music. and that only increased tenfold when you two actually got together - but you never found out until later.
↪absolutely would buy any of your merch should you choose to have some, either way your albums/cds are kept safe and sound in pristine condition. that's probably how you found out he was a fan, after he asked if he got special access to your stuff.
↪if you did live events you bet he would show up regardless. front row and everything, cheering you on and helping you relax backstage afterwards telling you how well you did.
↪he called himself your number fan and you definitely didn't doubt that. would shamelessly glare at your fans and, if you were okay with it, would gloat about your relationship and be more than happy to show it off.
chuuya nakahara ★↷
↪probably just stumbled across your music, a stark contrast to his normal taste but a welcome one nonetheless. he immediately took a liking too it and decided that you were someone he thoroughly enjoyed listening too on repeat.
↪however you met, he probably would immediately recognise your voice but became so confused on what to do as he never wanted to come across as a creepy fan but he still wanted to greet you. so going into the relationship you were well aware of him being a fan.
↪you even were the one that joked that because you were dating he was your number one fan unknowing that he took that very serious and did start claiming he was your number one fan. and he probably was and not just because you two were together.
↪he definitely keeps a whole separate case specifically for your albums/cds and keeps them so clean you start to doubt they even were sold that shiny. and similar to if you sold merch, he owns all of it and keeps it in perfect condition.
↪the type to but you the best if whatever you played, mainly guitars, always insisting and would buy the most expensive tickets for your live events if you did them. even though you would tell him it wasn't necessary constantly.
↪he would also like to join you backstage after your shows. treating you to whatever as you did so well constantly during your performances. even if he sent some fans death glares as he could get quite jealous sometimes.
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pansear-doodles · 1 year
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-> Pansear ; any pronoun ; genderfluid bisexual (taken) ; Neurodivergent ; 21 ; April 9 ; Local Filipino
-> GAD and MDD (Please be patient with me, thank you)
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Welcome to my blog. There's lots of important stuff under keep reading. So if you care and have the time, do read.
-> Hello. I'm Pansear. I have done stupid shit but also cool shit, and stupid cool shit. My stupid shit don't mean I'm being malicious- I think most of the time I was just silly or very emotional about it. I really like to draw, play specific video games, and enjoy animated content like movies and cartoons. I think animals are cool, plants are cool, sharks and aquatic creatures are cool, and for some reason I really like vending machines (I think they are exciting). I like to make food and eat them, and even draw them. I like video game music and music with guitars and bass in them. I really like plushies and collect those of my favorite characters.
-> Oh and speaking of Favorite characters... They're my blorbos alright and sometimes I accidentally project onto them. These blorbos include: Werewolf Cookie (Cookie Run), Legoshi (Beastars; look I even share birthdays with him!), Nick Wilde (Zootopia), Plague Knight (Shovel Knight), Artificer and Hunter (Rain World), Ichimatsu Matsuno (Osomatsu-san), Foxy the Pirate (FNAF), Pinkie Pie (MLP), Spamton (Deltarune), and a bunch of goth/edgy backstory and generally edgy/tired old men from Pokemon like Nanu and Larry. I could go on more but just know that if the character looks like they deserve some sort of hug, 90% of the time they're likely my most favorite character.
-> A troubled person trying to get by in college. Currently seeking therapy and found support with many lovely individuals (my friends!) and making some form of progress to fix myself. My primary form of coping is drawing and making stories where the characters fight similar struggles as mine (They are essentially my Earthbound Flying Men). This is one of the reasons why I make a lot of art and draw fast- It is not to chug out content- I just draw fast and a lot. Well... I used to draw fast, but with the advice of many, I'm taking it easy.
-> I also like to play video games and listen to music repeatedly until I get bored to help cheer me up. I do not want to go into detail about my trauma and its details and progression shouldn't be everyone's priority to know. I'm here in the internet to have fun and maybe earn incentives along the way, and whenever I get tired, I dock out until I feel better.
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-> Most things I say are gender neutral and loose. Don't take everything too seriously. Sometimes my distinctions in art and portrayals are not clear to people so please browse with an open mind. I also might not know certain subjects for cultural and personal reasons, so if you wish to educate me on some manners, please do- I never mean anything malicious in my work. Feel free to request tags.
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#vent - This and the self harm tags used to be prevalent in this blog. I realized that these are things that shouldn't be revealed so publicly, and in front of the potentially vulnerable. This MIGHT come in rarely, but I'm hoping that not anymore from here on out. I'm sorry to those who witnessed such tags.
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starsstuddedsky · 1 year
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As It Was
reader x seungkwan
summary: working as a bodyguard for one of the most famous pop stars in the world turns out to be a lot different than you expect, and somewhere along the way, you find out you aren’t nearly as different from him as you thought…
genre: angst, fluff somewhere, celebrity au
warnings: food/diet mention, swearing(?), mentions of burns/injury, lmk if i missed any!
wc: 10.2k
a/n: ahhhhh!!!!!! I’m back <3 this story is angsty than my usual stuff, I’m not sure how it turned out :) thanks for reading as always! p.s.: stream as it was by seungkwan <3
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You lean against the wall. It’s unprofessional, but it’s been a long day and your knee is beginning to ache. The concert is well underway by now, so, being assigned to guard the empty dressing room, there isn’t anything to do but wait. 
The music pauses, and Seungkwan’s voice rings out, amplified so loud you could hear it clearly even while backstage. He makes a couple jokes that earn a roar of laughter. A couple of moments later, they cheer as he announces the next song he is going to perform. 
The starting chords play, switching to an acoustic guitar with no other accompanying instruments. His voice fills the stadium as he begins to sing his earliest ballad, the first song he released after the break-up of the band. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard this song. The person you were when it was first released is so different from who you are today. You think about that kid, who was still full of hope, who still dreamed. That kid was used to hearing cheers for themself, the person that does instead of did. 
That kid is gone now, and it’s your job to pick up the pieces of the life that’s been left behind. 
You straighten as the song ends. It is the end of the official set list, meaning Seungkwan will return to change and recover before going out to perform the encore. The concert is almost over. 
A flurry of movement surrounds him as he descends from the stage, his makeup staff not bothering to flash their badges at you as they enter the dressing room. In the two months since the start of the tour you’ve become familiar with the regular staff: John, the manager who seemed to be doing five jobs at once navigating Seungkwan’s insane tour schedule and coordinating the staff; Seungcheol and Mingyu, the bodyguards who’d been around since he was still a part of the band; Soonyoung, the young doctor who joined the staff after one of the dancers sprained an ankle. You might call some of them friends, if things were different. 
You settle for nodding at them as they pass by. Seungkwan disappears into the dressing room, smiling at you as he passes. Maybe it was because this is your first real job, but you didn’t expect him to be so… nice. 
You keep an eye out for anyone without a backstage pass, but you don’t see anyone you don’t recognize. After a couple minutes, Seungcheol and Mingyu appear by your side, joining you as sentries outside the dressing room door. The crowd has taken to chanting Seungkwan’s name, distant voices calling for him to return. 
“Anything interesting?” You ask, though if there had been anything you would have heard it over the earpiece. Even if there was something, it was most likely that venue security would take care of it. You don’t know what you expected taking this job, but “professional bodyguard to international pop-star and San Francisco’s own sweetheart, Boo Seungkwan” was definitely more exciting in your head. 
Mingyu shakes his head. “Another good show.” 
“Don’t you get bored down here?” Seungcheol asks. 
“Sometimes,” you say with a shrug. “But doesn’t listening to this show over and over again get boring?” 
“You should have been here when he was promoting for the first time,” Mingyu says with a shudder. “We were on a night show every day of the week, I think I could still perform ‘I Want to Know All of U,’ even Seungkwan’s adlibs.” 
“And yet you stayed,” you say. 
“You will, too,” Mingyu says. “Or maybe not, you still haven’t joined us for drinks.” 
“You can’t force them to come,” Seungcheol says. He at least pretends to be strict when you’re at work. 
“Oh please, I had to stop you from calling them while drunk and threatening to get them fired if they didn’t come,” Mingyu says. 
Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “I would never. Unlike someone, I have class.” 
“Class?” Mingyu snorts. “You couldn’t buy class if you won the lottery.” 
“You’re right, the class that I have can’t be bought,” Suengcheol says. “I was born with it.” 
“You sound like a makeup commercial.” 
You shake your head but you still smile. Their bickering has become a comfort, even if never-ending. 
“One minute!” Someone announces. The door flies open and a couple flustered stylists leave. Through the open door, you see chaos, Seungkwan dressed head to toe in his own merch, with patchwork jeans rolled up and Soonyoung rubbing some cream onto his shin where the skin was bright red. 
“How do you drop a curler?” Soonyoung asks. “Why was it even on? His hair is straight!” He sounds angry. You glance at Seungcheol and Mingyu but they don’t show any signs that you should intervene. 
“It was an accident,” Ha Won, the head makeup artist says. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault, so stop trying to point fingers and just get him ready to go on stage. We’ll deal with this later.” 
Seungkwan lets out a tiny gasp as Soonyoung apparently presses too hard, though he doesn’t flinch. 
“Sorry,” Soonyoung mutters. “You don’t have to go onstage.” 
He shakes his head immediately. “No, I’m just being dramatic about it, I’ll be fine.” 
Soonyoung looks like he wants to argue more, but Seungkwan stands, rolling his pants down. He takes a couple steps, wincing as the fabric must brush against the burn but quickly changing his expression to a bright smile. It shocks you how easily he changes from pain to an award-winning smile. 
“Thirty seconds!” 
Seungkwan walks past you, Mingyu and Seungcheol flanking him. He waves off his manager before he can try to stop him, letting the tech put on his mic pack and set up his in-ear. He takes his mic last, bright pink. Rumor is that it is the same mic he used when (group) was still together. The cheers explode as he emerges on stage, belting the lyrics to a fan-favorite song before they can even see him. You settle back against the wall to wait for the concert to officially end. 
.
.
Seungcheol and Mingyu are supposed to be in the garage, making sure the van is ready to go, but they appear at the end of the hall with frowns. 
“There may have been a breach,” Seungcheol says. He stops at the door, listening to the second earpiece that is connected with venue security. Before he can relay the information, there’s a shout from down the hall. 
“If anything happens, you get him out,” Seungcheol orders, yanking the door to the dressing room open and shoving you in. “Mingyu, stay by the door, I’ll-” You don’t hear anything else, because the door swings shut with an ominous click. 
“Is everything okay?” Seungkwan asks. He’s sitting on the sofa, and you realize that no one else is in the room. In a security sense, you know that he is the only one inside, but it is different to actually be with him, the small space feeling too intimate to share with someone you’ve never actually spoken to before. 
You wonder if you should lie, but you don’t see a point to it. “There’s a threat,” you say. You hesitate, but add, “it’ll be okay.” 
You stand at attention by the door, hands behind your back, posture rigid. You wish he’d sent Mingyu instead, feeling the tension grow as Seungkwan sits on the couch. 
“Can you…” He pauses. It’s strange to hear him speaking to you. You’ve gotten used to hearing him speak on stage or to the other staff. Never to you. He sounds nervous, avoiding your eyes and opening and closing his mouth a few times before attempting to ask again. “Can you relax?” 
You frown. “Relax?” 
“It’s sort of stressful to think that at any second someone is going to break down the door and swarm me, and you standing like a soldier just makes it worse,” Seungkwan says. 
“Oh,” you say. You let go of your hands, folding them over your chest instead, and relax your shoulders a little. “Like a soldier?” 
He shrugs. “Not a soldier… Something else.” He claps his hands. “You were an olympian! Y… y/n?” You nod and he grins. “I knew you looked familiar!” 
You met a lot of famous people back when you were still competing, but none were like Seungkwan. The closest you could think of was meeting the other athletes in the Olympic village, but it was still nothing like the way Seungkwan is in front of you, smiling as if you were old friends. 
“You were broadcast all over the country for a year, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you until now!” He says. 
“Well, I got replaced by you,” you say. “There was a billboard I passed by every time I came home from the airport and one day I came back with a gold medal and you were up there instead.” Technically there were four other people on the billboard too, but you think it’s poor taste to bring that up. 
“Sorry,” he says. “If I had it my way, you’d still be up there. Seok-” He pauses, and you think you see a flash of hurt in his eyes. “I used to get teased for being a fan.” 
“I wish I could say the same,” you say. “Though one more show and I think I could probably go up there and do the whole thing with you.” 
He laughs. “That’d be fun. I’m sure the crowd would love to see you knock me on my ass.” 
“I don’t know about that,” you say. “I’m not sure I could even do it anymore.” 
“That’s not very comforting to hear when someone may or may not be breaking in to murder me.”  
“Who said anything about murder?” You ask. “At worst it’s an overly dedicated fan, Seungcheol and Mingyu can handle those in their sleep.” 
“You didn’t say anything about your own skill,” Seungkwan says, pouting his lip and studying the wall next to you. 
You scoff. “I could stop a grown man with one hand.” 
“That’s a lie,” Seungkwan sits back against the couch, folding his arms. 
“You can believe me or not.” You shrug. “It doesn’t change that I can do it.” 
“Prove it.” 
“What?” You frown, losing your perfect posture. 
He shrugs. “All we are doing is waiting, at least this distracts me, and if you aren’t bluffing, I’ll learn some good self-defense.” 
You ponder it for a moment. “Hold out your hand.” 
He frowns but eventually extends his hand. You take a few steps so that you’re standing in front of him. Your hand hovers over his as you wait for a nod of approval, then gently wrap your fingers around his hand. Your thumb comes to rest in the space between his thumb and pointer finger, the rest of your fingers curling around his palm. 
“This is-” He stops when you press your thumb down. “Ow!” 
You smile, letting go before you press too hard. “There’s a pressure point,” you explain, pressing lightly so that he can feel where it is. “Press hard enough and twist,” you say, turning his wrist so that his hand flexes and points downwards, “And you can stop anyone.” 
“I believe you!” He says, “You win, I tap out, just let go!” You release his hand, watching him shake it out. He is exaggerating because you barely held enough pressure to cause real pain, and didn’t twist nearly enough to do anything. You think he’s humoring you, but it still makes you smile. 
“Where’s the pressure point?” He asks. You offer your hand, pointing to the spot in the open skin between thumb and finger. His thumb wanders before finally settling over it. 
“You can push harder,” you say when he barely presses down. 
“And maim you like you maimed me? Hardly,” he says. 
“Well, if you were really trying to hurt someone, you’d want to-” You are guiding his hand to show him how to twist in a direction that would cause the most pain. He stops before you feel anything, letting go. You are about to return to your position at the door, but he pats the couch, inviting you to sit beside him. 
“Oh, just sit,” he says when you pause. “I need you to look at something.” He pouts his lips, just a little, and widens his eyes, an irresistible beg, even for your sheltered heart. You give in and sit beside him. “Okay, I’m going to trust that you’re not squeamish because I am, and I cannot look at this, so please just tell me if I’m going to lose my leg or not.” He pulls up his pant leg to show the burn that he’d gotten earlier. 
The skin on his leg is still red, though it’s darkened and isn’t leaking any fluids. It’ll likely scar, but it doesn’t look too bad. 
“You’ll survive,” you say, looking up to meet his dark eyes. You laugh at his disgusted frown. 
“Thank you for looking,” he says, tenderly rolling the pants back down. “I don’t do well with gore.” 
“There’s isn’t much gore,” you say, but he shakes his head. 
“Anything red or bloody is out of the question, if I look at it, it makes me sick.” 
You nod. You’ve known plenty of athletes who were the same way, though it never really made sense to you. Still, it’s their bodies, and their minds. 
“Can I ask you something?” You ask. 
“Sure,” Seungkwan lay back against the arm of the couch, facing you. 
“Why not take a longer break and get that actually treated?” You point to his leg. 
“You said it yourself,” he says with a shrug. “It’s not that bad. Besides, I owe my fans a lot more than a whiny excuse for not finishing the concert. It’s part of the job.” 
Something about that doesn’t sit right with you, but before you can say anything, the door opens. You jump up, standing at attention again out of habit more than anything else. 
Mingyu stands in the doorway, his face a mask of seriousness. “Everything is under control, but we’re getting you out, now.” He doesn’t look at you, ushering Seungkwan out of the room. You fall into step next to him, standing behind Seungkwan as Seungcheol appears in front to take the lead. 
The tiny dressing room had been a refuge where, for a moment, you were just yn, and he was just Seungkwan, but as soon as you stepped outside, he turned back into Seungkwan, the brand, the Grammy award-winning singer, former member of The Secret Boys, and heartthrob known around the world. And you were still just yn. 
.
.
Seungkwan likes the day before a concert much more than the day after. Sure it’s hectic because there’s always something wrong with the venue, or traffic is horrible, or someone breaks into the hotel, but Seungkwan still hasn’t gotten tired of the pre-concert nerves. His heart hasn’t learned this is regular life now, even after years of fame. Nothing makes him feel more alive than just before he’s on stage, hearing the crowd chant his name. 
The day after is different. His body aches, even though he’s still so young. It hasn’t adjusted to tour life, spending more time traveling than in any one place, and though he didn’t dance nearly as much as before, it is still enough to cause his legs to ache as he rolls out of bed, sliding his slippers on to protect his toes from the chilly tile floor of the bathroom. 
The only noise comes from the rumbling of the AC and the distant traffic of the city. It’s late morning, characterized by commuters honking and the revving of engines. Still, it feels far away from Seungkwan, alone in this room. He remembers what it’s like to tread quietly to not disturb the other person snoring. Back then, he wished for his own room, but now he’d do anything to not feel so alone. 
There’s another ache that is deeper inside that he only feels the day after a concert, an emptiness deep within that whispers curses he knows aren’t true. It’s a lot harder to ignore them when he’s alone. 
He brushes his teeth and washes his face, the routine helping his breathing to slow and erratic heart to calm. The warm water helps bring him back to reality, reminding him he is alive and breathing. He leaves the water running longer than he should, reveling in the warmth. He wishes he could shower, but he slept too long, and now it would have to wait until he got to the next hotel, which was a thirty minute drive and two hour flight away. 
At least it doesn’t take long to pack, since he never had the time to actually unpack. He changes into the pre-chosen clothes set out by his stylist that are comfortable but still trendy for the airport and leaves the room after a final sweep for chargers and dropped cards. Finding nothing, he leaves. The entire floor has been booked by the company, and he doesn’t miss the security guards by the elevator. They must be hotel security, because he doesn’t recognize them. He still wonders whether he really needs all of this. 
He stops by John’s door, knocking once. His manager appears as if he’d been waiting by the door for Seungkwan, yanking it open.
“You’re already ready? Of course you are, you’ve always been punctual,” he says. “We’re not going to leave for another hour, there’s been a slowdown with the vans, I’m on the phone right now trying to fix it. Have you eaten? Go down and get something,” he says before Seungkwan can answer. “Just make sure Seungcheol or someone is with you.” He waves Seungkwan off without a word. 
This used to bother Seungkwan, but he’s used to it by now. It’s not because John is ignoring him, but especially since the breakup of the band and the other managers dividing among themselves with who to stick with, he’s been overworked to say the least. Seungkwan is grateful that he has any help, even if it’s exasperated and exhausted. 
He knocks on Seungcheol’s door next. It takes much longer to open, revealing Seungcheol struggling to button the cuff of his sleeve and the crashing sound of someone dropping something in the running shower. Seungkwan smiles at Mingyu’s voice that can be heard over the running water, cursing and whining. 
“Going out?” Seungcheol asks. He turns behind him. “Yn, you’re on escort.” You appear from the room, wearing a simple black polo and pants. Your face is serious, the mask that he’s used to. Last night was the only time he’d seen you smile. 
Seungkwan walks to the elevator, the soft taps of your shoes on the floor the only sign that you are behind him. Even in the elevator when he leans against the wall, you find a way to be his shadow, folding your arms and frowning at the floor. Maybe it’s because you’re the newest staff member, but he wonders how long it will take before you can be comfortable with him. It sets him on edge, though he knows he is the one that has so far been spoiled by familiarity of the people around him. 
“Have you eaten?” He asks. The elevator dings as it opens on the ground floor. 
“No,” you say. He feels more accomplished than he should at simply hearing your voice. He sits in the restaurant that’s attached to the hotel. Surprisingly, there’s no staff, which means he’s going to be alone. With you. He isn’t sure if it’s right that he’s excited by this, but he’s too tired to care. 
“Perfect,” he says, glaring at you until you sit across from him. He waits until you pick up the menu to study it himself. Until the food comes, it’s a little psychological battle that he wages, waiting for you to wave down a waiter, waiting for you to order first, and waiting for you to speak first. He loses the last one. 
“So how are you enjoying the tour,” he finally asks when he can’t think about anything else. There’s other questions he wants to ask but he knows you aren’t ready to answer them yet, so he settles for any kind of conversation. 
“As a member of your security team?” You shrug. “Uneventful, though that’s sort of the goal.” 
“What about as someone who has heard my show eight times? Are they getting any better? Please don’t say worse, my ego can’t take it.” This earns the hint of a smile, the corners of your mouth turning up just a tiny bit. 
“It’s good,” you say. “You’re really good with the crowd, and your voice is amazing, obviously. I think it would be more surprising if the show was bad.” 
“Is that a compliment?” Seungkwan asks. 
You shrug. “It was as good as I expected it to be?” 
“I’m going to call that a compliment,” Seungkwan says. 
“Well, I’d say the same thing about this breakfast, so don’t let it get to your head.” 
“Yeah, I’d have to agree with you on that,” Seungkwan says, swirling his spoon in the oatmeal, lip curling into a frown. 
“Who orders oatmeal,” you say, “I mean, nothing beats breakfast food, but oatmeal is definitely not what I’d choose.” 
“Me neither,” Seungkwan says. “But it was the only thing on the menu that I’m allowed to eat.” 
“Allowed?” You frown. 
“Well, I’m not on an official diet anymore, but one time I gained two pounds and the stylist freaked out, and I got lectured on the importance of appearance, so it’s easiest to just stick to what my nutritionist recommends.” He looks longingly at the potatoes on your plate. “Though I can’t say it’s that much fun.” 
You’re quiet for so long Seungkwan wonders if he said something wrong. He can’t decipher the frown on your face as you stab another cheese covered potato. His mouth waters, imagining the taste. 
“Have you really never done any martial arts?” You finally ask. 
It takes Seungkwan a moment to answer, surprised by the question. He shakes his head. “Singing was pretty much my entire childhood, and then I was fourteen and recording an album that somehow blew up, so, I didn’t really have time. Josh… One of my old… friends used to boast about doing jiu jitsu but I’m pretty sure he was bluffing.” 
“You should take some lessons,” you say. 
“That’s what I have you for,” Seungkwan says, flashing a smile. 
“Don’t you want to be able to take care of yourself?” Though your voice is still light, Seungkwan doesn’t miss your gaze, the way your eyes settle on him. 
“I’d love that. More than anything. But some things in my life aren’t for me to decide. Even if I learned the most basic self-defense, it wouldn’t change much. And like I said,” He pauses, glancing at you from over his oatmeal. “I have you.” 
This earns an actual smile from you, one that Seungkwan savors in. “I’d give you lessons, if you had any time, but for now you’ll have to rely on me. And Mingyu, and Seungcheol, of course.” 
“I’ll remember that,” Seungkwan says. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” 
He doesn’t think you’ll answer, but you suddenly turn serious. “I never do.” 
.
.
Your side aches every time you breathe deeply. The hospital air is frigid, the thin hospital blanket doing little to keep you warm. You don’t understand why it’s so cold when the whole point of being in the hospital is to get healthier. Right now, you feel like someone is trying to give you the flu. 
You shiver under the blankets, trying to fall asleep again. Unfortunately, you’ve been in bed almost all day, sleeping through most of it, so even though it’s past midnight, you’re wide awake. And cold. 
The door slides open, distracting you from your whiny thoughts. You sit up as someone walks in, softly closing the door. Though the lights are still off, you recognize Seungkwan. It’s your job to recognize him, whether he’s standing in the middle of a stage dressed like a disco ball or he’s wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses and trying to disappear into a crowd (which rarely works). 
“What are you doing here?” You ask. He stands straighter, stepping less carefully. 
“You’re awake.” He crosses the room and stands by your side. Standing next to your bed, he towers over you, brow furrowed into a little frown. “Are you okay?” 
“Why are you here?” You repeat. “I asked first.” 
He sighs, dropping  into the chair at your bedside. “Can’t I visit my favorite crippled bodyguard?” 
“I’m not crippled yet,” you say. 
“You fell down a flight of stairs.” 
“They were carpeted, it barely hurt,” you say. “It was just my knee locking up, it’s hardly the first time it’s happened. Being on the flight of stairs was bad luck.” 
“How is that supposed to make things any better?” Seungkwan shakes his head. “But are you okay?” 
“My ribs are barely bruised,” you say. “Other than that I’m fine. I really don’t need to be here, but apparently someone said that I had to stay here.” 
Seungkwan avoids your gaze. “Sorry about that.” 
“Are you going to answer me now?” You ask. 
“Maybe I just missed my favorite bodyguard,” he says. 
“Mingyu and Seungcheol are going to be offended,” you say. “But I don’t believe you.” 
“Apparently it’s good press to visit sick staff members while on tour,” Seungkwan says. “Nice for covering up bitter family members that know more about yourself than you do and will say anything for a couple grand.” He won’t look you in the eyes but you can still see guilt in his slouched shoulders, thumbs fiddling with each other. 
“I was worried about you,” he says. “I just wish coming was my choice.” 
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” you say. “I get it.” 
He smiles at his toes. “That doesn’t make it any better.” You’ve never seen someone look so pitiful, as if he wants to melt into the chair and disappear forever. 
“You haven’t asked why I did it,” he says. He doesn’t have to say anything else. Seungkwan leaving The Secret Boys was the most infamous moment in music history, the greatest cause of pain and chaos in the history of teenage girls (at least according to the New York Times article that was published a week after the announcement). Depending on who you asked, Seungkwan left the band because the other members were bullying him, or because he selfishly wanted to make all the money himself. Having met him, you know neither are true, at least not entirely. 
The official statement that Seungkwan has stuck with at every event with the press, who have yet to stop asking him about it, was that it was mutual agreement and for the best of everyone. But it’s only Seungkwan who has blown up past the already astronomical growth of their band, so you know that can’t be the truth either. 
“Would you tell me the truth if I did?” 
He’s quiet, staring at the moonlight that falls through the window. “It was a suggestion from John. He thought my individual popularity was a lot higher than everyone else, and that I’d make even more money going solo. He was the first to bring it up, but I said no. 
“I didn’t want to do things alone. We dreamed together, I barely knew who I was without them. I’ve known them my whole life, you have to understand, I really didn’t want to betray them like this.
“But Seokmin overheard the rumor and before I could even deny it, everyone suddenly already had opinions, and then it was announced, and then one day I was alone.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “I haven’t talked to Seokmin in three years. Jihoon still writes music for the label, sometimes for me, but he barely talks to me. Joshua and Jeonghan are the only ones that still call me, but I can’t ever confide in them, and I can feel them slipping farther and farther away every time I talk to them. 
“I…” His voice grows soft. “Sometimes I wish I never said yes. Maybe then I could at least still talk to them. Maybe I wouldn’t be so alone.” 
You’re not alone, you want to say, but you don’t because it isn’t really true. He has John, except his main priority is making money, regardless of whether that’s what Seungkwan wants. Though most of the staff has been around since he was still in the band, it’s not the same as his band mates. Even Seungcheol and Mingyu, who protect Seungkwan as if he’s their little brother, are only around when needed. When he doesn’t have a schedule, they aren’t around. 
And you? You hardly knew him. You’ve only been around since the start of the tour, three months ago. You’ve found that Seungkwan is as kind and caring as he’s reported to be. He likes to chat and hates when the people around him don’t smile. He can’t stand awkward silences and somehow befriends everyone he meets. 
But to say he isn’t alone? You won’t lie to him just to try and make him feel better. 
“You never asked why I stopped competing,” you finally say. You lean back against the pillows, folding your arms over your chest to try to retain some warmth. It doesn’t work very well. 
“I didn’t think you wanted to talk about it.” 
He’s right. But if it helps him forget about his own self-pity, even for a little bit, then it’s worth it. And maybe talking will help you dig yourself out too. 
“It wasn’t because I got hurt,” you say. “Though I did mess up my knee, and then I didn’t go to rehab so it got worse. But that's not why I stopped.” 
“You don’t have to talk about it just because I did.” 
“I want to deserve your trust,” you say. “Anyways, I got hurt and ended up basically on bed rest for a week. All I could do was think about how I spent most of my life working to be who I was now. 
“I loved competing once, but it changed somewhere along the way and I became obsessed with winning. No matter the cost. It wasn’t until I got hurt that I realized the toll it was taking on my body. Everything in my life was regimented, from my meals to my training, every second of the day planned out. I didn’t realize I hated it until I tried to go back to it. 
“I did try. I tried to force myself to go back but even though my body was recovering, I was starting to hate myself for it. So I quit.” It’s the first time you’ve said it all out loud. You watch Seungkwan, trying to determine what he’s thinking. His poker face is annoyingly good. 
“Are you happier now?” He finally asks. 
You shrug. “I’m still figuring it out. But I don’t hate myself anymore.” 
He nods, continuing to study the moonlight. It occurs to you that he hasn’t looked you in the eyes since he came. It’s been a long night for him, coming right after the concert. 
“You should go,” you say. “It’s beyond late and I’m pretty sure you have a flight in the morning.” 
“We have a flight,” he says. “And I’m staying.” He finally looks at you, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “If you’ll have me.” 
“Do you want to stay?” You ask before you can stop yourself. The chair doesn’t look very comfortable and you don’t miss the way he shivers in the cold. You can’t imagine that he’ll say yes. 
His eyes shift back to the floor. “I don’t want to be alone.” 
“Then stay.” You smile at him. He smiles back, and it still doesn’t quite reach his eyes but it’s not as forced this time. Maybe it is the way he looks at you, as if you’ve been friends your whole life, but your heart aches. 
Seungkwan might be a bigger mess than you are, but somehow, the sound of his quiet breathing, which slowly evens out as he falls asleep, is calming. You know when morning comes you’ll have to confront these traitorous emotions and let go of them. Until then, you watch Seungkwan snore softly, until you fall asleep too. 
.
.
The last show ends too quickly. The day flies by, the concert itself a blur in his memory. Seungkwan vaguely remembers crying as he said goodbye to his fans, and then crying some more at the dinner thanking the staff for sticking it out with him yet again (at least he had the excuse of being tipsy for that one). 
He’s flying home now, finally. Home, where he’ll have a break for at least a couple weeks, to visit the family members that still speak to him. At least he’ll be out of the spotlight. 
And there’s one more thing he has to look forward to. He glances at the front seat of the van, where you sit, staring out the window trying to ignore Seungcheol’s story about when he got lost trying to leave the airport. 
At least he’ll still get to see you, as you’ll be escorting him all the way back home. There is some benefit to being from the same city, even if he’s usurped your stardom tenfold. 
Seungkwan likes you. He doesn’t know the last time he’s had a crush like this, feeling like a teenager again. He supposes it really hasn’t been that long since he’s been a teenager. Still, the way his hands sweat when he’s around you, the way he stutters when you meet his eyes, the way his heart flips when he sees you: it’s a silly crush, no matter how he thinks about it. 
He realized it the night he stayed in your hospital room, sleeping terribly between the stiff chair and freezing air. But after that night, you didn’t seem so cold and distant to him anymore, no longer a silent guard, though you still rarely smile. 
You catch his eye in the back mirror glancing at Seungcheol next to you then raising your eyebrows. Seungkwan hides his smile, turning to look out the window so he doesn’t laugh. It’s early morning, the sun brightening the horizon though it hasn’t risen yet. He can still see some stars twinkling. 
One of the songs that Jihoon wrote early on, when the band was just getting popular, was about twinkling stars reminding you of your lover as you go back home to them. Seungkwan didn’t understand it, until now. Even though you’re in the van with him, he can’t help but feel like he’s following the stars home to you. Maybe having feelings was making him sentimental. More sentimental, Seokmin would say. Would have. 
Seungcheol drives from the airport to the hotel where the rest of the staff would stay until they returned to their own homes. From there, you pick up a local car to take Seungkwan home. He bids a final farewell to the staff, trying not to think about how he might not see some of them ever again. John is too busy for a proper goodbye, but Seungkwan is sure he’ll get a call from him during his break at some point. 
Then he’s alone with you again, sitting in the front passenger seat as you navigate the chaotic rush hour traffic of San Francisco on a Monday morning. Your face is set in a permanent frown, though you hold the curses in. 
He smiles, noticing the giant billboard plastered with his face. 
“Narcissist,” you say without looking, making him smile even more. 
“Should have come home with more gold medals, I guess.” 
The rest of the drive is quiet. Between the past day of traveling and the tour itself, Seungkwan is sure you are exhausted, and the last thing he wants is to give you more reason to crash the car. He watches as the streets become more familiar, resisting the urge to tell you about the goofy childhood he had. 
He does want to tell you these stories, but the truth is, he doesn’t want to talk about it because for every story he has about falling off a skateboard trying to go down a hill too steep, or running around the park playing ghost in the graveyard, he’s haunted by the memory of doing it with people that no longer speak to him. Jeonghan, Joshua, Jihoon, and Seokmin were more than just band members, and relaying happy stories of his childhood while omitting them is just wrong. But it feels just as wrong to talk about them like nothing happened. Like he didn’t destroy every single relationship with the most important people in his life. 
You pull up at his house too quickly. He bought his parents a real house when he turned eighteen, a source of pride at first. Now he looks at the house and remembers the tiny apartment he grew up in, spending summers with Seokmin next door because his place was too full of people. 
You unstrap your seatbelt, reaching for the door handle but he stops you, resting a hand on your arm. You turn back to face him with a curious frown. 
Seungkwan’s heart is beating so hard he thinks you can hear it. He’s never been this close to you, able to pick out each individual eyelash. He could spend all day studying your face and your beauty would still amaze him. 
The words stick in his throat the longer he stays, eyes flicking between yours trying to figure out how to say what he wants. How does he tell you that you make the mess in his head quiet? That he barely knows you but he feels less alone when you’re by his side? That you give him the hope that maybe one day he can fix things? 
“I’m quitting,” you say. 
Seungkwan blinks. “What?” 
You lean back, folding your arms. “I don’t think being a bodyguard is for me. I… I’m trying to figure out what I want, who I am without taekwondo, and this experience was… good, but it’s not for me.” 
“You’re quitting,” he says. He tries to imagine his life without you in it. He can’t. 
“Yeah, Seungcheol told me I had to tell you myself,” you say. “He thinks I’ll come back, though. He’ll probably tell you that, but I won’t come back. I… I won’t.” 
Seungkwan stares at you, realizing this is the last time he will see you. It’s horrible that this is the push that he needs to finally say it. But he has nothing to lose. 
“I like you.” 
Your mouth falls open, your eyes widen, and your eyebrows raise. For the first time that he’s ever seen, you’re stunned. He tries not to smile at how cute you look, though the longer you are silent, the less he feels like smiling. 
“I just wanted you to know before you leave and considering the way you are looking at me right now, I’ll never see you again. I don’t really have the opportunity for crushes or anything, and I don’t expect anything from you, but I wanted you to know. And to thank you.” For listening to me, for being by my side, for being a source of my strength, even when you didn’t know it. He wishes he could be more sincere about not expecting anything. The truth is, he wants to be in love. He wants to be a stupid teenager, even though he’s twenty-two. He wants to call you at the end of the day just to hear your voice, to cry on your shoulder, to hold you while you cry on his. But you are already saying goodbye. 
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Your voice is tiny. “I can’t.” 
He nods, though he can feel his heart shattering. He forces a smile, doing his best to swallow the tears. “I figured as much. I hope you find your happiness.” He gets out of the car, thanking every god in existence he didn’t struggle to open the door. It’s as smooth an exit as he can hope for. 
“Seungkwan,” you say before he can close the door. “You deserve to be happy too.” It makes his heart ache that this is goodbye, that even though you can’t give him what he wants, you still wish the best for him. He grabs his luggage from the trunk and walks slowly up the driveway. He puts on a smile for his parents, holding back the pain in his heart even as he hears the engine rumble away, and it’s not until much later that day, when he’s finally alone, that he lets the tears fall. 
.
.
You stare at the ceiling of your bedroom, studying the glow in the dark stars that you stuck up when you were seven because your second grade teacher told you if you prayed on the stars, your dreams would come true. You thought you were smart bringing them into your room where you could see them, since the city lights made it impossible to see the real stars outside. And for a little while, it worked. 
Your parents took down the medals while you were away. You hoped it would make it easier to be in this room, but now the shelves are only inhabited by the pictures that they had been too sentimental to take down, including the picture of you grinning while biting the gold medal. You turn on your side, studying the wall to look for a specific picture. 
You finally find it near the middle, a picture of you when you won your first tournament, arms around the shoulders of your two best friends. Vernon and Chan grin, medals around their necks, too. You trained with them up until you joined the Olympic team, and even then, when you came home, you always came back to them. You should have called them while you were working, but thinking of them reminded you of what you left behind. Now you just miss them. 
You hear the doorbell ring, but don’t think anything of it until you hear soft footsteps down the hall and the door to your room is thrown open. 
“Why didn’t you tell us you were back?” Chan cries, practically tackling you in a hug. Vernon follows less enthusiastically but he still wraps his arms around you. 
“I didn’t get the chance,” you say into someone’s shoulder. “I got back like five hours ago and then took a nap because I was up all night. I was about to call, I swear.” They finally let go, Chan sitting next to you on the bed while Vernon sits on the floor. 
“Sure,” Chan says. “Just like you said you would call while you were gone.” Vernon smacks his leg, shaking his head. “What? It’s true, they never called.” 
“I was going to call,” you say. “And ask if I could go to the studio.” 
Chan and Vernon jerk their heads to you in unison. 
“Are you serious?” Chan asks. “Wait, you already said yes, no take backs, let’s go.” He grabs your hand, as if he was going to drag you there himself. 
“You really want to?” Vernon asks. 
You shrug. “I’ve been running from it for too long.” You still have no idea what you want, who you are. But you knew it wasn’t as a bodyguard, especially not for someone you were starting to develop feelings for. You wish you could have told him how you felt, that you didn’t have to watch the hope drain from his eyes. To be the reason that it happened. 
You push Seungkwan from your head as you walk to the studio with Vernon and Chan. You don’t dare to allow yourself to think about him, convincing yourself that it was the best decision. You remember how lonely he looked walking up that driveway alone. 
You pause at the doorway to the studio. It’s the same place you went when you were a kid, and suddenly you remember that kid, dreaming of gold, ready to throw away anything for it. Chan and Vernon don’t push you, waiting behind, out of your line of view. 
You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to go inside when you feel a tug at your side. A kid who can’t be older than six looks up at you. 
“Are you yn ln?” She asks, eyes wide. 
You smile. “What do you think?” 
“It is you!” She gasps, bowing deeply. “I’m going to be just like you!” She points to the door. “Are you going inside?” She holds her hand out to you. 
You take it without a second thought, letting her pull you inside. 
.
.
You lay on the mats flat on your back, laughing as you tried to gasp the air back. 
“I told you I wasn’t going to take it easy,” Vernon says over you. He offers a hand to pull you up but you shake it off, opting to stay on the floor. You pull the plastic sparring helmet, letting your head breathe. You need a break, after crashing a junior class and somehow ending up giving a guest lesson. Vernon and Chan both wanted to spar, and though you knew you needed to ease back into things, you found that you wanted to keep going too. 
Despite what he said, Vernon did take it easy. The only reason you were on the ground was because you practically tripped over his feet. 
He sits next to you on the blue mat. “Is your knee okay?” 
“It’s fine,” you say. “I’ve been stretching and I’m going to go back to physical therapy now that I’m back home for good.” 
“What’s your plan now?” 
You shrug. “I’m trying this no-plan thing. It’s kind of nice.” You pause, glancing at him. “But I really liked teaching the kids.” 
“Yeah?” 
“Yeah, it was fun.” You finally sit up, rolling your shoulders. 
You’ve been friends with Vernon for almost your entire life, so you know that when he’s quiet, it isn’t quiet because whatever he’s about to say is bad. He’s just trying to figure out how to say what he means. 
“Why did you leave?” He asks. That’s the funny thing about Vernon. He’ll take so long formulating the question that he forgets to give context. You can’t tell if he’s talking about four months ago or today. 
“I don’t love it anymore,” you say. “Competing like that was killing me, body and soul.” 
“I get that,” he says. “But what happened while you were on tour? I thought the bodyguard thing would at least last a year. I mean, did you even get paid?” 
“Yeah, what was it like to escort the most popular artist in the world?” Chan drops down next to him, finally returning from the bathroom. 
“You’re still mad yn forgot to get you a signature,” Vernon says. 
“I could have gotten so much money selling it, a t-shirt, a hat, anything.” 
“You don’t have to lie, we all know you’re a fan, I’ve literally seen your Spotify wrapped,” Vernon says. He turns to you. “Don’t think you’re off the ropes. Talk.” 
“It was a lot,” you say, trying to figure out how much to tell them. “I did enjoy some things, like traveling was really cool. But it was too much too fast, and most of the time it was boring, and I couldn’t even hope that it was interesting because that would mean someone’s life was in danger.” 
“And Seungkwan?” Chan asks. “What was he like?” 
You stare at yourself in the mirror, hair messy from the helmet, wearing a spare uniform they had in the back and a borrowed belt. You felt strange about that, but Chan dragged you out before you remembered to grab your own out of the box it had been tucked safely into. 
What was Seungkwan like? You think about the Seungkwan you drove home this morning, so different from the charismatic man of confidence he is on stage. How do you tell them that he’s everything they think he is and also nothing like that? How do you tell them that he’s the reason you finally had the strength to come back here today?
How do you tell them that you are terrified of falling in love with that boy because you know he’s exactly what you need, so you pushed him away? 
It turns out you don’t have to. 
“You’re an idiot,” Vernon says. “You didn’t actually develop feelings for him, did you?” 
“I didn’t say anything!” 
“Oh my god you totally did!” Chan pushes you lightly, though you use it as an excuse to flop back to the floor. 
“I’m an idiot,” you admit. 
Vernon laughs. “You’re such a cliche. Is that why you quit, too?” 
“I can separate work and life,” you say. “I quit because that job wasn’t for me.” You leave out the part where you didn’t tell Seungcheol until the flight home and had to fill out last minute paperwork in the airport. 
“I’m sorry, we’re skipping over the fact that yn actually has feelings for Seungkwan? The Seungkwan?” Chan says. “Real feelings?” 
“Yes, Chan, people have those sometimes,” you say. “One day you’ll grow up and feel it, too.” 
“Shut up,” he pouts while you and Vernon laugh. 
“So you just said goodbye and you’re never going to see him again?” Vernon asks. 
“About that,” you say slowly. “He sort of told me that he likes me.” You roll into a backwards somersault to dodge them, landing on the balls of your feet and raising your hands to guard your face. 
“The Boo Seungkwan said he likes you?” Chan scoffs. You jab at him but he easily blocks it. 
“It was this morning,” you say, stepping to the side to dodge a kick from Vernon. 
“And what did you say?” He asks, grunting as you suddenly advance on him with a flurry of high kicks. 
“I panicked,” you say when you drop your leg to focus on Chan. 
“What does that mean?” Vernon asks from behind you. You duck down as they both kick for your head and knock their feet into each other. 
“It means I didn’t say anything and let him think the feelings were unrequited,” you say. In one quick movement, you hook your back leg behind Vernon’s and kick it from underneath him, swinging your arm into his chest to knock him onto the floor. “And now I’m freaking out because even though I know it’s obviously a huge mistake to even imagine being together, I wish I said something because I really do like him and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life imagining what if, and I know that it’s pure foolishness to believe that anything could ever happen, but I still want it.” 
You turn on Chan, faking a round kick to the head to get him to raise his hand, then twisting your hips into a quick sidekick to the chest, jerking it back so that it knocks him off balance instead of slamming your foot into him. He raises his hands in defeat before you can fully finish him off. 
You flop back down onto the floor, rubbing your knee even though it does nothing to ease the ache. “Why can’t I stop thinking about the what ifs?” 
“Why shouldn’t you?” Vernon asks. “What are you so worried about?” 
“Because he’s Seungkwan and I’m me,” you say. “Let’s start with that.” 
“You’re you?” Chan laughs. “Are you trying to act like you didn’t win an Olympic gold medal at seventeen? Like that isn’t a big achievement?” 
“Even if you weren’t that,” Vernon says quickly, “Even if you were ‘just you,’ why isn’t that enough? To love and to be loved, what more can you ask for?” 
You hate when he’s right. “What if it’s too hard?” You ask in a tiny voice. “What if it doesn’t work?” 
“You don’t know if you don’t try,” Chan says. “And I will personally kill you if you don’t try. It’s Boo Seungkwan.” 
You roll your eyes. “I’m aware.” 
“You’re too young and you’ve lived too much to be scared of love,” Vernon says. “You have to give it a chance.” 
“Why do you act like a seventy year old man?” You ask. “We’re the same age.” 
“Wisdom transcends age,” he says, closing his eyes and bowing his head. “Respect your elders.” 
“The only day I’ll respect you is at your funeral when I carry your coffin to your grave,” Chan says, eyeing Vernon. 
“Nah, I’m getting cremated,” Vernon says. “I don’t want anyone touching my body after I die, and I definitely don’t want to rot in a box underground.” 
“What if you get burned alive?” Chan asks. He yelps when you smack him. “What was that for?” 
You shrug. “Whatever reason that makes you least upset.” 
“So, you’re going to call him?” Vernon asks. 
“Damn,” you mutter. You thought for sure the funeral discussion would have distracted them enough to drop it. 
“That’s not a yes.” Chan raises his eyebrows. He pulls off his right glove, holding it menacingly as if he is going to throw it at you. 
“I don’t even have his number,” you say. “Besides, he’s spending time with his family this week.” 
“Do you hear that?” Chan looks at Vernon. “All I hear are excuses.” 
Vernon nods, turning to you. “The longer you wait, the more he thinks you hate him and wallows in his feelings alone. He’s probably writing a song about unrequited love, as we speak.” 
Normally you’d roll your eyes at a comment like that. But, though you know he isn’t writing a song, you do know that he’s definitely wallowing, and that you are the reason. Your stomach churns at the thought. 
But how to find him? Even if you were to somehow get his number, he probably wouldn’t even see your message, let alone answer it. You know where he lives, but showing up on his doorstep feels like a step too far, a little too much like a stalker. Even though you are now his former bodyguard, you still think about his safety. 
Security. Bodyguards. Of course! It’s trivially easy, now that you realize it. You grin at Vernon and Chan, sure of what you had to do. 
.
.
Seungkwan sits in the backseat, glancing between Seungcheol and Mingyu. They were uncharacteristically quiet, not bickering with each other about anything, even as Mingyu runs a yellow light. Seungcheol purses his lips and glares at him, but doesn’t say anything. 
They picked Seungkwan up twenty minutes ago but have yet to explain what is so important that his break is being interrupted. Seungcheol types a quick message and Seungkwan catches the barest hint of a smile, but it’s gone in an instant. 
“Areyou at least going to tell me where we’re going?” Seungkwan asks. He asked when they first showed up at his doorstep but all they said was to get into the car and “it’s important.” He realizes that his manager didn’t call him, and this could easily be a kidnapping. 
No, Seungcheol and Mingyu would never do that. They’ve been around too long. Unless they have been playing the long game to gain his trust and are now turning against him. Or Seungcheol has a kid that he doesn’t know about that’s sick and needs surgery and someone offered him a lot of money to kidnap him. Or…
Or maybe he should stop watching so many dramas. 
“It’s easier for you to see than for us to explain,” Seungcheol says. “We’re almost there.” 
Seungkwan raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything, staring out the window instead. It feels like so much of his life is spent sitting in the backseat watching everything pass by. 
A couple minutes later, Seungcheol pulls up along a little strip of businesses. This late, most of the stores are closed, dark lights on the street. Only one of the buildings is still lit, San Francisco’s Best Taekwondo. He frowns at the two in front of him. 
“What is this?” 
“We’ll be right outside if you need us,” Seungcheol says. “Go on in.” 
There’s a sinking feeling in Seungkwan’s stomach. “I don’t think I should.” 
Mingyu turns back in his seat, studying Seungkwan. “There’s nothing else you want to say to them?” 
Seungkwan thinks about his last image of you, his last goodbye. He said everything he wanted. That was enough, right? 
It’s only been a couple days since then, but, against all reason in his head, more than anything, he just wants to see you again. Is there anything he wants to say? He doesn’t think so, but he does want to see you and he has a chance. He might as well take it. 
He takes a deep breath and opens the door, shaking his head as Mingyu and Seungcheol cheer him on. Before he can lose his confidence, he strides into the building, the door swinging open easily. You’re sitting cross legged on the floor, which switches from tile to blue and red mats that form an alternating pattern. You’re wearing a t-shirt and athletic pants, and he wonders if this is how you look everyday, if you shop for groceries like this, drop off packages, do laundry. He wants to know what you look like doing everything.  
You look up when he walks in and for a second he’s frozen, as if he somehow forgot what it’s like to see you and being in front of you now is reminding him of every detail he spent the last three days trying to forget. Trying to forget you. 
It was a task for a better man than him. 
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” you say. 
“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” Seungkwan says. 
“Wait.” You frown. “Did Seungcheol and Mingyu not tell you that I called?” 
He shrugs. “They said it was important.” 
“And you went with them?” You stand up. “How have you not been kidnapped?” 
“I’m a trusting person.” 
“Too trusting,” you say.
“Maybe that’s true.” He smiles instinctively. Talking to you is easy, even when he’s on edge like this. You are the reason he’s here, but he still doesn’t know why. 
“Well, you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to,” you say. “But I do have something I want to tell you.” 
Hope blossoms in his heart, even though Seungkwan knows he is an idiot for it. He slides his shoes off, joining you on the mats. He feels a world away from you all of a sudden, the mats strangely soft under his feet while you stand as though it’s natural. He can still tell that you’re nervous, tapping your fingers against your folded arms. 
“I want to be here,” Seungkwan says. With you. 
You take a deep breath, studying your socks. “I like you. Like, I have feelings for you, and I should have told you when you told me, but I wasn’t ready to accept that they are real, and wasn’t ready to accept the reality of them. 
“Honestly, I still can’t wrap my head around the idea of it, and I know it’s too soon to talk about dating, but my mind runs faster than I can stop it, and I’m so scared that everything will fall apart, that I’ll fall apart and drag you down, but I want to be young and spontaneous because my friend said apparently I didn’t have enough of a childhood, and I think maybe that’s why I like you, because I know I don’t have a shot in hell with you, except you like me, too, and everything is so complicated.” 
“You like me?” Seungkwan says. “I’m sorry, I sort of didn’t hear anything after that.” 
You smile. “Yeah, I like you. A lot. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” 
“You like me.” Seungkwan smiles. His heart feels like it’s glowing, as though every piece that was fractured when he watched you leave was putting itself back into place and making his entire body fuzzy. He reaches out for your hands and finds they fit perfectly in his, just as he remembers. 
You smile at him and he thinks maybe this is the happiest he has been in a very long time. “I like you,” you say, and finally he understands. 
He has no idea what is going to happen but holding your hands, he thinks the future might not be so bad. There will be days he feels empty and days where he lives in his regrets, but there will also be days like right now, where he can hold your hands and dream of a future where he’s not so alone. He knows a relationship like this won’t be easy, but right now, he doesn’t care. Seungkwan squeezes your hands and for the first time in years, he isn’t scared that he will be alone.
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a/n2: if u were worried, chan got his autograph
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sublieu · 2 years
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rockstar au lmk.
The band's name is called TSE (The Solar Eclipse), All their age ranges from 25-36 years old. Macaque is the lead singer and bass player whilst Wukong is second one in line and playing the guitar.
How Mk met the band
Mk was an obvious fan over the band and Tang decided for his 22nd birthday to introduce him to them, Mk had to go to the hospital because he fainted from being so overly excited. Since then he hangs around them almost every weekend (friday to sunday) to just chill and hang with them
Wukong and Macaque: In this Au they're close friends (yes even with benefits) But Macaque is more stubborn to authority than Wukong.
Wukong rocks slightly longer, unkept hair and piercings on the tongue and ears, he's a well known comedian he has a small but noticeable lip scar and rocks a more grunge/darkcore look. He wears a sun tattoo, makeup and mascara and is basically a mean but protective friend/lil brother. He does interact with his fandom alot and even streams himself playing games, doing qnas and basically being in contact with very few of his fans if he wants to.
Macaque wears gold jewellery and is a professional 5 time winning boxer, he has longer but more well kept hair and has a crescent tattooed on his arm as well. He has a golden moon piercing on his tongue and is basically your weed junkie friend/big brother. He interacts with his fandom but not as much as Wukong and does livestreams, gaming and even makes clothes as a side job (which works out for him alot because nearly all of his fandom are either fangirls/fanboys who have tried to send videos/photos of them doing... stuff with his clothing. He also leaves his iconic scent on them too.
Dbk family also connects with them in this au as DBK is the drum player and PIF is the leading backup singer alongside Spider Queen and Syntax whilst LBD is an accountant.
Huntsman, Big Guy and Sandy are all security guards in this au. Sandy and Huntsman being in charge of backstage access while Big Guy is in charge of the entrance. Sandy and Huntsman are canonically dating in this au and obviously head over heels with each other.
Pigsy and Tang are both married in this au, While Pigsy is still a chef here he tries and help boost TSE to other people becuz he luvs when his husband is happy and Tang does the same thing for pigsy and boosts his shop to people as well.
Redson and Mk are canonically dating in this au, they met through college and sharing the same dorm rooms with each other whilst Mei is still single and enjoying her career as a gaming ytuber and vlogger. She does hang around with them but when she realizes she's being a third wheel she'll notice.
How you met Redson, Mei and Mk.
Mk- You met him when from high school and have been friends for more than six years. You can read Mk like the back of your hand and you both have never been seen without the other unless they're either busy or sick.
Redson- Met you through Mk, It happened around lunch time when he was introducing you to both Mei and Redson. He was snappy but respected your honesty and even prepared a birthday party for you once.
Mei- Met you at a cafe in the college when she was arguing with a cashier about how her coffee was cold. You offered to pay for her coffee and since then she's been in contact with you, she really got more information about you from Mk.
@seiizs @mortal-mayhem I made both wukong and macaque more for you guys and I want ur opinion on this!
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intro post :3
hiii! im [insert name here]: a stereotypical AuDHD trans girl who still hasn't settled on a name yet-- my life isnt... going well rn, but tumblr makes it a bit more bearable and every little bit helps.
im a trans fem, more specifically i like the term demigirl- which feels like it fits me. im also ace(ish), by which i mean im ace but pretty sex favorable- just don't experience sexual attraction. im also very gay and have the best partner in the whole entire universe (they said they were gonna join tumblr soon- so ill at them here once she does.)
oh yeah and my brain is funky. im a peer reviewed (and officially dxed, but im an advocate of self diagnosis) AuDHDer- which informs basically everything i do. i also have a bunch of the mental illness stuff, and have struggled w it a lot. idrk or care what the exact diagnosis is, spend enough time around insane ppl and you learn a lot of the specific labels are pretty arbitrary and a lot of symptoms are shared- i just describe myself as fucked in the head or legitimately insane
also im never consistent w tags- sorry. maybe one day ill try to be but uh... yeah not today. i do tag for potentially triggering content tho- and try my best to be consistent w it, so if you're sensitive to the following and want to follow me for some weird reason id reccomend blocking them:
#cw sex mention, #cw: substance abuse, #cw: abuse #cw: child abuse, #cw: gore, #cw: sh, #cw: si, #cw: disordered eating, #cw: bigotry, #cw: disturbing content,
id also say in accordance w the previous thing i sometimes say things about my life that are "dark" in a way that can cross a line, i don't mean to do this- and i want to respect everyone's boundaries- but accidentally sharing super dark shit is smth i struggle w.
im a committed anarchist, and i will unabashedly post in accordance w those views. i haven't been able to help people as much as id like to bc of the whole being a minor in a fucked up situation with no money energy or time thing, but im trying to do more. If anyone reading this has suggestions- lmk.
i also like a lot of shit. like A LOT of shit- and i get REALLY obsessed w it too, so it is not out of character for me to start posting a bunch about smth i had not known existed until i got obsessed (as mentioned, AuDHDer). what ill post about is just kinda based on what im feeling that day and my interests, but heres some of my favorite things that im enamored w in no particular order:
games:
mtg
minecraft
hermitcraft (which yes is minecraft and no isnt a game but shut up)
hollow knight / skilkskong 🤡
celeste
metroid
nitw
botw
hades
books
cosmere
the locked tomb
percy jackson
the sandman
six of crows
the hunger games
lotr
spec fic, especially non-traditional spec-fic
shows/movies
spiderman across the spiderverse
made in abyss
hazbin hotel
hunter x hunter
the owl house
Pan's Labyrinth (& other Guillermo movies)
miyazaki movies
wes anderson movies
animated movies & shows
cinematic/classic movies (not neccessarily old just like the literary fiction genre of movies)
weird/offbeat movies and shows
music
coheed and cambria
mcr
jhariah
girl in red
will wood
pinkshift
jack off jill
paramore
mother mother
the cure
chloe moriando
bauhaus
cardiacs
dead kennedys
lena raine
siouxsie & the banshees
milk in the microwave
mitski
penelope scott
sungazer
45 grave
other interests/hobbies n shit
drawing
d&d
writing
painting
guitar
bass
drums
singing
music production
game design
coding
animation
character design
video production
poetry
theater (yes im a fucking theater kid did you even have to ask that)
musicals
even though im solidly gen z, i havent really grown up on the internet the same way. some weird combination of my parents' disapproval of it, social anxiety, autism, and not being allowed to use it for years means that ive had this fear of posting stuff on the internet. for so many people like me the internet has been a place to escape and be themself, to me it's more often than not just a reflection of a reality that seems just as scary and ostracizing.
the thing is... i dont have a lot of friends. i dont have a large community really. and i think though there are some ways in which my aversion to social interactions including those on the internet has been helpful, there are other ways it's really isolated me- both from my peers and a broader community of people.
so im trying to put myself out there a little more. this stupidly long intro post is i think just a way for me to commit to that for myself. ive been so scared of doing it all my life, right now i think i just need some sort of outlet to be myself. who knows? maybe i'll even meet some new friends.
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keep-it-krispy · 2 months
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Hey, just discovered your account and was wondering if you could tell me something about your lmk au's :)
Or is there a hashtag or master post I could use ?
I read something about your au, where the lmk characters are musicians and I thought it looked great!
Howdy and hello there! I'm happy to tell you about my AU.
“Ride or Die” is an alternate universe that takes place in modern times. I'm still deciding on whether or not to make everybody human, buuuut (until a certain point, somewhere around the 2nd or 3rd season) magic isn't super prominent (it still exists, it's just not powerful or noticeable enough for anyone to do crazy stuff with it like in cannon yet)
[Look at this post for a synopsis of the general vibes]
As noted in the aforementioned post, It starts off pretty normally. MK is a college student that lives with his adoptive father, Paul (Pigsy is his nickname), and his husband Tang (Tang is more of an uncle to him, he came along when MK was a lot older). He works part-time at his noodle shop and attends college with his longtime best friend Mei.
Sun Wukong is a world class dancer actor and singer that's about to retire, but wants to keep his legacy going. He hosts a big contest inviting anyone and everyone under the age of 25 to compete against one another in a tournament style talent show using any kind of performance art you can bring to the table.
MK is jazzed about the event, he wants to compete but doesn't actually think he'd win. He invites Mei to compete with him and she, being his ride or die bestie (roll credits), is all for it. She insists on starting a band, as she's been wanting to do so FOREVER, and Mk agrees. They don't really know how to start a band though. Mk remembers that Pigsy used to be crazy into the performance scene, so they ask him about it.
Pigsy explains that a performance can be anything, as long as people can watch it, and you put your soul into it [”Music is life, Life is music. Living is everything you make of it, and music is the same. It can be a guitar solo; but it's also the laugh of a friend when you tell them a joke you wrote, the satisfied sigh after you finish a painting, or the smile on a customer's face after a good bowl of soup.”
“Like that!” Mk shouts, slamming his fists on the counter as the light of an epiphany glimmers in his eyes “Lyrics! We need lyrics like that!”
Mei gasps, sliding up beside her friend with stars in her eyes “Pigsy! Can you write us lyrics!?”
Pigsy sighs, their antics pulling a small smile onto face “No,” their instant disappointment makes him chuckle, he heads over to the landline and starts dialing “But I do know someone who can.”
An hour later, the four of them are down at the harbour. Pigsy leads them down the dock and to a boat house, where he knocks on the door. From it emerges Sandy, a poet beyond his years.]
From there, Tang offers to organize everything, leaving Mk Mei and Sandy to come up with some performances. I picture them going through a lot of ideas, they put together a song, a play, an art show, and even consider doing an improv thing; but none of it really feels right to MK.
Red makes a menace of himself around this time. He meets MK at a music bar (picture a hipster coffee shop/club place with a bunch of different instruments laying around that people could play if they wanted) and finds out he's participating in the contest too, then starts picking on him. MK isn't really paying attention to his jabs, strumming along a guitar left near their booth.
[Mk’s curious strumming continues to draw a litany of sour notes from the instrument, curling Red’s lips into a harsher sneer.
“I mean- how can you expect to win the contest if you can't even play that guitar!?” the redhead is out of his seat now, looking half ready to rip it out of Mk's hands.
Mk smiles, not even pretending to listen as his brow creases with determination. He continues to fiddle with the instrument “Wait…” a couple strums, hey- wait.. that one sounded.. good?? “I think…” a few more. Was he.. ”I got it!” and testament to his words, the notes emitting from the strings finally smooth into something palatable. A warbling riff slides from his fingers, transforming into a silky bass line as he continued.
Red looked at him, jaw dropping to the floor. Twisted from sour notes and amature finger work, a new song was spun into existence before his very eyes. And it was good.]
Red is instantly intimidated by Mk's apparent musical prowess, and challenges him to an Art Fight to “crush his peasant spirit”. Mk struggles at first, trying to emulate other art fights he's seen and sing/dance his way to victory, but he thinks back to pigsy's words:
[The laugh of a friend when you tell them a joke you wrote, the satisfied sigh after you finish a painting, or the smile on a customer's face after a good bowl of soup]
He catches sight of his art bag, rushes for it, and starts throwing paint around. It's a whirlwind of EDM, dancing, and flying neon paint, but Mk manages to win. His inner music(magic) leaving behind a newly (and tastefully) repainted music bar.
Mk leaves a so so butt hurt Red behind to deal with the aftermath, brimming with a new inspiration.
MK gets back to the gang. Tells them that he loves music, but illustration is his real passion. He wants to enter, but he also wants to “be true to his art form”, and he doesn't know how to incorporate it into a stage performance. Mei proposes they do something experimental. I'm thinking something using holograms, motion capture technology, sick ass music, and a TON of paint. like a bunch of AMVs that link up to one another, but happening in real life. MK gets to do his illustration thing, Sandy gets to crush millions with his heartbreaking sonatas, and Mei gets to obliterate the dance floor and sing her heart out.
They win, and Wukong takes them in as his apprentices.
After “A Hero is Born” everything pretty much lines up with Cannon for the main squad and the smaller antagonists; but instead of fighting and monkey magic shenanigans, it's concerts and dance battles and E-Tuber shenanigans.
Things get really different around The Bone Zone (I love writing).
This worlds Lady Bone Demon, Laura Demona, went missing without a trace 9 years ago. Her child, Laudia Demona, going by Malin Meister in the present day, has been investigating her disappearance ever since they were old enough to leave the house unsupervised.
With the help of their platonic life partner and basically minion, Milton, they build an E-Tuber empire big enough to fund their quest. Some strong leads they gained, some time before “A Hero is Born”, trace back to Sun Wukong; who was not only present on the set their mother disappeared from, but famously one of her Bitter Rivals.
The two competed for a lot of shows and positions in their early days, settling into badmouthing each other on screen later on, and only mellowing out a handful of years before The Incident.
Sun Wukong's competition was Malin's chance to get close to him, but “The Monkie Kidz” were simply too good to beat. Malin wouldn't let this deter them, descending into a mad spiral of plotting and scheming. Their progress would only be interrupted by an unusually familiar looking eldritch stranger (The Mayor) dropping in, chasing them and Milton around the city, bullying his way into their homes and lives, and changing the course of their destiny for years to come.
The groups don't really converge until “Revenge of the Spider Queen”, or the “lunar New Year music deathmatch tournament” as we call it here.
Over the course of the first season Malin hatches a plan around the tournament, setting up a series of Rube Goldberg like events that will result in them meeting with Sun Wukong.
In the post I linked above, I confirmed that this would have ended in the downfall of Malin. These events would have pushed them firmly into villainy, and villains are always fated to loose.
The Mayor did not know this. When he told Malin what happened in his world, compared it to the events that have been occuring in theirs, and left them to connect the downfall of his lady to their future, he expected them to turn to him for help.
He made sure to demonstrate his magical and strategic prowess to them at every opportunity, to establish his presence as a sturdy and dangerous weapon to lean on. He felt echos of his Lady's power grow within them each day, to awaken it would be his pleasure. Crushing these mortal versions of their enemies would make a good warmup for his Meister, they would need much training before he dragged them back to his world. A concrete goal would do them nicely.
What he didn't expect was for them to call everything off and lock themselves in their plan closet for a solid week.
Malin, high on a rush of panic and inspiration, decided to spit into the eyes of fate. If this was happening in other universes, if other versions of their mother and products of her legacy were fighting and dying to these same people, if this was a pattern? They would do everything in their power to break it.
A week later they step out of their closet, coming upon the faces of a worried Milton and a confused Mayor, and stating their new approach with a will of iron and a voice of steel:
“We're going to make some new friends.”
And this marks the start of the “How to become a protagonist in 10 easy steps.” Arc
I kind of want to focus on the “Malin tries their best to be normal around new people” aspect of the story right now, so most of the work you see on this blog will probably be from season 2 and onwards.
I've got big plans for the magic in the future. Everything's going to be pretty modern and magic free up to a point, then the meteor will hit and plunge the world into a new age of magic and demons and tasty tasty chaos. I kind of want to link Laura's “death” to the meteor too. line it up with some multiverse shenanigans I wrote out.
I'm thinking about it in four slices.
The first slice is the “Canon compliant Zone”, that's the bit I just described.
The second slice will be “how to become a protagonist in 10 easy steps”, which is what I'm working on right now.
The third slice will be “The meteor fucks everything up, nobody is happy about this.”, which will be easier to write once I establish the first two slices.
And the fourth is “Multiverse bullshit”, which is when the real fun will begin.
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n04hfiction · 9 months
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don't know if you're still doing that ship thing buuuut- if you are this is my submission cause it's really cool and I keep seeing your posts about it lol
I shall just jump in bc- aa
I'm just barely 5'4- like I've been stuck at 5'3 for years and I celebrated when I grew an inch. I'm a trans guy who's demiaroace and gay!! brown eyes, brown hair, pale as hell- chronically ill too- fainting disorder, blood disorder- there's more.
autism, probably ocd- the basic depression anxiety trauma disorder combo
I'm learning guitar and bass (half way done learning scum on bass), I'm an editor, been editing for five years- I am an absolute space nerd who doesn't go a day without thinking about it- I write alot- fanfic writer who mainly writes about wilbur bc he's
he's stuck in my brain, I can't get rid of him, help me /hj
I write poetry- I've been working on a script for a Minecraft smp for two years- poured my heart n soul into it
uhhh I am decently quiet unless someone talks to me and gets me talking and then I don't shut up. I get forgotten bc I am so quiet which is like fine- I like my peace. I enjoy reading but when I can't read physical books I stick to fanfic. I bound a 200k+ word fic in two weeks bc I loved it sm. I really like cozy spaces and lots of blankets n pillows. I hate any number besides 0, 5, and 8- the rest are icky.
my favorite bands are Lovejoy, the front bottoms, los campesinos, fall out boy-
I hate blue origin and Elon musk (space x is on thin ice)
my favorite fun fact about me is that the curiosity Rover launched on my sixth birthday
oh- I'm a reality shifter, like- it's a special interest at this point. I've taught so many people (still haven't shifted yet AAA)
I'm hyper observant so I notice everything about everyone else- I'd make a good profiler to be fair
uhh last thing is that my favorite shows are Rizzoli and Isles, Heartstopper, The Closer and Criminal Minds- I'm interesting and not always in a good way-
lmk if you need more cause I might not have done this well lol
oh another thing- I had a forensic science hyperfixation years ago bc I wanted to be like Connor from DBH and now my name is Connor so-- I achieved it nonetheless!
hey hey i ship you with george!!
congratulates you for your like half inch you grew but also teases you for it xD he probably deadass baked a (burnt) cake when it happened and then 20 minutes go by and he’s like “HAHAHAH YOUR SO SHORT” cuz george is like 5’9(?)
tries to help you w/ all your disorders, but he doesn’t always understand all of them that well and ends up feeling awful, my baby just wants to help :( <3
sister is shook that you can read so much so god damn fast, he’ll be like “BRO TEACH ME HOW TO READ MY EMAILS THAT FAST” cuz i can just see him stalling on that kind of stuff lmfao, especially if it’s for work
loves to get you talking he just thinks it’s the best and cutest thing ever xD
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winged-fool · 2 years
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Is it too early to ask for a summary? I am enjoying your description of the episode more than the actual episodes. Thank you.
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Well who am I to deny the people what they want?? Sorry for the slight delay, I had to make myself dinner. As usual summary under the cut!
Okay so it starts with Clyde going to Theo's barn/church and taking all of the important stuff like the alien dragonfruit then burnt it down. It was Very Dramatic and they panned in on his snakeskin boots.
Maria tried to do a seance with Alex's Air Force sweatshirt (???) which OBVIOUSLY didn't work. Liz showed up and so did Rosa who said she was going to help Maria figure out what's going on with Alex. She also said this brilliant line that made no fucking sense but whatever.
Then Liz went home and had a brief moment with Max where they didn't really say anything new. Just continue to be utterly wrong for each other. He said that Bonnie and Dallas were missing and she was like oh so is Alex! And he was like oh shit Michael is going to lose it and she convinced him not to tell him for some fucking reason.
I don't remember what Michael and Max were doing...I think looking for Bonnie and Dallas? But whatever, then Michael went out to the desert for his search and lo bumped into Rosa and Maria and overheard them saying Alex was missing. And his reaction was meh lol
Michael lost his shit on Maria saying why would Alex be trying to contact her over him??? And how dare they keep this from him etc etc it was very nice and very cathartic. Then he went to the sheriff's office and punched Max, which was literally the best thing that has ever happened in this gd show. They got into a big scuffle before Max head locked him and Michael was like I walked through literal fire to save Liz Ortecho for you and you thought you could keep this from me?? And Max was like it was Liz's idea! Because he's an upstanding guy like that and takes the fall for his gf 🤪
Then he stomped off to his lair where Liz found him and he told her off too. But she had the antidote for his powers so he forgave her very quickly and also gave her advice with Max because it's ALLLL about the hets!
He quickly apologized to everyone for what he said which he absolutely did not need to do. His anger was justified and they cheapened it with his apologies but whatever.
At the Pony, the piano started playing Will You Come Home so then Michael started strumming the guitar along with him. Alex used lights to guide him, Rosa, and Maria to where he was quicksanded and Michael was ready to jump in to save him but then Max appeared out of nowhere and was like no! So he didn't. Also Maria can see like cosmos or something in the quicksand but who fucking cares why.
As usual, I think I got everything but lmk if I missed anything guys!
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screamingay · 1 year
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Do you have any OCs? feel free to talk about them if you do What was the first piece of media you engaged with on the internet? Are you still interested in it? What's something you made or did that you're proud of? What's something that made you smile this month?
ooh this is so fun tysm!!!
i do have some ocs! ive been working on them on and off since high school and i still dont have an overarching story or anything for them but i'll go over the basics if anyone's interested o.o
the basic premise is a group of friends who start a band called good question, but ive always considered the main couple of this universe to be renee and pj (who i just renamed a minute ago dont worry abt it) even tho they aren't really in the band. the band is made up of alysha on lead guitar and vocals, juan on drums, and anis on bass, with meg as a roadie and sati as their social media manager (and also regular manager). calypso is the newest addition to the group, they're the youngest and im not entirely sure how they'll fit in but i think they're just gonna be a younger college student or something. ive sketched and drawn everyone in the group, some more than others, but i'm still really working on their designs and physical & personality traits and backgrounds and all that. i know that pj likes anime and sati & anis are exes and alysha is an amputee and renee is jewish and all kinds of stuff but i haven't really fleshed them out as much as i want to eventually. lmk if ur interested in hearing more abt them bc it would definitely encourage me to work on them more hehe
i dont really remember what my first internet media was, but i feel like it mostly started with youtube and stuff like charlie the unicorn. my first fandoms were book series, the hunger games and hp and the mortal instruments and all that, and im absolutely not into most of it anymore except the hunger games i still think they're brilliant
i'm definitely proud of some of the stuff ive made! i havent been working on my skills as much lately but my gf has been inspiring me bc i love drawing her body <33 so other than those drawings of her in my top posts rn and that taz comic i did a while ago i like these too
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lots of things make me smile!! getting this ask made me smile! also harper got her first tattoo and it happened to have my lucky number in it and my cat is so cute so im happy every time i get to see him and i saw the sun set on bare trees in front of dark clouds a few days ago which is one of my favorite things to take pictures of <3
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thank u again for all this!! i love sharing things abt myself and idk if this was like a chain or what but i might send it along to someone else anyway bc it's so nice ty
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squishmallow36 · 2 years
Text
Keeper of the Lost Prepositions - Thirty-six
Word count: 2.4k
Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @stellar-lune @gaslight-gaetkeep-gayboss @kamikothe1and0lny @nyxpixels @florida-floppy-frog @poppinspop @crystallinewalker @uni-seahorse-572 @solreefs @books-over-boys @rusted-phone-calls @when-wax-wings-melt @cotyledon-tomentosa @good-old-fashioned-lover-boy7 @dexter-dizzknees @abubble125
Tw: let's just say there's a reason my favorite number is 36. Anything more treads a little too far into spoiler territory
On Ao3 or below the cut!
    The next morning, I wake up to a message from Fitz. 
    Do you need me for any testing? 
    Not at the moment. I actually slept last night so it might be a few hours.
    I’m proud of you.
    By a few hours I mean it might be a few hours before I convince myself to work again. 
    I know for a fact that he sighs on the other side of the connection.
    I’ll be playing Torchlight so if you don’t want me to level up too far you’ll work on it.
    I have another game higher than ours if you do.
    I don’t have to remind you of the consequences of not finishing them.
    Guilt trip. I didn’t think you’d sink so low, Wonderboy.
    I realize that it worked when I find myself buried in extra parts a few minutes later.
    I get it down to a science after the second pair, when I remember that an assembly line will be much faster. 
    A few notifications from YouTube threaten to derail my progress, but I just stuff my Imparter under my pillow. If I can’t see it, it doesn’t exist. 
    It takes longer than I’d hoped but shorter than I’d expected to get a half dozen pairs done. 
    You know when you have an amount of time that you want something to take, and an amount of time that you know it’ll take? In between those.
    I know we’ll need more soon, but I think a half dozen is a good starting point. 
    Hey, Fitz, do you wanna do some testing?
    Biana here. I’ve been told to tell you to wait one second because he’s playing on your laptop thing but he’ll get over there as soon as this thing’s done.
    I send over a thumbs-up emoji and test the Bluetooth capabilities of the original pair while I wait. 
    “Hi, Dex. Sorry about that. What are you doing?”
    “Watching YouTube. Why?”
    He looks at me, not wanting to ask, and I explain, “It’s an app with a bazillion videos on basically everything imaginable and more.”
    “Oh,” he says, clearing off a place to sit on my bed. 
    “The Bluetooth function, the one that plays music, is still manual. I couldn’t figure out how to tell the difference between turning on the Bluetooth and the noise cancelling. And Biana was no help on the invisibility, so that’s also manual for the same reason.”
    “Same procedure as yesterday?” 
    “Yep.” I can’t seem to find the lyrics from yesterday, so I just Google ‘Bohemian Rhapsody lyrics.’
    “Have fun,” I say, handing him my Imparter and popping in the original ear plugs.
    “I’ll pick up from where you left off yesterday. ‘Too late, my time has come. Sends shivers down my spine, body’s aching all the time. Goodbye, everybody I’ve got to go. Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth. Mama, I don’t wanna die. I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all.’”
   I turn them on and off again to make sure they still work, and, guitar solo playing in  my head, I take one out before Fitz starts my favorite part because of how crazy it gets.
    “We’re still good. You get to try this pair,” I say, giving him the second pair. “These haven’t been tested yet, so don’t be surprised if there are still bugs.”
    “Ready?” I ask, and he gives me a thumbs up.
    I channel my inner Siri and begin, “I see a little silhouetto of a man. Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the fandango? Thunderbolt and lightning very, very frightening me. Galileo, Galileo, Galileo, Galileo, Galileo figaro magnifico. I’m just a poor boy, nobody loves me, he’s just a poor boy from a poor family, spare him his life from this monstrosity.’ I don’t think you know how much it pains me to stop there.”
    “Then why'd you stop?” he asks, taking the ear plugs out. 
    “Because this part goes on too long for one single test.”
    “Then give me the next pair and keep going.”
    “Pick out whichever one you want. I built these at roughly the same time this morning. I have it memorized, so if you want to do tests four and five at the same time, that can work.”
    “You know what? Let’s try it.”
    To say that it's a struggle to stay together and on rhythm is a major understatement.
    “Easy come, easy go, will you let me go? Bismillah! No, we will not let you go. Let him go. Bismillah! We will not let you go. Let him go. Bismillah! We will not let you go. Let him go. We will not let you go. Let me go. Never. Never let you go. Let me go. Never. Let you go. Let me go. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. Oh Mama Mia, Mama Mia, Mama Mia, let me go. Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me.”
    “Did yours work?” Fitz asks, taking his ear plugs out.
    “Yeah, surprisingly. Yours?” 
    “Not as noise-cancelling as the last pair, but listened to my commands much better.”
    “So now it’s my job to combine them?”
    “They were functional, just not perfect.”
    “So the answer’s yes. If I can’t get to it, just blast some music with the Bluetooth.”
    “But that’s still manual. How would I make that work, especially if the invisibility is on?”
    “Make it look natural. Scratch behind your ear. Run your hand through your hair. You do that a lot.”
    I realize what I said a second after it leaves my lips. 
    He runs his fingers through his hair, proving my point, although it was probably on purpose. 
    “I guess that could work. But you’ll get around to it sooner than later.”
    “Unless I get distracted by something else,” I reply. 
    “Speaking of getting distracted, do you want to test the other two?”
    “Why not? We have one more chunk of the song. Well, it’s more like one and a half, but the end’s rhythm will be difficult to say the least.”
    “How do you know this song, anyway?”
    “It’s a weird thing programmed into Siri. If you say, ‘I see a little silhouetto of a man,’ she’ll continue the song. Found out about it on Reddit, of course. The entirety of human knowledge is contained within Reddit and Wikipedia.”
    “Cool.”
    Fitz takes a pair, and I joke, “You’re going to leave the broken ones to me?”
    “Wait, there’s a broken pair?”
    “Not one of which I’m aware, but I don’t believe they’re all functional.”
    “So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye? So you think you can love me and leave me to die? Baby, can’t do this to me baby. Just gotta get out. Just gotta get right outta here. Nothing really matters, anyone can see. Nothing really matters. Nothing really matters to me. Any way the wind blows.”
    Trying to stay together is even more difficult this time, because the amount that it was offset last time added to its craziness. But, hey, my ear plugs worked. 
    I call that a win.
    “How’d your ear plugs work for you?”
    “I think my brain’s telepathic vibes just aren’t good with technology, because they wanted to be difficult. But I got them to turn on and off with a little persuasion.”
    “That’s the exact feedback I needed. I’ll try to adjust the frequency detector’s sensitivity, and you can go back to playing Torchlight if you want.”
    “Nah. If I leave, you’ll hail Biana again and talk about why you’re hailing for zero-point-zero-zero-one-seven seconds before getting off track.”
    Thank the stars I have a very strong curse word filter from brain to speech.
    “H-how much did you-did you hear yesterday?” 
    “The majority of it. I didn’t quite hear the beginning…”
    Instinctively, I wrap myself into a blanket burrito, but I can barely feel it. 
     “I didn’t mean to listen. Biana leaves her door open, and I don’t tell my ears to hear, they just do. Can we just pretend that never happened?”
    Fitz reaches for my shaking hand, and I flinch like I’ve been electrocuted at his touch, which sends lightning through my nervous system.
    Holding back panicked tears, I whisper, “You won’t think of me the same way and I…I won’t be able to forget that you know. You know everything.”
    “Yeah, you like guys. I’m still here. I haven’t run away. I know you can’t control who your heart fixates on—that little preposition can go—. I know you can’t control on whom your heart decides to fixate.”
    “I’m a guy and my heart’s decided that it wants another guy. That doesn’t bother you? What about Alvar?”
    “The whole Alvar thing was because he couldn’t go three sentences before bringing it up again and I couldn’t believe that anyone would date that dirtbag willingly.”
    “It didn’t sound that way. It—it really didn’t.”
    “Sorry about that. If I’d known—.”
    “Exactly. That's why we can’t just move on like nothing’s changed. Because it has.”
    I wipe my nose on one of my blankets. 
    “It’s been really nice, you know, actually being friends with you these past few weeks. I’m sorry about ruining that.”
    “You didn’t ruin it. I did. I’m the one that has a massive crush on you.” 
    He stops for a second, and so does my heart.
    “Wait, what?”
    I retreat farther into my burrito. 
    Did he not hear me say that yesterday? Did I not mention at all that I like him?
    Stars, why do I do this to myself?
    A slight tug trying to dismantle my burrito only makes me tangle myself deeper into the blankets.
    “Dex, please,” Fitz begs. 
    “I’m going to stay here for the next century. At least. See you then.”
    “Will you at least talk to me?”
    “What is there to talk about?”
    “I don’t know, strategies for Magic, random things you learned on the Internet, the fact that you just ended a sentence in a preposition and didn’t care?”
    “What’s the point? It won’t be the same.”
    “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.” 
    There’s something about his tone of voice that makes me reluctant to fight him when he tries to unwrap my blanket burrito for a second time. 
    He’s smiling softly, and my heart skips another beat. 
    Fitz pushes a lock of hair behind my ear, and there’s so much electricity going into my nervous system, I may just pass out now. 
    But that’s nothing compared to when his hand cups the side of my face and breathing becomes impossible.
    He leans closer, closer, closer until he’s just a hair away. 
    “Maybe change isn’t such a bad thing,” Fitz whispers.
    He hesitates, lingering, waiting for me to close the gap.   
    If any of my higher functions were still working, maybe something in my brain would have told me to stop. 
    Instead, I lean forward those last inches and my eyelids flutter closed. 
    His lips are so soft and so inherently right.
    It feels as if time has stopped and all of eternity lies at our feet.
    His hand slips ever so slightly towards the back of my neck, pulling me even closer. 
    A single moment, stretching infinitely.
    I take the time to smile against his lips.  
    Then, too soon, much too soon, it’s over.
    Everything in me is begging for another kiss, another millisecond with his lips pressed against mine. 
    But, somehow, my eyelids open back up to find Fitz redder than I’d ever imagined he could be, and it calls attention to my own inferno of a face. 
    He’s smiling in full movie-star mode. 
    As I start leaning in for another kiss, his expression drops. 
    Turning into something mortified, scared, and a thousand other conflicting emotions all at once. 
    I know it well, to say the least. 
    It’s the look of ‘Oh stars, what did I just do?’
    “I…I can’t. I can’t,” Fitz whispers. 
    He pulls out his home crystal, and we’re both fighting to keep our emotions together long enough to collapse alone.
    I crawl back into my blanket burrito, and the tears start flowing. 
    What does any of that mean?
    What does anything mean?
    Does he like me back?
    If not, why did he kiss me?
    Is that what he was doing?
    What else could he have been doing?
    Did I read everything wrong?
    What did I do wrong?
    Why did it feel so right?
    So many questions, absolutely zero answers. 
    I mentally play the last few minutes over and over dozens of times, trying to figure out what went wrong. What on Earth I did wrong. 
    Even now, I want to hail him, beg him to explain something, anything.
    But that will push him further away. So much further away. 
    As if he wasn’t already too far away. 
    But why is he pushing himself away?
    Am I doomed to forever like people that are so far out of my league it’s hilarious?
    It’ll never be the same between us, that’s for sure. 
    But I find it excruciatingly difficult to believe him when he said that change doesn’t have to be a bad thing. 
    Some changes, maybe. But not this. Especially not this. Not again.
    Not anything recently.
    Not even in the slightest.
    Everything is falling apart. I don’t want to admit it, but that’s what’s happening. And my lies to make any friendship I had with Fitz fall apart is just the next casualty of this crumbling world. 
    Maybe if I hadn’t had to hide a thousand little things at once, it could have been different. 
    But that’s not the way this timeline works. This timeline is perfectly designed to make everything fall apart at the exact moment I hope to think it’ll all stay together. 
    I want to talk to Sophie. I want to talk to my best friend so badly I almost don’t care what that would mean. Coming out to someone else. 
    Enough people know already. Nobody else needs to know. Ever. 
   And I’m sure she’d love to know that her best friend just kissed her ex. That’s how friendships implode, I’m sure. I don’t need another friendship to implode today. 
    Which is why she doesn’t need to know. 
    I can figure this out. 
    I can figure out how to move on from that heart-stoppingly gorgeous boy on my own. 
    Somehow.     
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dramamines · 7 months
Text
Oc info sheets, as filled out by the character
Oc thingsss- filled out by the character
IDEA BY @yourqueerinacorner man ur so much more original than me, if you want me to take this post down just lmk I'm happy to
Long post, info under the cut:
Name: Quinn O’Brian
Age: 16
Pronouns: She/they (or whatever the fuck you want idc at this point)
Sexuality/romantic interest: AroAce
Dating status: In a QPR with Kai and Estelle (I love them both so much)
Friends: Kai, Estelle, Basil and Cleo
Family: I live with my Mum, Dad, 3 brothers and cat (my house is hellish)
Religion: Raised Jewish, but I’m agnostic
Other things: I’m a massive indie rock fan, I’m autistic and have Tourette’s, I play the drums
Fun fact: I draw LOTS of fanart on Tumblr and have over 200 followers
Name: Kai – fuck do you need my whole name??? Kai Guerroro
Age:  IM SEVENTEEN MOTHERFUCKERS
Pronouns: They/them. I will personally assault you if you use other ones (for legal reasons this is a joke)
Sexuality/romantic interest: I’ll take anyone tbh
Dating status: IN A QPR WITH MY LOVES QUINN AND ESTELLE. THEYRE THE BEST FIGHT ME
Friends: Quinn, Estelle, Basil and my chaos buddy Cleo
Family: You want everyone I live with? Alright, here goes; Mum, Dad, Grandma, Aunt Maria (she’s the best), Uncle Raf, Ximena (sister), Ant (brother), Fuckwad (other brother), Big Johnny (fatass cat)
Religion: Heh, God?? If he existed he woulda rescued us from this shit already.
Other things: IM A GOD AT GUITAR AND PLAY WITH THE BEST PEOPLE ON THIS PLANET, I work at Kmart (sucks but pays well enough), I will DEMOLISH any of you at basketball just watch me, I HAVE ADHD. FIGHT ME
Fun fact: I own 10 different pairs of sneakers for different occasions (I am living any 12 year old boy’s dream life)
Name: Estelle Abara
Age: 16
Pronouns: she/her please
Sexuality/romantic interest: Asexual lesbian
Dating status: I’m in a QPR with the two greatest people on the planet, Kai and Quinn
Friends: Kai, Quinn, Cleo, Basil
Family: I don’t talk to any family members other than my sister, but live in a flat with Cleo and we have a pet cat called Buttons
Religion: I was raised Catholic, but don’t agree with what I was taught, I am currently practising general spirituality and mindfulness
Other things: Next year I get to go to art college, I’m in the process of writing a novel, I work at the local bubble tea shop, I play bass guitar
Fun fact: I have to redye my hair red every month, because the dye fades so fast
Name: Basil Logos
Age: 17
Pronouns: he/him
Sexuality/romantic interest: Asexual Bisexual
Dating status: Single (I’m in love with Cleo, please don’t tell her)
Friends: Quinn, Cleo, Estelle, Kai
Family: I live with my 2 Dads, sister, and dog Zira
Religion: Non-practicing Christian
Other things: I love to write poetry and short stories, I’ve been playing the piano since I was 4, I’m majoring in ancient history, I go through a book a week
Fun fact: I help run an indie film festival for the local Arts University every year
Name: Cleo Singh (basic ass name, I hate it)
Age: 16
Pronouns: she/her, use them or else, I fought hard to get them
Sexuality/romantic interest: Literally anyone shoot your shot, I’m rooting for you, I will take any one of you fuckers (pan)
Dating status: Single and lonely
Friends: Kai (my little gremlin), Basil, Estelle and Quinn
Family: Moved out at sixteen, I’m too cool (I room with Estelle and Buttons, my ugly little monster)
Religion: HA. Religion?? Don’t know her. God, if you’re up there, lend me a hand girl
Other things: I can SING, I want a gf/bf so fucking bad, I work at Hoyts (free movies why not), my hair has been lilac since I was 9, Kai is my bestie we steal things toge- I mean what we do perfectly legal things all of the time
Fun fact: I’m a triple threat (singing, dancing and acting) I’m the coolest drama kid, but cheer gets in the way of stuff (I’m so fucking busy all the time all these bitches want a piece of me)
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vanillabat99 · 3 years
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Today is the day... Time to paint Fruity Cows >:3
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At ease, soldier (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader)
What is this? This is 8/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. (More deets in pinned post). The prompt is “I’ve never seen you dressed-up like this and **** you’re hot.”
Summary: when Santi moves in with you following his divorce, he didn’t anticipate seeing you in THAT DRESS. It does things to him, and has him reevaluating everything he feels for you, and everything he thinks he knows about home.
Author’s note: this has divorced!dad!Santi, so it’s a bit different (marriage / child not with reader). This might not be my best thought-out one-shot ever, or my best portrayal of Santi, but it is what it is. I personally think the thing reader does is adorbs, fight me if you disagree :P I really hope you like it! <3 Thank you as always for reading, commenting, and sharing. It means the world.
Rating: M/E (18+ ONLY, Minors do not read or interact. Thank you.)
Word count: this is not as long as some of the others! Hurrah!
Warnings: masturbation (m); Santi has super sexual thoughts about reader and they’re not together- they are written but not said out loud. theme of divorce but not too angsty. few mentions of shared custody / parenting (not reader’s child). Food mentions. Swearing. Kissing. Lmk if I missed any.
GIF: @realoscarisaac​
Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl​ @anetteaneta​ @stardustkenobi​ @casifer-is-king​ @foxilayde​ @tlcwrites​ @aellynera​ @kindablackenedsuperhero​
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“Hey, look. Thank you for this,” Santi says, softly and sincerely as you cross him again in the hallway, halting you with a hand on your shoulder. The heat from his palm bleeds through the thin fabric of your t-shirt and you consider wresting yourself sharply away from the pleasant torment of him. At the same time, you consider leaning in to his warm chest and staying there, so help you, curled like a leaf against the sturdy trunk of him.
He’s moving in with you, following the long, drawn-out process of his divorce. It has been a long time coming, but his marital house -which he has lived in alone going on a year - has finally been sold-off and split with his ex. And so, here he is, treading lightly and making himself small in your home - as if this isn’t somewhere he’s been loud and brash and welcome ever since you bought the damn place.
You can tell he’s grateful. He’s expressed it enough times. It’s the apology in his eyes you can’t stand - as if he’s some kind of burden. He’s been through a lot, but you want him to walk tall, instead of stooping under the weight of his “bad decisions”. He blames himself for a lot of things that you don’t think he ought to, not least the collapse of his marriage. She had cheated; although, he insists there were problems long before that. Perhaps even right from the beginning. He’d always been a travelling soldier, and even after he was discharged he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
“I promise. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I get back on my feet,” he adds, self-consciously smoothing a hand over his scruff.
You smile softly. His promises still mean something to you. Even if he hadn’t seen through the promise of his marriage, you know he had tried. You know his word is never given lightly.
It’s hard. To start again, all over again. You know. You, yourself, were rattling around in a house too big for one, bought for two, perhaps meant for more - but that hadn’t worked out either. You’d had to forego promises you made as well.
“There’s no rush. Honestly.”
There isn’t. Between the legal fees and alimony, and carving up his assets, Santi needs a little time to get his finances together before he can consider his own place. You’re happy for him to take all of the time he needs. Out of the options available to him, you had been both the preferred one, and the last to offer. The other boys don’t have space. He’d considered a houseshare, but he needed somewhere his little daughter, Ava, could still come to stay on weekends.
You have space. Ava adores you. You were spending a lot of time with Santi anyway. For all those reasons, it was a no-brainier. You’d only hesitated so long in offering due to your impossible, undying love for the man. Did you really want to do that to yourself? To torment yourself with him, in your home?
“It’s no problem at all, but I do need you to haul this stuff inside a little faster, okay? I still have a date tonight, slowpoke.”
“You got it, boss.”
You chuckle, punching him playfully in the tricep, and traipsing out to the lawn to pick-up another box.
Perhaps it was ludicrous to go on a date tonight, of all nights, but at least you admit to yourself that it is an exercise in majorly over-compensating. It is some conscious attempt to signify how Not Into Him you are, and you are hoping -if the guy is cute enough and the sex is earth-shattering enough- that perhaps you could even convince yourself.
Aside from your well-established feelings for him, this whole arrangement is pretty dangerous. Santi is too easy to be around, and if you let yourself sink into the cosy bubble of his company, you fear you will never think to look for anyone else again. Whilst that would be just fine with you - Santi, on the other hand? He’s never been interested in you like that. Probably hasn’t ever entertained the idea of it. Besides, the timing between you two - even if there was something there- has never been quite right. There was always some mission or woman or man or bad decision getting in the way.
You sigh, as you bend and pick-up a box, feeling like your date is already doomed as thoughts of Santi swirl relentlessly in your head.
You can hope, perhaps, that it won’t turn out to have been a terrible decision to invite him into your home. Perhaps living with him will even help you get over him, once and for all, in a way that nothing and no-one else has managed to. You could discover all of his annoying habits and start bickering over whose turn it is to take the bins out until you hate each other, perhaps? However, somehow you think this is unlikely - when you’d broken up with Malik, Santi’s presence in your house had gotten you through. His laugh and his warmth had curled into every corner of this structure and nestled there, driving out all of the cobwebs. Santi made this house a home again, before he ever lived in it. In a way, you dread to think what will happen now.
“Make yourself at home, okay?” you encourage - this time as you cross him on the landing. “Put your stuff wherever. Take up some space. Hang your guitar above the fireplace. Hell, get a new one. Hang that too.” That had been a point of contention with her. “Paint your bedroom black, like you always wanted when you were a kid, whatever you want.”
Santi smiles warmly at you as he gets the message you’re so desperately trying to hammer home. You don’t want him to shrink himself into a corner. You want him to be at ease here. You want him to feel welcome.
With words escaping him, Santi’s hands wind around the back of your head, and he casually leans over, planting a quick but heartfelt kiss of gratitude, right in the middle of your forehead. “I love you,” he says freely, and, as he trots abruptly down the stairs, you only wish he meant it in the same way your heart sings its reply.
You do want him to relax here. He’s carried so much for so long. He’s carried it halfway around the world and back again, and the man deserves the break.
****
“Can I ask your opinion?” you call through his new bedroom door, cracking it and poking your head in as he responds affirmatively.
“Sure, come in.”
Santi watches as your body follows the path of your head, the slow reveal of your striking dress oddly tantalising, and sending a subtle surge of heat through him which he wasn’t prepared for. 
“How do I look?” you say apprehensively, holding out your palms before doing a little half-swivel, one hand poised on your hip.
Santi’s extremely conscious that his eyes widen, and he swears he must look like a cartoon, feeling like they’re popping out of his head in surprise when he clocks you.
You’re wearing a form-fitting, flattering dress. It’s long, and it hugs you perfectly where it touches, with subtle hints of leg and cleavage where the luxe material gives way to soft, inviting skin. Your hair and make-up are different than usual too, and you really look the whole package - so much so that Santi takes a minute to form a coherent thought, beyond the low whistle he expels when he sees you stood before him.
Shit - he knows it has been too long since he said anything, and yet all he can muster from his slack jaw is a feeble croak.
Wow. Holy shit.
Santi is a little thrown. Your body looks amazing. You look sultry and sexy, and like sex-on-legs, if he’s honest. He tries to think or speak, but he’s not sure if he’s ever seen you dressed-up quite like this, and you have him feeling more than a little stupefied.
He gulps.
It’s not as though you look transformed, or anything. You’re an attractive woman, always, and the dress simply highlights that. No change there. But the way he’s responding to you is something new, and not something he entirely understands. Perhaps he simply became so used to seeing you clad in fatigues and sweats and overalls, usually covered in mud and sweat and blood. Perhaps he’s spent so long schooling himself into believing you’re someone he couldn’t and shouldn’t hit on -his friend- that he simply buried it. Buried it under his missions and his marriage and his house and his divorce. But now that all of those things are gone, and all the silt stirred-up, perhaps there is space for it to resurface? Now that, for the first time in a long-time, he feels at ease, and, here you are, looking like that?
Oh boy. His eyes trail over you further as though he can’t get enough. His gaze snags on the places the dress clings to you, providing a subtle outline of your form. He lingers on the places where you’re practically busting out of it- he likes those places especially.
He likes it a little too much, he realises, as he experiences an involuntary rush of blood to his cock, and he subtly rearranges his hands in front of him to disguise the fact as he stands to attention for you. 
Fuck, what would Frankie say? Santi thinks, as he reaches for literally any wholesome thought where none seem to exist - in his mind nor his vocabulary - while he’s looking at you.
“You look nice,” he manages to say, but that’s not how he’s phrasing it in his head. Not at all.
I wanna shove my tongue between your thighs, honey. I want you to slip those red lips down on my dick until you drain my balls dry.
“Nice?” you bristle. “Nice, Santiago? I don’t want to look nice.”
“How do you want to look?”
Naked, on my bed? Or, maybe that dress hitched all the way up. Those juicy hips of yours being marked by my hands as I bounce you on me until I fill you up.
You cross to the cheval mirror at the opposite side of the room, further examining yourself.
Holy shit, you look good from the back too.
Santi may be a lapsed Catholic, but he certainly feels like he needs to visit confession with the thoughts he’s having about you right now. He swears he must have started visibly sweating.
“I don’t know,” you say, softly twirling. “Bangable, I guess? Come on, you’re a straight, hot-blooded male. If a woman turned-up to a date wearing this, would this do it for you? It’s not too much?”
He gulps. “Yes. Yep. For sure. That’ll do it.”
When you flick your eyes back to him, with a soft, humble smile, laced delicately with an inner confidence, he finally has a wholesome thought again:
You’re beautiful.
“I think it’s a little too much... but I guess we’ll find out,” you sing-song, his eyes following your hips as you wiggle back to the door, before turning back to him over your shoulder. “Do you have everything you need before I go?”
He looks at your plush red lips. He licks his own.
I need you on your knees.
Oh well, he’d managed to be wholesome for all of two seconds. That was something.
“I’m good,” he pushes out. “When will you be back?”
“Don’t wait up,” you breeze. “He has a nice pad, so if it works out I think we’ll be heading to his place.”
His place?
Santi can’t help but wonder why he’s suddenly imagining what sounds you might make underneath another man. Hell, whether he could double the intensity of those pretty noises under him instead.
This is not ideal. This is not ideal at all, when he hasn’t even made it through day one.
He hasn’t felt this... aroused in a long-time. Not since long before things went south with her. He hasn’t been this hard for a woman in just as long. He’s been hard in the sense of a mechanical, routine need, sure, where he has the basic need to pleasure himself; but this is something else. This is potent. This is lust, raw and consuming. This is not a general need, but it is startling in its specificity.
As you leave, and he takes himself urgently out of his pants, he understands that this is all for you. Moreover, as he winds his hand around himself, and works his shaft to the thought of you, he has the best orgasm he’s had in a long time.
When he’s done, he has some severe post-nut clarity, feeling guilty that he has moved into your home and spilled himself on your sheets to the thought of you; on day one, no less. It’s not very respectful.
But at the same time, he’s caught in a spiral. It’s like you have flipped a switch in him.
And, as much as he feels a little guilty, and a little terrified by the sudden onslaught of his desire, he feels oddly at ease. He already feels at home.
****
Santi is curled-up on the couch when he hears your key rattle in the door, and you tread in looking just as breath-taking, but a little more sombre than earlier. Having already shed your coat and kicked-off your shoes at the door, you collapse into the arm chair opposite him, your dress ballooning momentarily with a waft of air.
“It didn’t work out,” you explain solemly, answering the question on the tip of his tongue. He flicks off the distracting TV he was half-watching to give you his full attention.
“How?” he asks, leaning unconsciously forward in his seat, his eyebrows raised and mouth curling in a soft sympathetic smile. “There’s no way he didn’t like the dress.”
“Oh, he loved the dress. But I didn’t love him. He was a bit of an ass, actually. I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“You okay? Did he hurt you? Say something to you?” Santi searches your face urgently, his eyes suddenly intense and muscles coiled. “I’ll fucking kill him.”
You lean forward in your own seat and pat him on the thigh. Your perfume wafts over him. You smell delectable. “Stand down, Garcia. You’re fine. I don’t need anyone knee-capped. I’m just tired.” You stand, and his chin tips up to follow you. “Gonna wash-up and go to bed,” you add, tiredly. “Your night okay?”
“Yep. Fine,” he says briefly, more concerned with you. You look a little sad. A little wistful, he thinks. “Think I left my entire box of underwear in ‘Fish’s car. But that’s tomorrow’s problem.” He smiles up at you gently, with those deep, brown eyes of his, as that earns a light laugh from you. He saws his hand over his chin, gaze remaining soft as he watches you disappear and bid him goodnight. You swing around the doorframe as your hand clutches it, a trail of diaphonous fabric floating after you, as though you are a vision which could disappear in a cloud of smoke. It scares him that you would, he realises. He’s usually the one who disappears. Who retreats.
He watches you slink away, his mind already busy, working on how he might pick you up from your slump, and he plods to the kitchen.
You are upstairs in your en suite when he calls in to you, and, once you admit him, he transfers a steaming mug of sleep tea to your night-stand as a little pick-me-up. A small token, but one that makes you gasp in a breath, looking at his thoughtful gesture in confusion and surprise. “Thank you. That’s sweet of you.”
“Don’t sound quite so surprised,” he says thickly as he approaches you where you hover next to the sink. “Just because she ditched me doesn’t mean I’m a total write-off. I do have some redeeming qualities.”
He wraps his hands around the back of your head and he pulls you to him, planting another kiss to your forehead; but this time, in the dusky bedroom light, it hits different. It is slower and softer, and he looks far more comely. It sends a hot flare of yearning through you, blazing into every nook of you.
“I know that,” you say steadily, your fingers and thumb reaching up to play idly with the hem of his t-shirt sleeve. Your fingers brush his arm before you check yourself, turning away from him and towards the sink so that he can’t see your desire catching like a flare - and instead you continue to cleanse the make-up from your face, grateful for the cover the activity provides. “In fact, maybe I should have gone to dinner with you,” you snicker, innocently, before you think of the full implication of your words. “Sorry. I didn’t mean like that...” you hastily backpedal. “Just because we live together I’m not planning on getting ideas.”
“It’s okay,” he says, voice low and steady and soothing enough to halt your ramble. “You can go getting ideas if you want to.”
You whip your head towards him, a gulp trailing down your throat, as you see the vaguest hint of a suggestive eyebrow, of a smug smile dancing at the corners of his lips. You will yourself to remain in place; to avoid the call to lean in to his inviting lips or chest - even if he’s not giving you any signal that he would move away if you did.
You are hot aren’t you? Santi thinks. More than that; you are beautiful too. Now that he’s allowing himself to notice it, he can’t stop noticing it.
Seeking air, and space, the world shrinking to a dot, you tear yourself away from the sink and stride out into the bedroom, posting yourself at the door and signifying it is time for him to head out too. He takes the hint, and he comes to stand opposite you in the hallway, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweat pants.
“How are you doing?” you ask breathily, not knowing what has come over you but trying to push this heady, unravelling feeling away. To bundle it up and bind it back down. “First night in a new place?” You consider it, chiding yourself. “I should have been here. This whole date thing was stupid.”
It’s not a new place at all though, Santi thinks. In fact, he doesn’t think he’s ever been somewhere more familiar. Anywhere more like home. Not even with her - Ava notwithstanding, of course; that little girl is his pride and joy.
When Santi doesn’t answer, his eyes softly glowing at you instead, you reach to fill the silence, lest you fall all the way into the pit of yearning. “Maybe us living together is a bad idea. This is day one and you’re already counselling me through a bad date.”
“What else are friends for?” he smiles meaningfully. Gratefully, again. You can tell what he’s likely thinking. He’s thinking about all the times you have counselled him through years of bad decisions. You’ve always been there for him.
“Right.” Friends, you remind yourself, as the hall-light pools around him like spun gold.
He reaches his sock-clothed foot out to gently bump yours. “Well, don’t take tonight too hard, okay? You’re a catch.”
Feeling bashful, you fold you arms and smile, looking down at the floor and away from the vision that is him.
You kick your foot out to boop his in return, with your sizeable, fluffy slipper. “Well. You’re pretty bangable too, you know. Someone will snap you right up, as soon as you’re ready.” 
Someone.
He turns his mouth downward, and tilts his head to the side. “Hmm,” he says as if considering your point. “Kinda looking for a little more than a bang though. I want someone who can be my best friend too. And... best friends? They’re kinda hard to come by.” 
Your heart hammers in your chest. His tone is casual, but his eyes are earnest, and your desire unravels like spools of red ribbons from your core.
The way he’s looking at you, from beneath his lashes, a smirk developing at the corners of his lips has you almost collapsed to the floor with yearning, and you think, if he doesn’t step away from your door soon, you will find it hard to resist the temptation to drag him inside - if he’s willing. You will be tempted to let these ribbons wind around him and coax him to you.
However, Santi simply lets his comment hang in the space between you as you fumble for a response, before turning away and shuffling down the hall and towards his room. 
“Goodnight, hermosa,” he calls, the pet name lighting you on fire. Beautiful.
“‘Night,” you call back to him, as casually as possible, before disappearing hurriedly inside your door and throwing yourself face down on to the bed with a silent scream.
Santi, for his part, reaches his respective room, and throws himself backwards on to the bed, having to fight the urge to run straight back to your room and kiss you senseless, if he’s honest. As he sighs out a huge breath and brings his hands up to his face, a light chuckle befalls him, and he has to consider what’s so funny. He lands on it quickly.
She - his ex-  must hate this living arrangement, he realises. She’d always thought the two of you had something. She’d insisted. Had gotten mad jealous over it too. In all honesty, Santi had never seen it. Or, not at the time, at least.
Perhaps the timing had never been right.
...Not until now, perhaps?
****
The atmosphere is different in the morning. More settled, thanks goodness.
You’re up earlier than Santi, and you get to work in the smaller guest bedroom, which you had kept off-limits to him the day prior. When you’re ready, you call down to him - he’s in the kitchen getting a head start on breakfast- insisting that he comes upstairs.
He pads up to find you in the hall, stood with a huge smile plastered on your face.
“I have a surprise for you,” you announce to him, and, a curious, happy look blooms over his sharp features.
“Okay,” he says, oblivious, but his interest piqued as you swing the door open and hustle him inside ahead of you, clinging to his t-shirt.
“It’s not finished yet,” you explain from behind him as he moves his head to look around the room, freshly painted and carpeted, and entirely different to how it looked before. “Ava still likes purple, right?” you say to his back, delight infusing your voice as he takes it all in. “Oh, and the birds-“ you point “-the boys and I each painted one. Benny’s is super wonky. I know it’s cheesy as all hell, but we wanted to remind you that you -and Ava- you’ll always have us as family.”
Santi doesn’t say anything. He can’t. He’s speechless with gratitude. It is all he can do to look around the room and take in all of the details. The little bed and princess canopy, the shelves lined with a few books to start her off.
This is something he didn’t dream he would be able to give Ava again for a long time. At least, not without some coordinates and a shovel.
He rasps one hand over his stubble, and you come up beside him, seeing that his eyes are full with tears, and his face pinched, as he fights to supress his emotions. He doesn’t cry often, and there’s not a lot that can reduce him to tears, so you can tell from his reaction how much this all means to him.
Your voice and your manner softening, you slot both of your hands around one of his and give him a squeeze there, before rubbing soothing circles into his back.
When you speak again, your voice is full, cracking with emotion. “I know this can’t be easy, Santi. And you need to know that you are home for Ava, wherever you are, whatever happens. But I thought this would help a little too?” He sneakily thumbs away a tear from the corner of his eye as your words overwhelm him. “I hope I didn’t take too much of a liberty,” you continue, looking around the room, and wandering deeper into it. “Thought I’d get it half-done and then you could choose the rest with Ava tomorrow?” 
You turn back to him, smiling over your shoulder before turning all the way, your expression bright and hopeful and everything he hasn’t been able to muster for himself.
Still choked-up, Santi takes a few steps forward to meet you in the centre of the room, his long lashes beaded with diamond-like tears. He takes your hands in his, one to each side, and he presses his forehead against yours.
“Thank you,” he rasps, his voice full of holes, and your own eyes overflow too as his hands squeeze yours, happy that he’s happy, and sad that he’s in pain too.
After a few moments like this, the yearning creeps in, and, lest it invade everything, you extricate yourself from him gently, padding towards the door and offering, in a soft voice, to give him a minute alone.
“Wait,” he says, his voice catching you as you reach the hallway, evidently yielding a great deal of power for such a breathy thing, and it halts you in your tracks. “Can I try something?”
“Try what?” you ask, your heart and your voice fluttering in tandem, as Santi moves towards you in the hall with purpose.
“Can I kiss you?” His eyes search yours, brimming with emotion and softness and yearning too, his thumb and forefinger coming-up to clasp your chin tenderly in his grip.
“Is this a good idea?” you babble, as his lips hover moments from yours, and you are drawn to him with an achingly slow gravity. “You’re emotional, and you’re rushing and maybe you’re projecting or... maybe a million other things and I... really like you,” you say, raising your hands in between you, your palms pressed to his chest as your voice catches on hooks in your throat - keeping him at a slight distance before you can succumb to him. Immediately, he stops his advances, one hand winding gently around your waist. “Santi, I mean, I really like you,” you elaborate, you voice brittle and coming undone.
As much as you want this -have wanted this-you couldn’t face being one of his whims or mistakes or bad decisions. You couldn’t face being something he ended up leaving behind. He means too much to you for that.
Sensing your pain now, Santi smiles softly at you, not angry or offended in the slighest, but nodding in understanding. Tenderly, he trails the pad of his thumb along your jawline, and across your lower lip. He still finds apprehension in your eyes, and so, instead of the kiss he craves, he holds your head gently with one of his hands, and he dips forward to plant a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, your eyes fluttering closed and a single tear spilling out of you as it lands.
Then, he pulls back, both of you wearing watery smiles, and feeling more than a little frayed around the edges.
“I get it,” he admits, nodding slowly. “On paper, this seems like another of my bad fucking ideas, doesn’t it? But...” he explains softly, eyes shining at you. “I feel as though I finally have things figured out. I feel like I know where I’m supposed to be.”
You nibble on your lower lip, a tentative, shy smile brewing. “Guess that was one powerful dress I wore last night, huh?”
“Hmm,” he considers, with a gentle chuckle. “It was, for sure, honey. Honestly though? This sports bra and overalls get-up is doing it for me too,” he admits, with a lopsided grin, nodding down at your DIY outfit. 
You examine his eyes in disbelief. You can’t believe that he’s looking at you like that. Like you’ve always wanted; and yet... you essentially knocked him back, your nerves and anxieties getting the better of you, despite his lips being moments from yours.
“Look, I’m sorry,” you gulp, eyes heavy with apology.
“Don’t worry,” he says, tilting his head towards the end of the hallway. “Let’s go make some more coffee. Also, I think you deserve some pancakes, sweetie.” He offers his hand to you and with a gentle song in your heart you take it, Santi leading you back downstairs into the kitchen.
You giggle, suddenly giddy as you shake out your remaining nerves and shock and doubts. As you settle.
By the time you watch Santi open-up the cupboards and search inside, turning back to you to ask if you want chocolate chip pancakes, a tiny note of delight in his eyes, he finds you looking at him with a gentle heat, brewing and eddying and clasping him in its tendrils, dragging him under with you. It causes him to double-take as he looks between you and the food-stuffs, until you have his whole attention. Until the world around him shrinks to you.
“Santi,” you suspire, tugging on his t-shirt to spin him towards you, your voice shaking like a leaf. “You took me by surprise up there. Any chance we can... C-Can we... try that again?”
A gulp trails down his throat, mirroring the heat sinking and settling into your core, even with the mere anticipation of his lips brushing against yours; of feeling his warmth where you have long been cold. You watch his tongue darting out to whet his lips, and it is as though you are already parted for him with the motion, your own lips already spread to accomodate the way he will delve into you, opening you up for him.
Then, Santi surges forward, hands holding you securely yet softly at your back and gathering you to his mouth, as if he is parched of you, all the yearning collapsing in on itself in one final surge as he flows into your arms. Yet, for all the force of your yearning meeting in the middle, and for the harsh initial crush of your lips, when the wave crashes, it is delicate and soft, his hand cupping your face and his tongue a delicate interlocuter, uttering promises against yours. Promises you are sure he will keep.
As the kiss deepens, you truly feel him, hard and sturdy everywhere around you except for this molten, supple tongue which courses into your being like a trail of fire. His kiss is like starlight tossed into a dark pit. You are lit but your hunger will never be sated; and instead you will kiss him and devour him again and again, opening yourself up to him to feed the dark.
Suddenly, with this kiss, his warmth is on you and filling you and one with you, unravelling, and you wonder what you ever did without it. How you ever felt at ease with this yearning within you; although, you suppose you didn’t. You suppose you longed for this divine quickening and stilling, this slickness and friction. You longed to feel him, and most of all, you longed for him to yearn for you in return.
And, finally, as the kiss wanes and you hold each other tightly, Santi considers that although he planned to stay in your house for a mere few months, he has a feeling his stay by your side will be far longer. And, on your side, as you hold him against you and this house feels like a haven in ways it never has before, you are content in the knolwedge that your travelling soldier is finally at ease.
Finally at home.
A home for one, but meant for more, finally fulfilling its purpose.
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jimmys-zeppelin · 3 years
Text
ghostin'
chapter fourteen
(table of contents)
(chapter thirteen)
june 16, 1976
you're somebody else
On Wednesday, Ellie decided to call Jimmy on one of her earlier nights coming home from the studio. That day was full of writing more songs and collaborating on mixing others with her producer.
As the line rang, she thought about what time it'd be for Jimmy. Hopefully it wasn't too late. A click, followed by a sound resembling the closing of a door were all Ellie could hear before a voice came through, "Hello?" Jimmy said.
"Hey, Jim it's me." Ellie replied sweetly.
She heard his smile through the phone, it sent butterflies through her stomach. "Eleanor, my love..." he said. He sounded a bit groggy, but not groggy from sleep per se, "How's it going?"
"Great. Still working on the album. Wish you were here to put some of your touches on things."
A soft chuckle came from the man, "If I was there right now, I'd be touching much more than your songs, my dear."
"Oh I can't wait until you can actually do it. I miss you."
"I miss you, too." Jimmy said, his voice going serious, "say, we didn't really get to talk about the whole...situation the last few times we've spoken."
"I don't want to take up too much of your time talking about it. We can just figure it out when you get here."
"Why are you putting this off?" Jimmy asked, concern rising in his voice. "You're the one who wanted this, dove. And now I agree. Why not talk about it?"
Ellie stammered, knowing he was right—no matter how high he sounded, "I know we're ready. And I want to do this with you, I just...want to leave it up to when the time comes."
"Ellie, you know that's not the way I do things."
"I don't want to hyper-plan things. It seems more fun if we're spontaneous."
Jimmy sighed into the phone, the huff coming out a bit garbled on her end, "at this rate, it's not a matter of us having fun, it's about getting to the end result."
"Oh." Ellie said, "I see." she paused, thinking of what to say next. Jimmy interrupted her thoughts, however.
"I'm sorry." he said.
"What do you have to be sorry for?"
"I've upset you...among other things."
"In more ways than one..." she whispered, mostly to herself. Whether he hadn't heard what she said or if he chose not to address it, he ignored the comment.
Saying something would only make matters worse, but neither of them wanted to hang up, knowing that if they did, neither would be happy with the outcome come of the phone call. Ellie hated to be constantly ragging on him and nagging him about his extracurricular activities in experimentation, but it was something she couldn't help but notice every time they spoke. He sounded more and more drained every time he picked up the phone, no sense of life within his thin frame.
"Erm," he started, "we've got a release date for the film. I got us both tickets for the premiere."
"I thought you said it wasn't finished."
"It's not. But I guess that's just how movie stuff works."
"You finish shooting your fantasy sequence yet?" Ellie asked, picking absently at a thread from the throw pillows strewn about the couches.
"Yeah, they re-cut the sequence of me climbing up so my butt didn't look as big."
"I told you it wasn't a bad thing, Jim. Give the ladies what they want." she attempted at a joke, only half chuckling at it herself. She was met with an exhale from Jimmy; only having found mild humor in the statement.
"Unless you want me to look like I have more of an arse than you do..."
"Your butt is cute. It's teeny." Ellie said, picturing the asset in her mind.
"You'd be the only one to think so, love. Anything new with you?"
"Songbird charted. It's going up the ranks." She said, her voice coming out more monotoned than she'd meant it to.
"You don't sound nearly as happy as you should be, that's amazing." Jimmy said, a bit of life returning to his demeanor.
"I wanted you to play on it. We just didn't have time and the label didn't want to wait."
"I know it's frustrating. But there will be other songs, I guarantee it."
"It would've meant so much if you got the chance to play. We only got piano backing on it, but I wanted acoustic guitar."
"But you can play guitar, too."
"I wanted you." Ellie said, a quiet sniffle coming through from her end of the phone. Her words masked what she truly wanted to say and he knew it.
"You know, I could take a week. Come visit. Re-record a bit for you and you can put it in with the song for when the record comes out."
"No, Jimmy. I don't want to take time out from your schedule. Plus, I'm only a bit emotional because of my period. It's fine, I promise." Ellie said, coming up with a quick lie so that he wouldn't go through with his proposal. She knew that if she gave him enough incentive, he'd show up in a heartbeat. It was endearing, if anything. She just didn't want to concern him. "Listen I'm getting a bit tired, I think I'm gonna head up to bed."
Jimmy stuttered a bit in response before he exhaled a defeated sigh, "Oh, okay. Well, I'll talk to you soon, then." He sounded slightly hurt under his generally calm tone. The guitarist thought he hid it well, but Ellie knew him to the point where even the lightest sigh could give away exactly how he was feeling.  However, she chose to ignore it, only leading her into her farewell.
"Goodnight, Jimmy." she said. The two exchanged goodnight's and I love you's before finally hanging up the phone. Taking in a deep breath, Ellie exhaled shakily as a rogue tear slipped down her cheek. She composed herself, however, and made her way to the kitchen to grab herself a drink. Or ten.
---
masterlist | playlist
Taglist: @diaryofafan17 @tophats-n-lespauls @witchesdust @jonesyjonesyjonesy @paginate54 @hejustsatisfiess @salixfragilis @princesspagey @reincarnated70sbaby @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @kyunisixx if you want to be added to the list lmk!
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souichieatr · 3 years
Text
wanna be yours, ch2
suna x freader , foxy boy
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where in which two opposites fall in love
a/n: for everyone who commented on the posts youve been added sorry i cant reply <//3 if you're interested in being in the taglist send me an ask, i was thinking of making a playlist for the au would anyone be interested? lmk !! sorry if there are any mistakes or if its bad this is my first writing <3
ch1. this voice im hearing rn? , hey bestie
word count: 2,090
the first song- The Ghost of You- my chemical romance
second song- I Bet on Losing dogs- mitski
third song- Crybaby- destroy boys
pocketing her phone after reading tendous message, she opens the door waving to a couple friends and offers friendly smile taking her seat. a pair of pale green eyes follow her. after yesterday suna did a little research about her y/n y/l/n the bassist and youngest in the band called 4u, she has quite a big following on twitter, she's really nice and interacts with the fans. looking at her now you can't imagine her on stage suna thought. breaking away from his thoughts as the teacher walks in. spouting for about what feels like hours and the students taking notes, finally lunch approaches. y/n jumps from her seat grabbing her case she walks to the third year hallway. waving to her friends they walk to her, tendou wrapping his arms around her “y/n!!!!!! i missed you” laughing as she hugged him back “tendou!!! i missed you toooo.” she turns to the grey haired male, “semisemi!!” she says giving him a hug, he rolls his eyes and hugs her back “and ushi!!” she turns to the brunette to which he pats her head “good afternoon y/n.” as they go to the lunch room to grab their lunch, they walk to one of the music rooms they usually occupy. a beep from her phone grabs her attention seeing her friend atsumu asking if him his twin and their friend can join for lunch, “hey guys you dont mind if atsumu and his friends come join us?” she says setting down her case against the wall. “nah you can invite them, atsumu is our biggest hype man” tendou says, grabbing his drum sticks from his back pocket. texting him its cool she goes to unzip her bass. “oh ms lady ive missed you” she says hugging the instrument, “i can't believe you two and always wanting to play, dont yall have any other hobby?” semi says, grabbing the schools given guitar setting the speaker up for y/n. tendou gives a scoff “semisemi dont act like you hate hearing us play i see you listening to our covers alllll the timeeeee” he says “yeah semi besides we have a concert soon and it wouldnt be bad to have an audience” y/n says walking to semi to connect her bass to the speaker when the door opens, entering is atsumu in the middle, osamu on his left, and a mystery guy in the back. setting her bass down running up to the blond “tsumu!!” giving him a hug “y/n!!” he hugs her back, she waves to osamu, who shes met on an occasion. looking towards the dark haired guy she walks up to him, noticing shes seen him somewhere. “youre suna right? we're in the same class?” she says giving him a hand and a awkward smile, nodding at her words. “hope its okay im here” he says taking her hand giving a slight shake. “nah dont worry its nice to have a different face, seeing tsumu is getting boring” turning around to the male. “what she means to say is we could use practice in front of new people” the grey haired male says giving a small laugh when tendou scoffs at him, both guys walking towards the small group. “this is semi and this is tendou” she says introducing them. when the introductions are over the two males go back to setting up, y/n walks the newcomers to the sitting area “here you guys can sit, im sure you all know ushijima” on hearing his name he looks up from his name giving a small head bow. they all sit “any recommendations tsumu?” y/n says walking to her bass making sure everything was good, looking towards the small group. “y/n you know my favorites” atsumu says stealing one of his brothers onigiri. y/n laughs and rolls her eyes, turning to tendou “anything you wanna try tori?” tendou looks at her with a smile “y/n lets show semi whatweve been working on” hearing this semi looked at them “what do you guys mean? what did you two do” y/n chuckles at the grey hairs doubtful expression “mr semisemi you know your favorite mcr song” when she sees him nod she continues “me and tori learned it” she says pushing him lightly. semi looked at her with wide eyes then at tendou, looking at semi tendou flicked his drum stick between his fingers with a nod. “wow semi cant believe you, we spent so much hours perfecting a my chemical romance for your sap self and he doesn't believe us y/nie i might
” tendou says fake sniffing. the little group in the back beyond confused, atsumu clearing his throat “have you three forgotten us already, wheres our show” ushijima nodding his head “yeah why are you guys being so vague” tendou snickers “dont worry you three and wakatoshi we have decided to play a new song or well cover i should say” “yeah and its semi’s favorite band you know the one that he wears on his shirts?” ushijima looking towards the girl after hearing her statement he nods. “okay can we play now ive been waiting to show my skills and get our lovely semi's opinion” y/n says removing her pick, both boys giving a ‘yeah’. finally tendou does the countdown. suna looks at all three of them with slight excitement in his stomach, ‘is this a new song im going to hear?’ before he could think of anything else, semi started playing a few chords by himself and y/n starting to add her own strums then tendou adding drums. sunas eyes widen at how well all the sounds blended together, freezing in his spot when semi started singing, when hitting the chorus y/n joins him. suna looking at her, he felt like he had been put in a trance, feeling like theres a spotlight on her when she starts nodding her head seeing her tongue sticking out when stringing the instrument. towards the end you can see y/n lose focus and her eye twitches, ending the song she sighs. “hey sorry about the end” waving to the guys to her left with a frown. hearing applause from the group the frown doesnt last long. “WHOOO!!!!! THAT WAS MY BESTIES GO SEMI! GO TENDOU! GO Y/N!!” atsumu gets up and yells. “that was so good what the hell that was yer first time too?” he says going up to the group, high-fiving y/n. “i mean me and tendou practiced together but semi basically has every song by them memorized but together? yeah our first.” tendou getting up to get his water that was next to ushijima. semi joining the fake blond and the girl, patting her on her back “that was a good first for us i can tell you and tendou worked hard, we're definitely adding it to the set list.” getting a laugh from both of them semi walks to the small group. “hey man that was really good, you have a nice voice” suna says as semi approaches, semi turned to him surprised “oh thank you im glad you enjoyed, do you listen to our stuff?” he says taking a seat next to him. “ive recently just started, i hope that doesnt sound too weird” the dark haired suddenly getting a little embarrassed, chuckling “its not weird i promise, well its good you listen to us or im sure it would've been awkward to just be here” nodding along to what he said. tendou going back to the drums “are you cowards tapping out now?” “COWARDS?!?!” y/n yells back turning around “i am no coward tendou satori i'll make you eat those words semi get over here” she said grabbing semis attention and shooing atsumu back to his seat. chuckling as he sat back down, turning to suna “howd ya like em? theyre good huh?” suna rolling his eyes “im not going to help inflate your ego tsumu” “yeah tsumu yer big ego is not cute” gasping to their remarks “you guys are so mean to me, i introduce you to nice music and even the artists and this is the thanks i get” before any could respond tendou starts clicking his sticks. starting this one is tendou with a slower sound, y/n entering second then semi with vocals. y/n leans down to mess with something by her foot turning a notch noises like static come out adding to the music, coming up fast she starts adding her vocals complimenting semis. pressing on the box she leans down as more noises come out. atsumu leans over to sunas ear “thats a pedal that holds other sounds and can help stretch other sounds” suna giving him a nod. towards the end y/n reaches down to the pedal again adding a distorted sound before adding her last bit of ‘oohs’ before the song ends. everyone clapping as the members stay still for s bit before y/n dramatically bows “youre so welcome lovely audience” she says blowing kisses to them, laughing at her atsumu jumps up and down pretending to be a crazy fan “oh y/n you were so go
od i love you y/n!!!” y/n laughing at him. “hey atsumu what about me!” tendou asks swinging his hand “howd i do?” “oh tendou you were so good, i love you too tendou!!!” he says swinging his arm back. tendou satisfied with his response nods his head, “and with that lets play one more i still want time to actually eat before we play again later.” “yeah lets try ‘crybaby’ we haven't done that in awhile” semi says getting in position.“remember y/n you do the verses” y/n nods clearing her throat “go tori” she says and tendou starts the counting again. starting the counting fast he gets one beat then y/n starts off with singing, swinging her bass back she grabs the mic. suna cracks a smile nodding his head a little as he remembers this song on their youtube, atsumu whistling when y/n dips down her mic as she sings, letting the boys have a solo in between verses she bobs her head. the last few seconds of the song she swings the instrument back as she steps on the pedal creating feedback, as semi goes to vocals she starts getting a solo with tendou playing, y/n leans forward and her and semi sing the rest of the song. after the last note they all look out of breath. clapping for them again letting them catch their breath, y/n starts laughing “i forget how hard that song is towards the end” laughing with her tendou nods “its literally the last 50 seconds that get the hardest” “alright lets clean up” semi says laughing at both of their bored looks they send him. finishing up they all go to the group whove are talking among themselves. sighing as she sits y/n takes the seat next to suna, “so howd you like the songs?” she says with a smile “they were good though i only recognized the last one” he replies, “tsumu told me you started listening to us recently so i thought or well semi thought wed show off a bit with our best song being that” she says with a smile grabbing her bottle. a small smile appears on his face “oh hey tsumu told me youre like really good in your classes and i really need help in history and since we have that group project coming up do you wanna pair up?” she says setting her bottle down grabbing a bag of chips. “yeah i dont mind as long as you actually do something and i can help you study if your grade is that bad” he says. “thatd actually help me out a lot i really appreciate it” she lets a breath out. after that the two spent all lunch just talking, the conversation coming easy for both of them. hearing the bell ring y/n hugs her friends and walks with suna to their class, pairing up in the project the teacher had given them in their period. after class before y/n rushed out she passed him her number with a wink “text me for the deets foxy boy.” ‘foxy boy? suna thought to himself shaking his head texting her with a simple ‘hey its suna’ and heading home.
facts !
during lunch when suna and y/n we're talking the followed each other on twitter
semi was really touched they learned the mcr song
the 4u concert is at a small venue but no one really cares about the other groups going there
osamu and atsumu almost started fighting over the onigiri until suna said something about ushijima being right there
atsumu was watching suna and y/n talking
osamu actually really enjoyed being there during lunch
—taglist
@applekenm , @xhanjisungiex , @astronomyturtle , @sirachano0dles , @yn-tingz , @killmepls-uwu , @bakugouswh0r3
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