#(musician with a terrible sleep schedule)

[emoprincey]

ME EVERYDAY

[Image description: A screenshot of Roman from Sanders Sides with the caption "I was merely on my eleventh hour of beauty rest, this had better be good". / End image description.]

#sanders sides #roman sanders #ts roman #master of all kinds of rhythm apart from circadian...... yea thats me #(musician with a terrible sleep schedule) #ts spoilers

[padfootagain]

Home for Christmas

Hi everyone! Here is a cute fic for Christmas! I hope all of you who celebrate have a great time <3

Hope you like this silly little fic! Tell me what you think of it!

****

Pairing: Hozier x reader

Warnings: none! It’s just cute fluff!!

Summary: Andrew is touring at the moment, and his busy schedule will keep him away for the Christmas season. Or at least, that’s what you thought would happen. That was without counting on how much he missed you.

Word Count: 2390

Hozier's Masterlist - Main Masterlist

24 December.

It’s midday and it’s raining. Against the window panes, the rain falls in a patted rhythm, adding to the soft voice of Ella Fitzgerald, a warmth that lulls you into a gentle sway. Around you, dispersed across the carpet, are a set of gifts, wrapping paper, some tape and glitter. You’re wrapping up presents for Christmas, ready to be delivered on Christmas morning throughout your relatives and friends. It makes for a rather tall pile, as you look at all the work you have left. You’re about half-way through, so you gather your courage in a sigh and get back to work, grabbing a box and some paper and trying your best at turning the whole thing into what vaguely resembles a gift.

On your left, you have set the presents that are already wrapped in red and golden paper. Three of these are for Andrew, and you’re quite proud of what you’ve found for him this year. Your gaze lingers on the items, the ghost of a smile lingering on your lips as you think of him… but you end up looking away in a hurry.

He won’t be home for Christmas this year. His touring schedule won’t allow it. If he’s in Europe, he’s currently trying to catch a few hours of sleep in a hotel room in Vienna.

You’ve thought about joining him on tour for a few days, but you wanted to see your family at Christmas. Besides, the look your mother gave you when you mentioned the idea was enough to make you abandon the thought altogether. She looked too sad for you to go ahead with it. You guessed you would simply have to miss your boyfriend this year.

You aren’t angry or bitter about it, though. It comes with dating a musician. There are moments when he isn’t around, and that’s alright. He makes up for it when he comes home, or when you can join him for a few days. Still, as you glance over at his gifts, knowing that they will remain unopened until mid-January, you can’t help the tug at your heart that thought brings.

You grab your phone as an act of revenge, snapping a pic of the three gifts, and sending them to Andrew.

Your gifts are ready! And as I’m an awful girlfriend, you won’t get any clue to guess what they are until you open them in a month!

You add a few emojis to tease him some more, and wait for the phone to buzz while you go back to work. You’ve got glitter on your fingers, it’s all over the beige carpet too. You don’t mind so much, though.

Your Christmas tree is glimmering on the right side of the room, you’ve turned its lights on to get into a festive mood. You have a cocoa on the coffee table, and a bag of marshmallows as a snack. But despite the music, you can’t help but notice how silent the house is.

No humming, no guitar, no voice lost in conversation with you about the most random topic. No padding steps going back and forth across the living room, no curses after hitting the angle of a table, no clutter made in the kitchen to make something as simple as tea. There’s nothing but Ella’s singing, the rain, and the sharp sound of your scissors cutting the wrapping paper, the quick tug at tapes…

Your phone buzzes, and you drop everything to reach for it. A laughing emoji appears under the name Andy, followed by a short text.

How mean! An awful girlfriend indeed.

A pause, some little dots appearing as he writes another message.

I’m worse though.

You shake your head as you type.

Nah! You’re all good. It will only take some extra chocolate to make me forgive you, that’s all. The worst is being abandoned for gift-wrapping. I’m terrible at it.

You’re too focused on the screen to notice any sound coming from outside, like a car-door closing.

I don’t have chocolate. Opted for flowers instead. Hope that works too.

You giggle at that, failing to hear footsteps before your door.

You still have a month to get the right thing.

You jump as you hear keys unlocking the front door. Frowning, you finally stand. Andrew’s parents have a set of keys, just in case, but they’ve never used them. And why would they when you’re here?

You’ve barely reached the hallway that the door opens… on a very tall figure you recognise in an instant. You gasp at the sight, hands flying up to your mouth.

Andrew, on his part, is grinning like an idiot, soaked despite the small distance he had to cross from the cab to the front door. The rain is still heavy, falling on the bouquet of flowers he’s carrying.

He barely has time to step in, throw a travel bag across the hall, and find shelter in your home that you’re jumping into his arms, and he laughs as he catches you with ease. He hasn’t closed the door yet, the air is cold as it sips into the hallway, but you pay no attention to it. You don’t care either about the fact that your clothes are getting wet against his drenched coat, that your fingers run through wet locks as you pull him closer, that his face is cold as you kiss, at long last, for what seems like forever. But then again, you’ve been waiting to see him for weeks, months even… you can’t be blamed for being eager to catch up on lost time.

“Hey,” he breathes as you finally pull away, although he keeps you in his arms.

Rubbing his nose against yours, your eyes are still closed. His voice is a bit deeper than usual in this whispered tone, and it makes shivers travel up your spine, makes your heart melt in a puddle.

“Hi,” you grin against his lips, stealing pecks there. “What are you doing here?!”

“You didn’t think I would really miss Christmas, did you?”

“But your shows…”

“I have nothing until the 26th. I’m not staying here long, just a couple of days. But I’m home for Christmas, at least.”

You hug him as close as you can, still too much in shock to truly believe that he is here, that this is happening, that he truly is home…

“I thought you couldn’t travel back here, that the flights didn’t fit the schedule.”

“I haven’t slept in 27 hours, but aside from that, it all went well,” he laughed, but you frowned at his statement.

“You couldn’t sleep on the plane?”

He blushes a little, averts his eyes for a second, before looking at you again.

“No, no…” he shakes his head, sounding a little embarrassed but smiling all the same. “I just… I was too excited to see you. Couldn’t fall asleep.”

You coo at him, making him wince as he finally puts you down.

“Oh, don’t start…” he warns you, but you love teasing him too much for that.

“You wanted to see me too much! You’re so cute!”

“I did fly all the way across Europe to see you, remember?”

“That’s what I’m saying. You’re hooked, buddy!”

You both laugh at that, but his smile grows tender as he reaches to brush his thumb across your cheek.

“Don’t I know that already…” he states, and again, the warm feeling spreads across your entire form, a perfect balance of happiness, fondness, and love.

He finally hands you the bouquet, and you breathe in the perfect scent: sweet and addictive, making you dizzy for a moment.

“So… no chocolate,” you tease, and Andrew struggles not to laugh, his smile tugging at his lips.

“No, I’m afraid not. The flowers will have to do.”

You hum, as if pondering.

“You’re lucky they’re so pretty,” you add, and he breaks into a cheeky grin.

“Not as pretty as you, though.”

You laugh, walking to the kitchen to give your flowers a vase and some water.

“Lousy line!”

“It was a masterpiece, are you kidding? That timing! Delivery!”

“And he pretends he’s a poet…”

You both laugh, Andrew has followed you after leaving his coat, scarf and shoes by the door. He wraps his arms around your waist, unwilling to be parted from you even for a minute, chasing after your warmth like a moth to a flame.

He drops a kiss to the top of your head.

“I pretend to be a musician, not a poet.”

“Considering your lyrics, you are a poet.”

You feel him grinning into your hair.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and you know he’s blushing without seeing his coloured cheeks.

“Thank you for the flowers, I love them.”

“Next time, I’ll get you chocolate. I promise.”

“I was just joking. You didn’t have to get me anything. I was happy enough to simply have you here.”

You turn in his arms to face him, gently pull on the collar of his green cardigan until his lips meet yours, and that’s the best feeling in the world, really, to be there in his arms, to feel his heart against your palm…

But as you look up at him again, you notice the dark traces under his eyes, the heaviness in his eyelids. He looks exhausted, and if he always does when he’s touring, he seems to be barely being able to stand. For proof, he’s leaning more and more against you as he hugs you tight.

Gently, soothingly, you rub his back, and you don’t fail to notice the sigh he lets out, his body relaxing under your hands.

“We still have a few hours before heading to your parents’ house for the evening. Want to take a nap?”

“Only if you come with me.”

“I have to finish preparing all the gifts…”

“We can do that in the morning. We can even just hand them without any wrapping…”

“No! We’re doing this properly!”

“Tomorrow then.”

You yield easily, nodding.

“Alright. You go and dry your hair while I prepare some hot chocolate, and then we cuddle and take a nap. Deal?”

He grins.

“Deal!”

He kisses you again, passionate and overwhelming and leaving you dizzily blinking; before he disappears upstairs to change out of his wet clothes and get dry.

Meanwhile, you’ve prepared some warm beverage for him and go grab your own mug in the living room. You abandon the gifts for now, climb upstairs and under the covers to wait for Andrew.

You’re grinning at the thought of him joining you, and your smile only brightens when he actually does, clumsily hurrying to the bed.

He slips under the covers, on his side of the bed, the one you’ve been staring at for entire nights, feeling the empty space of his absence. He’s barely settled in that you’re already reaching for him. He takes the hand you’re holding out, kissing your knuckles before placing it against his heart.

He takes a few sips of his warm beverage, complimenting your creation before lying down fully with you, tucking you both in, making sure you’re both fully covered by the heavy blankets. You lie there together for a long time, legs tangled to the point that borders between his body and yours disappear, on your sides so you can stare at each other, bathe in the presence of the person you love most in the world, in the warmth of this home you share, this bed that feels empty when you’re not both here.

A few minutes are all that’s needed for the bed to be filled with the warmth of your entwined bodies, and you relax as you shuffle even closer, arms wrapped around his torso. He holds you close, his large palm rubbing circles into your back that make you close your eyes. He rests his forehead against yours, closes his eyes as well.

“God, I’ve missed you so fucking much,” he whispers, his voice quiet and soft in the gentle air of the room, the one disturbed only by your shared breaths, the tapping of the rain, and the occasional movements of your limbs under the covers. “I needed this. Needed to hold you close… you can’t imagine how much I needed this.”

You tighten your hold on him, an attempt to silently tell him that you understand, that you need him too, just as much.

“I’ve missed you too, honey,” you breath, your tone matching his. “So much. I’m so happy you’re home.”

“Only for a couple of days…”

“I don’t care. You’re here, now. That’s all I care about. I might not think the same in a couple of days when I cry my eyes out at the airport but…”

You chuckle together, and he kisses the tip of your nose as a reward.

“Same here,” he mumbles as he buries his head into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply your scent, the one he tries to get drunk on, to commit to memory so he can reminisce later, once he’s alone again at night in some hotel room.

“Thank you. For coming home to me. Thank you, Andy.”

But he chuckles, shaking his head ever so slightly.

“I did it for myself as much a I’ve done this for you, you know.”

“I bet everyone in the band was tired of you complaining all the time,” you laugh, and he does the same.

“Alex was this close from kicking me out of the bus.”

You double with laughter, and yet keep on holding onto each other just as tightly, unwilling to ever let go again.

“I bet he was!”

He nuzzles into your neck, kisses the skin at the base of your shoulder, making your heart skip beats and your breathing stutter. His beard tickles your skin, and you’re certain you’ve been transported to heaven.

“I love you,” you whisper into his hair, kissing every inch you can reach. You feel his grin against your neck.

“I love you, too. So much, darling.”

You forget to set up an alarm, and when you both fall asleep a few minutes later, you’re too comfortable to wake up. You arrive late at Andrew’s parents’, but they can’t pretend to be mad. They’re too happy to have their son for Christmas, and you feel the same.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #hozier x reader #hozier x y/n #hozier x you #hozier fanfiction #hozier fanfic #hozier oneshot #the hoziest #fanfiction #fanfic #writing

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

Don't Ask

Fandom: Elvis Presley, American Musician

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader

Characters: Elvis Presley, Reader, Billy Smith, Charlie Hodge, Given Time Period We’ll Say Ginger Aldean

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4483

Summary: All he has to do is ask.

Tags/Warnings: Reader has a name, Addiction, Drug Use, Divorce, Arguing, Crying, Angst, Love, Marriage, Kids, Substance Abuse, Failing Health, Body Issues, Body Image Issues, Weight Gain, Big Daddy Elvis Era,

Notes: okay so this was sadder than anticipated

ELVIS MASTERLIST // TAG LIST

You could hear it, the shrill ring of the telephone just beside your bed, attempting to pull you into consciousness, its calls getting louder and louder as it managed to do so. It only stopped as you threw your hand on the nightstand, fumbling around until your fingers clasped around the receiver. As you placed it to your ear you flopped back, far too casual for someone who was receiving an out of the blue phone call at three am. Then again your life had never run on a normal schedule so nothing really phased you anymore.

‘Hello,’ you yawned, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you waited for the mystery caller to make themselves known.

‘Lor? That you?’ Billy said.

‘Yeah it’s me,’ you said quickly sitting yourself up in bed. Just because you’d become acclimatised to living life at a fast pace didn’t stop ice running through your veins whenever a call like this came it. It didn’t mean that countless scenarios didn’t run through your mind as you tried to keep calm and ask, ‘what is it?’

‘It’s Elvis,’ Billy said as if it could be anything else. As if there was any other reason any of them would even bother with you anymore.

‘What is it? Is everything okay?’ you replied, trying to push the worst conclusions from your mind.

‘He’s fallen. He’s hit his head pretty bad,’ Billy said. It wasn’t exactly great but it allowed your thudding heart to slow as you pushed anything worse from your mind. Injured you could deal with. Injured meant alive.

‘What about the kids have they seen him?’ you asked, getting to your next priority. Making sure nothing terrible had happened was top of the list. Making sure they hadn’t seen it was right behind it though these days that felt like a losing battle.

‘No, no, they’re asleep,’ Billy explained before he paused. You could hear him shift, no doubt trying to think of how to say whatever it was Elvis had told him to. Whatever he had told him to ask, ‘Lor, he’s asking for you.’

‘Bill,’ you sighed.

‘Said he won’t get off the floor but anyone but you,’ Billy said cutting you off. You knew he wasn’t trying to be rude but rather hoping that his explanation would get you on side. After all you could see how possibility of having to go back to Elvis empty handed wasn’t very appealing to him because the idea of telling him you couldn’t come over felt the same way.

‘Bill,’ you said hoping he wouldn’t ask you outright. That you wouldn’t have to peel yourself out of your warm bed and drive to the house to fix yet another mess.

‘Lor please…I don’t know what else to do,’ he said, quietly.

You paused. You shouldn’t go, you knew that. You knew that this wasn’t your job anymore and yet as you thought about him you couldn’t help but wonder. Wonder how bad it was this time. Wonder what they’d do if you said no. Wonder if your kids would see him in whatever state he was in if you didn’t go to help.

‘Give me twenty minutes,’ you sighed.

As your car rolled through the gates of Graceland you felt the nerves you had been fending off the entire drive return. It never failed to amaze you how people could stand outside the gates you had just gone through, watching a house just be. How they could fantasise about the goings on inside and wish to be part of them. But that was because they didn’t know what truly lay behind those gates. They didn’t know the goings on as you did. They weren’t here with you at three am on a chilly December night; not going to a party, not going to frolic by the pool or ride horses around the grounds. No, they weren’t there for this, whatever this was of course.

As you stepped out you wondered if they would be here if they could. That if they knew everything they’d swap places with you in a heartbeat. You wondered if they were in your shoes would they be coming over to the house or would they have never left in the first place? After all, considering all you’d been through your decision to leave your husband, your home, all you’d ever known, had baffled everyone. It made them wonder. What was the breaking point? What was the final straw? And most people wondered, could it really be that bad? Surely all the good bits of Elvis Presley were enough to stay.

They had a point you supposed. Because even after you’d left; packed up your children and whacked the divorce papers in front of him you still came back for the bad bits.

‘You’re going?’ you heard your boyfriend ask as you emerged from the bathroom. You’d promised to head over to the house, to mop up whatever mess Elvis needed you to, but that didn’t mean you were going to rush right over there. It was pointless of course, to make sure you looked at least somewhat presentable, but the idea of having some control over the situation brought you a modicum of self-respect. Even if you were running back home and leaving your boyfriend in an empty bed.

‘I have to,’ you said, not meeting his gaze as you made your way around the room, dressing yourself for the chilly Memphis winter as he climbed out of bed and came towards you.

‘He’s your ex-husband Lori. Emphasis on ex. You don’t have to do anything, let his new girlfriend figure it out,’ he said. He was standing in front of you now, blocking your path to your purse and forcing you to look up at him.

‘It’s not that simple,’ you said trying to ignore that twinge in your gut at the mention of your replacement.

‘Why not?’ he replied.

‘My kids are there Tom. I mean what if they see,’ you said pausing before you let anything else slip out. Even after everything you still couldn’t bring yourself to tarnish his reputation, even if he was doing a damn good job of doing that himself. Instead you steeled yourself and moved past him, picking your purse up from where it rested on a chair by your vanity, ‘I have to go.’

‘You’re just gonna run to him every time he clicks his fingers?’ he said watching you as you headed to the door. You paused at that, your hand resting on the door handle waiting for you to make your decision.

‘What choice do I have?’ you muttered before you ran out of the door.

The house was still when you got inside, the sound of the kids running around or the presence of Elvis’ entourage now gone not that you needed anyone to tell you where to go. You headed upstairs only when you rounded the corner you found Billy sitting at the top of them as though he’d been waiting for you to show up before he dared go and tell Elvis anything. He stood up as you came into view giving you a quick hug before he turned to head towards your bedroom, your old bedroom.

‘He’s in the bathroom,’ he muttered as he walked through the room, ignoring the woman who was sitting on the bed, tears running down her face as Billy’s wife Jo attempted to comfort her. She looked up as you passed, watching you with a scowl on her pretty face that you ignored. It wasn’t that you weren’t sympathetic. After all you knew how she must’ve felt, you’d been there yourself a million times before, left out in the cold whilst he chose someone else. You just couldn’t help it. You knew you shouldn’t be there and yet you couldn’t not be.

Because he’d asked for you.

You heard him before you saw him. Billy had headed into the bathroom first, joining Charlie who was standing by the door, and as suspected he’d been missing a while causing the backlash he’d been hoping to swerve to spilled out the moment he reappeared as Elvis said, ‘and where the fuck have you been?’

‘Makin’ a call like you asked,’ Billy said.

‘That took you half an hour?’ Elvis spat, ‘honestly if I got one competent person around here-‘

‘He was waiting for me to get here. Now can someone tell me what the hell is going on?’ you asked, pushing through Billy and Charlie’s human blockade. Elvis’ angry expression melted away as you broke through the line of defence, disbelief taking over his features as he said, ‘you came.’

‘Of course I came,’ you said bitterly, folding your arms across your chest, ‘they said you were being ridiculous and won’t get up.’

‘And what, you think you can make me?’ he said, a cocky smile coming to his tired face.

‘Don’t test me Elvis,’ you said seriously.

‘Oh come on,’ he said, ‘you used to like me teasin’ ya remember?’

‘You know what forget it. I don’t need this,’ you said turning to head to the door though you hadn’t made it a foot before he spoke again, all teasing gone from his tone as he said, ‘don’t go. I’ll behave…just don’t go.’

You turned around, assessing the situation in its entirety. He was sitting on the floor, his legs out in front of him as he rested against his back the counter top. Apart from being on the floor he didn’t look too bad but it was only when you looked closer did you notice the disarray. The bottles that were scattered along the counter top and the floor from where he caught them on his way down. The discarded towels on the floor beside him, dark in colour which made it hard to notice the even darker spots of blood that had long since dried into them. The deep gash on his forehead that was still crusted with blood but blended enough into his hair line that it wasn’t noticeable at first glance. And the fear in his eyes.

You knew him better than anyone. You’d learned to read every expression that ever came on that beautiful face of his and right now you could see he was scared. He wasn’t doing this to be awkward. He hadn’t called you because no one else could help. Hed called you because you were the only one he wanted to see him like this.

‘Give us a minute,’ you said looking towards Charlie and Billy who were both standing by the door watching the pair of you curiously.

‘But-‘ Billy protested.

‘A minute,’ you said looking at him with the expression you gave your son when he was being just as cheeky as his daddy. Billy glanced between the pair of you and then nodded before gesturing for Charlie to follow him out of the room. You pushed the door shut behind them, taking a deep breath before you turned back to Elvis whose eyes had never left you.

‘So what was so important that you couldn't ask for anyone but me at three am,’ you said, perching on the barbers chair as you stared down at him.

‘I need ya,’ he said simply, colour flushing his plump cheeks as he said, ‘I can’t get up.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’ you challenged.

‘Can’t,’ he said embarrassedly, ‘my legs…I can't feel ‘em. T-that’s why I fell.’

‘We should call an ambulance,’ you said worriedly.

‘Hell no!’ he retorted angrily.

‘Elvis,’ you pressed.

‘No Lor, no ambulance,’ he said tersely though as your worry went to irritation at his tone he noticed he’d overstepped and his expression softened, ‘just please help me.’

‘I don’t know if I can E,’ you said assessing the scene before you. He’d always been bigger than you, in height for one, but over the past few years with his varied state of health his weight had fluctuated leaving him larger than he used to be meaning you didn’t know how you were going to hoist him up off the floor without help.

‘They won't understand,’ he said brokenly, ‘you’re the only one who understands.’

You surveyed him one last time, watching as he kept his gaze ashamedly on his lap, which only made tears sting at your eyes though you blinked them away. As always you couldn’t let yourself cry because he needed you to be strong. And so you sighed and said, ‘alright, let’s see if we can get you up.’

Elvis looked up at that and nodded watching you as you moved to the floor and bent down beside him to assess the situation. You didn’t know how best to get him up, the way he had landed had left him in the middle of the bathroom with only you to grab onto but as you surveyed you noticed the towel rack on the wall not too far away.

‘I’m gonna hoist this side okay? Do you think you can grab the rail and pull?’ you asked, peering into his face that resembled that of an old man and an obedient school boy all at once.

‘Think so,’ he said.

‘How much feeling have you got in your legs?’ you asked.

‘I can feel ‘em now but they’re weak…I won’t be able to hold myself up for long,’ he admitted.

‘Well let’s get you into the barbers chair,’ you said eyeing the distance between it and you. Once he was on his feet it would only be a couple of steps but the feat of getting him upright left you with that uneasy feeling once more.

‘Okay,’ he said reaching out for the gold towel rack and wrapping his hand around it so tight his knuckles turned white.

‘Ready?’ you asked, slipping your arm under his shoulder until you had a grip of him on his other side.

‘Ready,’ he nodded.

‘One…two…three,’ you said rocking him on every beat until you both thrusted forward, using his weight as an advantage to pivot him onto his feet. He was up surprisingly quickly, though his grip on your waist tightened as he stood there, unsure and wobbly on his own feet. You surveyed him looking for any signal he was going to drop but he met your gaze offering you a reassuring smile, well, until the distinct smell of dried urine wafted into your nostrils. He noticed it at the same time, his cheeks going beetroot red as he dropped his gaze to the dark stain on the front of his pyjama pants and muttered, ‘sorry…it happened when I…’

‘It’s okay,’ you said, your heart breaking at his embarrassment, ‘let’s get you cleaned up.’

He nodded and plodded the couple of steps towards the chair, your hands only letting go when he was close enough to sit down though he threw himself into the chair with an oomph and a groan. He looked exhausted. Any energy he’d had thus far vanquished in a couple of steps. And looking at him you felt just as exhausted, your battery running on empty even though you knew he needed you. At that you excused yourself offering the excuse of finding him some new clothes. He didn’t protest though you didn’t give him time to, instead fleeing to the safety of the other room. Everyone was gone now, save for Charlie who was perched on the bed watching as you flitted to the closet.

‘Is he okay?’ he asked.

‘He’s fine,’ you said though both of you knew that was far from the truth. Even holed away, protected by soundproof walls and secrecy, neither of you dared address the elephant in the room.

‘Need any help?’ he asked.

‘Nope,’ you said, tucking the folded silk pyjamas under your arm, ‘I’ve got it under control.’

‘Holler if you need anything,’ he said, watching you nod before you were gone from sight back into the bathroom. He was where you’d left him, his eyes closed as he relaxed back against the headrest though they opened as you entered making your heart squeeze as the peacefulness disappeared replaced by fatigue and worry.

You ignored it, that hurt in your heart, and instead moved to the counter, turning the tap on and running the water until it was warm enough to start filling up the sink. If you couldn’t get him to the shower the shower would have to come to him. Once the warm water was up near the top of the bowl you turned the tap off and moved back to him, your fingers working quickly to unbutton his pyjama shirt. He allowed you to remove his clothes, watching as you worked silently, the only thing offered being a grunt as you made him lift his hips to get his pants off. You moved to grab a wash cloth but when you turned back he was surveying himself, disgust on his face as he took in the body before him. Again you said nothing but this time it was less about trying to hold back your emotions but more because you didn’t know what to say. You’d told him countless times about how handsome you still thought he was. How a little extra timber suited him not that he had ever believed you. But his body now meant something different to you.

It made you sad. Not because you longed for that trim twenty something you married but because you knew that it would only be able to take so much. Because you feared that one day it might not be just his legs or his bladder that gave up on him. Because you feared that one day you might get another phone call in the middle of the night except there’d be no helping that time.

The washcloth glided smoothly across his skin washing away the sweat that had arisen on his skin from the exertion and though you knew he would probably be better with a shower there was no way you’d be able to manage that so as long as he was clean you’d take it. He said nothing, watching as you glided the warm cloth tenderly along every inch of skin, until you got to his thighs, which was when his weary face broke into a smile, his eyes lighting up at whatever dirty quip he’d cooked up in that brain of his.

‘Nice try Presley,’ you giggled handing him the cloth so that he could deal with that part alone.

‘Hey, I didn’t say nuthin’,’ he smirked making you roll your eyes as you busied yourself with getting his clothes ready.

‘You don’t have to,’ you said as you turned back around.

‘Maybe you should get your mind outta the gutter Mama,’ he retorted.

You ignored him, even when he quirked an eyebrow as you dropped to your knees in front of him, ignoring how pink your cheeks had turned as you tapped his foot to allow you to slip his pants on. He clung onto you as you got to his hips, grunting again as the exertion of moving made him breathless, his belly diminishing the amount of air able to get in his lungs. As you shimmied his pyjama shirt, moving to fiddle with the buttons on the front, his hands found their way to your hips. You knew he probably shouldn’t, that exes should never be this affectionate with one other but like with everything else Elvis was a law unto himself. Even with another girl in the other room he still held you like he would have if you were married. And more to the point you let him.

Once you finished dressing him you grabbed a comb and ran it through his locks, trying to get them into some form of order instead of the disarray they’d been in but the teeth of the comb snagged in the dried blood making him wince.

‘Sorry,’ you murmured moving to grab another cloth so that you could wash it off properly. Except this time he didn’t let you stand, as you dabbed the cloth against his forehead he pulled you onto his lap watching your face closely as you kept your eyes on the task at hand.

‘Lor,’ he said after a moment. You didn’t respond, ‘Lor look at me.’

‘I can’t,’ you whispered, refusing to meet his gaze, ‘I can’t keep doing this.’

‘I know,’ he whispered, ‘I can’t believe you came.’

‘How could I not?’ you asked finally meeting his eyes as tears started blurring your vision.

‘But you can’t anymore?’ he said dropping his gaze to your other hand as he took it in his large one his thumb stroking the back of it gently.

‘No,’ you said honestly, ‘and you have to stop asking.’

‘Honey,’ he sighed.

‘Because if you ask I’ll come. You know I will and this…I left because I couldn’t do this anymore Elvis. You know how much it breaks my heart to see you like this. To think of the kids seeing you like this.’

‘I know, I know,’ he sighed.

‘But you don’t!’ you said climbing out of his lap and brushing the tears away, ‘you don’t seem to get it otherwise we wouldn’t be in this cycle would we?’

He didn’t answer, instead he fiddled with the arm rest of the chair refusing to look up at you.

‘When I go are you gonna call Dr Nick?’ you asked. You knew the answer already but hoped you were wrong. You knew that once you were out of the way, once you’d hid his shame and guilt away he’d be back to the people who caused it in the first place.

‘I hit my head,’ he said earning a scoff. It wasn’t an outright admittance but it wasn’t a denial either. It was a classic Elvis tactic. To make you do the work. To never be in the wrong but never be in the right either. To live in ambiguity until his opponent gave up fighting. Like you had.   

‘Honey,’ he sighed.

‘No Elvis,’ you said folding your arms across your chest.

‘I need him,’ he explained, ‘the pain, the achin’. I can’t take it.’

‘How do you know? You haven’t tried,’ you said exasperatedly, ‘you just pop those damn pills and hope they’ll fix everything.’

‘He’s a doctor,’ he said.

‘He’s a murderer,’ you corrected. You could see the argument building. It had been one you’d had countless times. His use of his so-called doctor ranking somewhere in the middle of worthy topics of debate, smushed in between fighting about the kids, the house, money, the other women, the colonel and work. Yet unlike all those times before you could see he was weaker now. That though he dared to stand by his actions his resilience to do so was waning and if you kept arguing you’d be no better at keeping him from an early grave than that damn doctor.

‘I can’t,’ you sighed, ‘I can’t argue about this again…I just can’t.’

‘Lor please,’ he begged.

‘No Elvis,’ you said, the firmest you’d been all night, ‘I can’t do this anymore. I asked you to choose and you made your choice.’

‘It ain’t that simple,’ Elvis said.

‘And neither was leaving you,’ you replied. The tears had broken free now, silently running down your cheeks as you said, ‘do you love me? Our life? Our babies?’

‘Of course I do,’ he scoffed.

‘So why isn’t it enough,’ you said moving to stand in between his legs. His arms wrapped around your torso, his sad blue eyes looking up at you as you took his face in your hands, dampness coating your fingertips from where his own tears had rolled free, ‘why can’t you choose us for once?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘I don’t know either…’ you sniffled, ‘because I choose you. Every time. Whenever you ask I come running and I just can’t do it any longer because it’s killing me…the way those pills are killing you…and I can’t let our babies end up with no one.’

‘Lor,’ he whispered brokenly.

‘This only gonna end one way baby,’ you said moving to rest your forehead against his, ‘unless you choose not to.’

He stayed quiet, allowing you to kiss his forehead before you broke free of his grasp, his hand only letting go of yours at the very last second before you slipped from the room. Charlie was gone now, replaced by the girlfriend you didn’t know the name of yet. As you wiped the tears from your face she watched you, her expression less hostile now that she could see your distress, whatever favouritism you’d been shown evidently not being a good thing.

‘Is he okay?’ she said as you grabbed your purse from where you’d dumped it by the bathroom door.

‘He’s fine,’ you replied, fumbling for your car keys.

‘Fixed him all up huh?’ she said, her stare cold and unyielding.

‘I did what he asked me to,’ you said flatly, ‘but um he’s asking for you.’

‘Oh really,’ she said sarcastically and though you wanted to argue to fight back you didn’t.

‘Yeah, he uh, he’s gonna wanna get it bed but he might need a minute to get there. Don’t fuss him too much otherwise hell get angry with you-‘

‘I don’t need your help,’ she said snippily.

‘From the way you were sobbing your heart out earlier I take it your initial go at handling him didn’t go very well,’ you bit back, offering the only bit of angry you could muster. She bristled, folding her arms across her chest with a pout on her face which you elected to ignore as if she was one of your children. Given her age she might as well have been, ‘look you wanna feed yourself to the lions go ahead but I’m here to help. More importantly I need yours.’

‘Why?’ she questioned.

‘Because I need to know has got someone. Whether it’s you or the next one who knows,’ you said, the idea of her being replaceable finally seeming to kick her into a cooperative mood, ‘just look after him.’

‘What if I don’t know how?’ she asked.

‘Call me,’ you said.

And before she could ask any more questions you fled the room headed back to your car. As you drove away, fresh tears pouring down your face you wondered again about those people at the gate. Except now you had your answer. Because even knowing everything, knowing how it was going to end, you couldn’t walk away. Even if you had to look like you had.

ELVIS TAGS

@girlblogger2002 @sania562 @caitlin1996 @literally-just-elvis-fics @notstefaniepresley @artlesson8892 @18lkpeters @velvetelvis @jaqueline19997 @elvispresleyxoxo @amydarcimarie @presleyenterprise @everythingelvispresley @elvispresleywife @lillypink @richardslady121 @lettersfromvenus @louisejoy86 @ccab

#my writing #elvis #elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #big daddy elvis #big daddy Elvis x reader #don’t ask

[astudyincontrasts]

Ok so my brain fog is real today bc awful pain but a friend and I were swapping Viktor headcanons one day specifically of musician!Viktor (and what else he could do with those hands 🤤) and now bass playing Viktor lives rent free in my head so do with that what you will if you feel so inclined. 😉 like idk maybe reader has been secretly watching him play at her favorite bar forever and has been pining….or it’s like a Judah/Princess Carolyn situation and reader has no idea he’s a musician on the side. ^_^

Here you go, Lyds!  I’m sorry it’s not terribly heavy on musical details, because while I love music I know precious damn little about making it.  

Just some sweet fluff, I decided to give reader a name bc I’m terribly tired of doing y/n stuff but it’s still reader perspective and limited name usage.

Musician!Viktor x Fem!Reader SFW

It was getting to the point you couldn't afford this. Neither your stretched thin budget, nor your sleep-deprived schedule. Not even your liver, to be honest. But each week, three times a week, you somehow managed to find a way to pay the cover charge, afford the three drink minimum, and drag yourself from bed the next morning and back off to work.

It was worth it. Viktor played beautifully. But it wasn't just the music, it was him. That first night you caught one of his regular sets at the bar was purely accidental. It was your favorite spot and once or twice a month you'd stop in, treat yourself, or else swing by with friends. He'd sat down quietly on the tall lone stool in the small cleared space that acted as a makeshift stage near the far end of the bar and in the solitary bright light in the warm, dimly lit space, simply began to play.

It was like that each time. No conversation, no introduction or rambling or belabored explanations of who he was or what each song was about. He simply sat, began to play, and one by one the conversations would hush or lower, the whole place wrapped up for the two hour stretch of each of his sets. He only ever sang along to the last song, and played the same one each time to wrap the set. It wasn't a language you understood, and he sang quiet and low, but oh how it haunted. Raised goosebumps across your skin each time, left scalp tingling deliciously without fail.  Mouth parted and breath tight, practically shivering, melting.

It had become like a drug.

The only thing that absorbed your week, the one thing you looked forward to and it was draining your accounts and pressing your time... but you needed it. Craved it. You'd even found the perfect spot, the perfect seat in the house to watch him play, relax and not be bothered by any other single barflies that might be looking for someone to make conversation with or flirt with. And most importantly, you were fairly sure he couldn't see you. Perfectly camouflaged in the sea of ever changing faces and other regulars.

Janna forbid he ever start looking up from that bass and caught you sitting there, rapt, with what you were very certain was an incredibly stupefied look of lovesick adoration on your face.

You knew this was stupid, one sided, and ridiculously parasocial. To entertain such an enormous and painful crush on a boy you knew nothing about - simply because he played so beautifully, looked so lovely sat perched there on that stool with the bass balanced on one lean thigh. He was all long, slim limbs, sharp cheekbones and cut of jaw. Heavy brows that would knit in concentration over the complicated parts of songs or lift in unapologetic joy at the lilting melodies.

The warmer nights he's roll up sleeves to his elbows. Rid himself of his tie. And you could sit there, nursing a cool drink as you watched the little trickle of a bead of sweat trace its unhurried path down his forehead, down between brows to roll along his nose and hang shivering off the end of it before dropping away.

To say nothing of the ones that ran down alongside his ear, trickling along the perfect hook of his jaw down along the lean column of his throat only to disappear into the dip of his collarbone just visible in the part of his shirt. Oh, to be able to chase such lucky things; to catch salt on your tongue and taste of skin. To have them drip down upon you with him braced upon elbows above, those narrow hips fitted neatly between spread thighs.

It embarrassed you, how much you wanted him.

You'd never had such a silly crush before. Never let yourself get so wrapped up in anyone that they were all you could think about, that you couldn't sleep at night without indulging in at least one little fantasy of them. He was ruining you, stealing your sleep from staying up late to catch each set and then even more, every night, moans soft across the pillow, thighs shivering out tension with no one between them, nothing but your own fingertips and the cycle of fevered fantasy of his mouth, his hands, his tongue.

His voice in your ear.

It was one of these sticky hot summer nights, and it had already got off to a terrible start. Held late at work, crosstown traffic terrible, a long line at the door of the bar. Your favorite spot had been taken, and you weren't sure how you were going to afford the three drink minimum tonight. You'd skipped your morning coffee and head had throbbed half the day to thank you for the caffeine withdrawal. It was time to accept you simply couldn't keep this up. It wasn't healthy, it would never go anywhere, and what had begun as a delightful indulgence had instead begun to hurt.

Glaring cold jealousy at the unassuming people who'd managed to nab your favorite spot you instead took a seat at the bar and ordered the most refreshing drink they had; laced with thin sliced cucumber and botanical infused vodka, positively crammed with ice and sparkling with the effervescence of charged water. You toyed with the little yellow nasturtium flower that came perched on the top of it and sipped slowly. Very slowly.

“That looks delicious.”  

Already having suffered a frustrating day, sitting in simmering in anger over having your comfortable plans ruined, miserable over being ready to shake off this silly crush and preparing to face the inevitable discomfort of having to stop all this madness, ween yourself back to a normal life, all of it compounded by the aggravating heat, you felt your temper spike hot and sudden at the nerve of some random man moving in to flirt with you.  Rolled eyes to yourself and clenched jaw before the hand holding the little yellow flower hit the bar and your turned sharply to tell the owner of that voice to piss off.

Only to be met by a soft, fox-sly tilt pair of golden amber eyes under familiar dark brows.

And your heart stopped.  Stumbled, stutter-started and tried very hard to both climb up into your throat and simultaneously drop into the pit of your stomach, leaving you reeling.  And he smiled, cupid bow shape of his mouth canting ever so slightly higher at the edge that a little beauty mark graced.  That soft gaze of his strayed to your glass before it rose to catch the bartender, and he lifted a single elegant finger to order the same drink for himself.

Apparently undeterred by your awkward silent ogling about ten inches away from his face, he turned back to you with that warm look again.  Your body forgot it had legs, limbs, internal organs or anything more than the panicked hammering of that treacherous heart and hard static buzz of your brain short circuiting.  He nodded at the little flower you held.

“Did you know those are edible?  My grandmother used to grow them in a little box outside her windowsill.”

Your attention strayed to the small flower whose stem you were currently crushing between thumb and forefinger.  And then that vaporlock finally broke in your brain.  Let you breathe a soft laugh that thankfully did not sound as unhinged as you felt.

“You’re putting me on.”

The bartender delivered his drink and Viktor plucked the little flower in his up, stared you dead in the face, dare accepted, and popped it whole into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as that smile grew and you watched him incredulously.  Just waiting for him to give up the game, spit it out sputtering and laugh at having his bluff called.  Instead he swallowed happily, the lovely rise of that adam’s apple in his throat moving enticingly against the open part of his collar - no tie tonight - and took a slow sip of his drink.

You eyed your little flower and lifted it slowly, paused to narrow gaze at him before you bit one petal off.  It was edible.  Peppery, like bitter lettuce with a finish like fresh scrubbed carrots.  You felt your brows shoot up and heard him laugh warmly as he leaned an elbow on the bar beside you and took another long sip of his drink.

“See?”  

“Yes!  Its... they’re good!”  You took another nibble and he held out his free hand.

“I’m Viktor.”

You struggled with the half eaten flower, petal still hanging partway out your mouth, and finally dropped the flower back into your drink, covered your mouth with one hand and offered him the other.  Real smooth.  Just killing it.

“Yef. Imf.  Ahem.  Haha... I uh, I know.  I’m Tasha.”  

“Tasha.”  He took your hand, kindly ignoring all the awkwardness, or else actually mindboggingly charmed by it, “I’ve seen you here before I think?”

Oh damn.  Oh fuck.  

As delicious as the gentle fold of his hand was around yours, you tried to slide yours away and hide embarrassment at being caught out by turning back to your drink.  Instead he caught the tips of your fingers and held tight.  Not crushing, just enough tension to stop you, to draw your hand back toward him.  Had you blinking surprise as your heart decided its new job was to turn as many summersaults as possible in your chest instead of pump blood, leaving you feeling a little lightheaded. 

“Do you like my music?”  It was almost shy, the way he asked it.  As if he had no idea how good he was.

“Janna, yes.”  You breathed earnestly, before you could stop yourself.  Earned a delighted and open expression of surprise from him and a mortifyingly hot blush that swept from your throat to cheeks.  So much redder and undoubtedly less attractive than the sweet pale pink dusting in the hollows of his cheeks.  

He toyed a callused thumb at your fingertips he still held, gaze focused on them.  Oh no, you’d embarrassed him as well as yourself.  Good going.

“I’m...” You both began at once.  And then just like that the lights cut off.  A collective groan went up from the entirety of the packed bar.  Left only with the dim illumination of  the flickering small candles in their votives scattered on table tops.  It happened regularly out here on the city limits, so close to the drop off toward Zaun.  During the sweltering days of summer they kept the rolling blackouts random and confined to the edges, siphoning power into the wealthier, glittering city center to keep their lights on and fans running.  Just letting everyone stuck out here know their place, and weren’t you terribly grateful to get what you were given?  Imagine how bad it was a block or two over and a half mile down.  

The bartender threw his rag angrily upon the bar and people began tossing back their drinks and rising to head out into the night to somewhere less packed and stifling and perhaps left with power or in possession of a generator.  Viktor seemed only a little chagrined as he released your hand and settled unhurriedly on the barstool beside you to savor his cool drink in the dim light.

“Ah well.  No set tonight.”  He cast you a sly little glance that had your heart sinking.  He had noticed you, and not just as a vaguely familiar face.  He knew.  “Sorry I won’t be able to play for you tonight.”

Something in the way he said it, though perhaps it was just you reading too much into the cadence of his soft clipped accent; misunderstanding emphasis placed on certain words.  But it sounded... gods, it sounded like he really meant he was sorry he couldn’t play for you - just you.  No.  That was your silly one sided crush talking.  Stamp that idea out right now.  Intense foolishness.  Get a grip, girl.

“I don’t suppose...”  He’d turned away a little bit, toward the bar, thumb toying against the condensation beading and dripping off his drink in a way that made you jealous of the glass.  “I don’t suppose you’d like to go for a walk?”

Do what now?  Yes.  Yes you would.  Walk wherever.  Ends of the earth?  Straight into hell?  Yes indeed, lets go.  You managed not to choke on a swallow of your drink and nodded before voice found you.

“Yes.”  Could you possibly manage anything more than monosyllabic answers, please?  “Yes, I’d love to.”

There, was that so hard?

He brightened, and half turned back toward you.  As if you were the one doing him a favor here and not the other way around.  

The sweltering evening passed in a delicious little blur.  The two of you slowly finding footing in conversation at the bar, unhurried as you finished your drinks before turning out onto the streets.  The wandering was aimless and pleasantly slow as you chatted away, stopped at a street vendor to buy a few kebabs of  that unidentifiable but sumptuously delicious meat that was so common here and in Zaun.  Dripping with sweet spicy, sticky sauce that had you licking your fingers and him rubbing a smudge away from the corner of your mouth as you both sat on a stranger’s stoop to eat.

A little while later there was a second vendor, selling sweet iced milks, cardamom and cinnamon spiced, sweetened with honey and poured over shaved ice.  Viktor insisted on treating, absolutely thrilled to find this vendor out and about tonight, explained how he usually missed them.  Readily apparent the incredibly lean boy had a surprisingly raging sweet tooth.  

The cane had also been a surprise.  You’d noticed the slight limp and the brace that ran up his leg but had never seen him take more than a few steps onto and off the makeshift clearing of a stage at the bar.  It had you concerned at first about wearing him out with the walk, but he set a comfortably easy pace and you didn’t mind the meandering at all.  Though you did notice when he began to flag.  It couldn’t have been easy, along with the weight of his bass slung across his back.  

“I... uhm... my place isn’t far.  If you want.  The power’s probably not on, but there’s a fire escape that usually has a nice breeze.  And the stuff in the icebox is probably still cool.  If you want to rest a bit.”  It all came out in a bit of a rush.  Had him stalling on the sidewalk as he leaned weight upon that cane a bit heavily.  Gaze inscrutable for a long moment that had you panicking that perhaps he thought you were making a clumsy move on him.  

And then a little rocking step brought him closer.  Close enough to get a little distracted by that second beauty mark under one golden eye and the scent of iced honey sweet on his breath.

“Alright.  Only if you promise once we get there you’ll let me kiss you.”  Those luminous eyes not on yours but trained lower, watching the shape of your mouth.  And you realized suddenly he’d been doing that all evening; attention flicking between eye contact and sliding away time and time again to watch you speak, eat... and now to catch your lower lip between the crush of teeth like you needed to hide it from that gently hungry gaze.

“W-what?”  You heard it practically squeak out of you.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to all night.”  He admitted with remarkable honesty, catching you even more fully off guard.  “Please don’t invite me back to your place if...  if that’s not what you want.”

Like he was running out of patience with himself and unable to face it if all you were doing was humoring him, somehow just being kind and coolly friendly.

“You can... you can kiss me right now.”  Janna, it just came blurting out of you in a hot rush.  Stammered and eager and slightly choked.

Ah, how he smiled.  Slow and sweet before he rocked forward and caught your mouth.  Fingertips trailing little licking electric lines of tingling fire back in a sweep above your jaw before he hooked hand in a cradle and pulled you closer.

Soft little suckle of your lower lip started it all, pulled at it temptingly and you felt the tip of his tongue brush a little taste, just a little one, before teeth caught a tiny tug and then both your mouths were open and you were done for.  Hands reaching up to stroke along his throat, slide fingertips up into that soft mess of hair behind his ears.  He was terribly gentle for the way you could feel him practically trembling with want as you slid tongue a slow roll slick against his own, drew it into your mouth in invitation, small teases of licks leaving you breathless until you both had to break at last.  

Not that either of you wanted to - but the hooting cat calls of several passersby finally managed to penetrate the silent, muffled solitary universe the pair of you had descended into.  Viktor glanced after their retreating backs before turning back to you with a shy smile, letting his forehead come to rest against yours as he thumbed away the glistening wet he’d left along your lower lip.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to do that for weeks.”  He admitted and it turned your world on its head.  Had you break down in a breathless little ragged laugh. 

“Me too.”

#viktor drabble #viktor arcane #viktor x reader arcane #arcane viktor x reader #viktor fic #arcane fic #sfw viktor #sweet fluff #musician au #musician viktor #drabble requests

[z-h-i-e]

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice...what do you Know?

I end up on the fence on the 'write what you know' advice. On one hand, I do it constantly, but on the other hand, I'll go learn things so that I can write what I now know. It's that whole 'method writer' thing for me -- which is, undoubtedly, what I am, because I argue I'm more a storyteller who sometimes writes things down than a writer. Anyone who has spent significant amounts of time with me in Discord has gotten to hear headcanons and scenes and dialogue which may or may not ever be written. But I digress...

What do I know... I feel like I've lived a very blessed life in many regards because of all I've had a chance to experience. I am or have been all of the following: musician, artist, teacher, librarian, retail clerk, professor, politician, advocate, genealogical lecturer, consultant, writing coach, life coach, event coordinator/scheduler, manager, newsletter writer for a historical society. I ran my own business twice. I've worked in the public sector, private sector, and as an independent contractor. I've had many opportunities and had a chance to see things from many facets -- in theatre, for example, I've been a musician in the pit, an actor on the stage, and director behind the curtain, and a playwriter who should have been in the audience but knew the stage manager and got to hang out in the wings.

I seize opportunities - sometimes, I end up a little overwhelmed, but I (usually) overcome the obstacles and succeed. Where we came from and what we know makes us who we are. I was poor twice and middle-class twice. There's a big difference between eating ramen because it's what I could afford and eating ramen because I want to eat ramen (I'm eating ramen right now). All of those experiences start to seep into writing. When I was four years old I almost died. I spent the better part of a week in an oxygen tent. Since then, I've dealt with neurological and muscular issues that suck, but are better than the alternative. I didn't sleep, really sleep, until I was 35, when I was diagnosed with apnea. Sleeping scared me the first time I got a full 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep. 8 hours of unawareness. Nightmares were worse -- no one should have their first true nightmare in their mid-30s. That shit was really hard to unpack. My therapist should have been paid double the going rate for that year. (I'd had some weird fever dreams prior to that -- around ten years earlier, I had a second 'shouldn't have lived through that' experience when I rocked a temperature of 106 for several days -- but those were nothing compared to actual nightmares.)

Fanfiction is a much cheaper alternative to therapy (and, solidly gets an A+ from my therapist as one of my top coping mechanisms). It's journaling about life, it's sharing ideas, it's documenting daily journeys, it's fun and relaxing, and I've been doing it since I was 8. That is a significant stretch, really. The first piece was turned in as a school assignment. I used to write fanfiction for Super Mario Brothers, Rocky & Bullwinkle, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and of course, ThunderCats. And I'd read it to classmates during class time, voices and all. I got to do my junior year cultural paper on Klingons, and I gave a lecture senior year on literary sources and their connection to the themes and storylines in ThunderCats. I have continued to read fanfiction in public at open mics and other events - it's the best way to mainstream and normalize it, and gosh darn it, it's been a far easier nerdom thing to normalize than furry bowling nights were. (I do miss furry bowling night, though. But I digress.)

So I do end up writing about things I know, and I've lived long enough to have a whole bag of holding full of experiences and memories to draw from -- and when I don't know something, I (usually) want to go and learn about it. I took up kickboxing and karate in college so that I could learn how to better write fight scenes. I spent a month of driving on my own to places I'd never been before to get into Fingon's head a little more (because you know, rescuing Maedhros was not the first time Fingon up and left on his own). I keep a bow at the door, next to my red shoes, because I think that's what Beleg would have done. I took the golden flowers growing at the house we live in as the sign that we should buy that house, even though it was a short sale and a pain in the ass to get through, because I was going to find a way to live in the House of the Golden Flower even if it took all summer (and it just about did). Then we planted strawberries there, for Samwise, because you know he and Rosie would absolutely have strawberries growing in their garden. (I can't take credit for the fox that lives in our yard - he showed up on his own - but it's as good of a second confirmation sign as any that we did end up in the right place.)

So that's a lot, and my lunch is almost over, but I almost feel like the question is less what do I know and more what do I not know. Everyone draws a line somewhere.

Horses. I do not know horses. Middle-earth has a lot of fucking horses in it. He's got a horse, she's got a horse, this elf over here's got a war horse, this other one has a war horse but it has jingle fucking bells on it... yeah. Lots of horses. Now, I'm in a state with lots of farms. Fair amount of horses. I see five different horses on my drive to work every day. Why is horses not a thing in the what we know category... well, I'm pretty convinced that with a head that size, you never know when one is going to open its mouth like an alligator and eat you. I'm not taking chances. Don't talk to me about logistics or physiology. I didn't make it this far in life to be eaten by a horse. So we're going to play it safe on this one and just read a book. I have a bunch of books about horses. Riding horses, fancyass dressage books, horse identification. People see my books, they say, wow, you must like horses! Hells no. You ever hear the whole 'keep your friends close, keep your horses that might eat you in two bites closer' line? Well, now you have. So that which I do not know and do not experience comes from books.

The end.

Thank you for your question, Anonymous.

#zhie's random thoughts and musings #writing stuff #writing advice

[zalrb]

I was tagged by @braedenhales

favorite time of year: autumn, specifically when the leaves change so basically around now.

comfort food: burgers

favorite dessert: something to do with chocolate whether it’s chocolate cake or chocolate ice cream

things you collect: graphic tees/sweaters i suppose.

favorite drink: coke

favorite musician/band: i don’t have one

last song I listened to: skate by tycho and saint sinner

last movie watched: i guess it would be that mila kunis movie, uh, luckiest girl alive, and it was terrible.

last series watched: all the way through? i guess HotD. Ugh.

currently watching: i’m rewatching so many things at once from oth to true blood to succession to vikings to superstore to archer to interview with the vampire.

current obsession: i don’t really have one but i’m working on three writing projects.

dream place to visit: nigeria. the clothing??

places you wanna go back to: jamaica.

something you want: a normal sleep schedule.

currently working on: possibly an osblaine fanvid

tagging: whoever wants to do this ;)

[reijis-sunshine]

FORT THOU ASK GAME.

band aid - kojiro!

thoughts - reiji 😏

microphone - kaoru

phone - your mains! you could either choose one or do them all 👀

dance - waltz (Yes i chose him bc of his name)

romance - diluc

crystal ball - ichiro

bed - gojo!

sick - nanami

song - ren

feather - samatoki lol

smile - kazuma!

Ah Yes, Everyone, let's get started then!!

Band-aid: what's one thing I want people to understand about Kojiro? That he's a massive teddy bear and amazing pillow. Relaxed muscle is incredibly nice and squishy and have you seen the man's beef? Perfect nap partner

Thoughts: what do I think Reiji thinks of me when I'm not around. Well, maybe that I have a really pretty smile, or that I'm an extremely skilled musician. Maybe he thinks about the time I slid on a rug, ate floor, and could barely move my knee for the next two days. Uncertain, there are lots of options heheh

Microphone: does Kaoru sing or play music? Yes, he sings, mostly just if music is already playing, his voice is really nice! I love listening to him sing, could put me to sleep in seconds

Phone: I'm gonna pick just one f/o for this one, Reiji and I do in fact have cell phones, my contact name for him is just "Darling<3", and his contact name for me is "Sunshine". There's a reason my blog name is what it is :D

Dance: Can Waltz or I dance? 1. I'm not surprised you did the name match there it's very funny 2. yes, we both can! We don't dance often but it's a convenient way to get out of talking to people at parties on the rare occasion we deign to attend one

Romance: what's the most romantic thing Diluc has ever done for me? And the most romantic thing I've done for him? Well, for the most romantic thing he's done for me, is proposing too cheesy of an answer. Probably but I don't care. The most romantic thing I've done for him though... maybe the multiple songs I've written for him

Crystal ball: Is Ichiro superstitious? Does he believe in the paranormal? If so, what kind of stuff do they believe in? Yes, Ichiro believes in ghosts, surprisingly no he is not scared of them. Ichiro believes in ghosts like you believe in your annoying housemate that steals your food and you can never seem to catch outside of their room. It's very entertaining

Bed: Where does Satoru like to sleep? Is he conventional with a good schedule, or does he find damp corners to call his bed? Oh God, please never try to get this man to sleep outside of his own bed. He's somehow even worse than me about not being able to sleep anywhere other than his bed, which is singularly impressive. And his sleep schedule is, effectively, from whenever he gets into the bed to whenever I wake him up, which typically settles out to 10:00 pm-6:30 am...

Sick: Kento is sick in bed, what do I do? I'm an expert at buying and making comfort food, and also taking care of sick people. Leave it to me, he'll be better by the end of the week unless it's something serious

Song: what's a song Ren knows by heart and a song I know by heart? Ren knows Fly Me to the Moon in Japanese flawlessly and enjoys singing it to me to fluster me. I on the other hand know Valentine by Laufey to get back at him. Nice even trade-off

Feather: if Samatoki and I were animals, what animals would we be and why? I would totally be a cat! I tend to be very reserved at first and then when you get to know me I'm one of the most affectionate and loving people you'll meet. Samatoki though would be a chihuahua. Rude, bites people, terrible and deserved reputation

Smile: what about Kazuma makes me smile every single time? And what's something I do that makes him smile every time? This is such a small thing, but his entire face scrunches just a bit when he's thinking about something, and it's absolutely adorable. Something I do that makes him smile every time though, is tapping out drum beats on my thighs when I get bored or just need something to do with my hands

#thank you for the ask!! #i'm really really tired rn i accidentally stayed up an hour later than usual answering this #shine's letters #ask game #postcards and polaroids #to my dearest person #thats so us #silence and patience #my fearless love #sweet disaster #electric touch #kento tag #gimme true love #message in a bottle #long story short #self-ship

[natromanxoff]

(x)

PETE MEETS FREDDIE MERCURY

Freddie holds court!

WHEN I want round to see Freddie Mercury recently, two large and contented cats were occupying most of the couch in the lounge of his London flat. Freddie's obviously used to this, though, as he just smiled and squeezed into the tiny space his pets had left for him!

"They're called Tom and Jerry." he told me, "and they're both female. Maybe that's why they're so confused most of the time! It's nice having them around though — they're good companions for me.

"The only problem is that I don't like them to go out, because there's a very busy road right outside, but they don't mind staying in. Well, they look happy enough, don't they?

"Anyway, hopefully they’Il soon have a new home with a garden to run around in, as I'm looking for a place of my own. We're just starting to get some of the money through from our records now and the first thing I want is a home of my own. I've been in this flat for a couple of years now and I've been very happy here, but it would be nice to have bit more space!"

Does that mean he'll be moving right out of London into the country?

"Oh, no," he said, "that's not very likely. I like being in the heart of the city. The pace of life is very fast, but I like it that way. Naturally, I enjoy a break every now and then — I've got a sister in Nottingham whom I go to stay with for a few days.

"Life is a lot less frantic up there and I find it very relaxing — but only for a couple of days! After that I get restless and really look forward to getting back to London again."

It's just as well Freddie does have plenty of energy, because Queen are a very hard working band.

"We had a break during the summer when Brian May, our lead guitarist, was taken ill," Freddie explained. "But, since then, we've really been working hard. First we had to record our album, 'Sheer Heart Attack".

"That was a high-pressure job because Brian's illness put us behind schedule. We were working all sorts of hours and for a couple of weeks I hardly saw daylight! It was very tiring, but very satisfying too, because we were all really happy with the album when it was finished.”

Still, there was no time to sit back and feel proud of themselves, as immediately afterwards they had to prepare for their British tour, and their visits to Europe and the States.

"We don't mind touring at all," said Freddie. "In fact, it's great fun. If we are off the road for a long time we get restless and actually miss the travelling. Some groups say they find tours boring, but I think it's up to yourself to make the most of it.

"We really enjoyed America when we were over there earlier in the year. The people were very friendly and places like New Orleans and New York were fascinating. It was like carnival time every night in New Orleans! We spent a lot of time down in the French Quarter, where you could listen to live groups all night if you wanted. It seemed like the town never went to sleep!

“New York was a surprise — we’d had so many warnings about it being a terribly violent city that we were nervous wrecks by the time we arrived. All we wanted to do was head for the hotel room and lock ourselves in!

“But, in fact, we had a very peaceful time while we were there. Our rooms overlooked Central Park, so we were in a pleasant part of the city and met a lot of nice people.”

ALTHOUGH Freddie's musical talent has taken him right around the world, he didn't think of becoming a full-time musician until he left college.

"I was planning to become a freelance illustrator and I got my diploma in design," he told me. "I started doing freelance work, but my heart wasn't really in it. I realised music was the biggest thing in my life and decided to try and make my living from it. It’s as simple as that!

"I'd been interested in music since my schooldays, really — I went to a British Boarding School in India till I was 16. I enjoyed school — I was very keen on sport and drama, and had ample opportunity to go in for both of them! You didn't have any choice, there, mind you. You had to do what you were told, so the most sensible thing was to make the most of it!"

Didn't he rebel against all those rules and regulations?

“Obviously, at the time, I did,” he replied. "I didn't particularly like being told what to do all the time, naturally. But now, when I look back, I can see it did me a lot of good. I learnt to look after myself. I grew up very quickly, you see. My mother wasn't there to look after me, so I had to do it myself."

The polished accent is still there, but Freddie doesn't look much like a boarding school kid these days! He’s totally a rock singer now, and obviously enjoys the part!

“Oh, I love being in Queen,” he says. "I never think of music as work. In fact, there's nothing I'd rather do.”

And we’re glad about that, because there’s nothing we’d rather he did!

#queen #queen band #freddie mercury #queen scans #magazine’s title is unknown

[shepherds-of-haven]

What's the Shepherds policy on music in the compound? I like to headcanon that music is my MC's hobby, but I can also see Blade snapping after like day 2 of a recruit trying to learn the trumpet and banning all instruments.

I don't think there's an explicit policy against music in the Shepherd handbook, but there's basically a standing policy that anything you do in your off-time can't disrupt other officers' lives and especially not their sleep schedules, so there are low-noise curfews imposed in the evenings, and practicing music then would definitely get you in trouble! During the day and on your time off (definitely not during your on-duty hours) would be okay, especially in your room, since 1) most recruits don't spend much time in their rooms during the day, anyway, so the floor would be relatively empty; and 2) the walls of the compound are very thick and fairly sound-proof, so unless you opened a door or window, it's doubtful most people would notice practicing music over the sounds of everything else going on during the day. However, if the player in question is really terrible, other recruits still have the right to file a complaint with the Officer Liaison department! Most people exercise common sense, though, so this is really rare. There are a lot of talented musicians who play or practice together in the common rooms (early evenings) recreationally and provide some music for parties, gatherings, or relaxed evenings, generally with the occupants' standing consent, and that hasn't been a problem at all!

I hope that makes sense!

#Shepherds of Haven #music #the order of the shepherds #compound #musician

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Fri 11 June ‘21

LT band news! Guitarist Isaac posted a pic of himself with the other guitarist and bassist, plus LTHQ team member Jessie! Things are happening…idk what things, but THINGS! We know tour shows aren’t for a long while now so what might they be rehearsing or meeting for? Hopes are up that it could be to do promo for a single!! But really whatever it is would be exciting as hell. The shopping list for the recipe Louis will be following for his video is out and it does not look like it’ll be challenging- it’s a fish finger sandwich! I’m a little confused by the addition of waffles (not to mention sugar) in the ingredient list but overall how hard can it be right? I guess we’ll find out. And a fan who met Louis the other day says she had him write HOME for a tattoo and “told him that the song is extremely important for the whole lgbtq+ community” and that he “smiled and said thank you and bless you darling,” and we got more video from yesterday of him out by the studio; he was wearing the skull/ laurel/ rose/ triangle ‘new era’ cap again, nice, and how appropriate for the exciting LT2 era things he is cooking up (not the fish fingers, the other stuff.)

The much hyped Our Song behind the scenes video is finally here! We see the part where Niall pretends to be afraid of the dog that was hired to bark at him, but as we were told, the dog does not bark and was therefore fired; maybe the poor dog was just starstruck, leave her alone! Plus Niall and Anne are cute and look to be having fun, of course. And last night Niall was papped in Hollywood, looking good in all black with gucci loafers, oh lala.

Behind the scenes videos hype continues, with one for Lima’s NFT as well- it opens with a voiceover saying “stop being scared of who you are, you’re not negative you’re vulnerable” and other uplifting soundbites, then shows Liam drawing and walking in a beautiful forested glade, but mostly in his house he recently moved out of- Winston the dog has a sleeping-in-the-background cameo- and he and the other collaborators (musician Zedd and animator Gabe Damast) talk about how they worked out the concepts over zoom and tell us about Liam’s concept for the piece. They also talk about (and show one of) the physical objects and fancy packaging for it that they’ve made to sell along with the NFT, presumably because simply buying bragging rights of ownership of an intangible digital item isn’t actually terribly satisfying, so they need to provide some actual thing. Besides the dinner in Vegas that the buyers will be invited to join them at that is; we also learn more about that and oh my GOD wtf… uh I mean what they said is that it will take place in a literal glass box in the middle of the resort I honestly didn’t know they could make it sound MORE UNPLEASANT to me holy crap, not even to hug Liam would I do that. Liam also did a live where he tells us some stuff we already knew about Louis and Harry; about Louis he said that he’s working on music right now and “god he’s got long hair now doesn’t he”, I KNOW RIGHT, and about Harry that “he looks great in his policeman uniform,” Liam you WOULD like that, and “name a man who can pull off every look.”

Harry followed musician Pauli the PSM on insta. And as he’s often used his follows to tell us about people he is working with/ preparing something with one always wonders… For example as his scheduled shows for this year draw ever nearer with no rescheduling announcement yet, we’re all becoming impatient to know if he’s planning to play any of them this year. And if so, I know I wouldn’t be at all surprised if brand new mom Sarah Jones chose to sit a few out, so today’s follow of a British drummer… well, <eyeballs emoji>, right?! Honestly though it could be for any reason, that’s just wild speculation.

#louis tomlinson #liam payne #niall horan #harry styles #I know we all want the entertainment value of watching louis flail like hell on the cooking segment but the fact is #Louis doesn’t like publicly being bad at things. I’m guessing he wouldn’t do it if he didn’t think he could pull it off so my hopes of that #happening are not high #I feel like Harry has been making a point of using his platform to hype up black performers specifically over the last year #and I for one appreciate that #11 jun 21 #isaac anderson #matt dinnage #michael blackwell #jessie.... have I just forgotten her last name? we must know it right? #jessie martin #GOT IT #pauli lovejoy

[kyotakumrau]

2021.02.16 1st talk session of Meguro Rock-May-KanGIG at Zepp Yokohama

Zepp Yokohama is a such a nice venue, I really hope we will get to see dir play there live properly!

The concert recorded at Meguro RockMayKan was great! The setlist surprised me quite a lot (especially encore!!!)! And I think that was the smallest stage I ever saw dir on!😆 the footage definitely deserves a separate entry and I don't want to spoil anyone if they go to next events.

After the concert film screening staff quickly prepared the stage, bringing two long tables and four chairs, they also placed a water bottle at each seat.

Punctually (thank you for not repeating Nagoya's situation😆), at 3:30 Fujieda came on stage and started with greeting everyone, and asking us to greet the band members with applause.

After a moment of uncertainty (even as my heart was almost set it will be Kyo) Die came on stage with Kyo after him.٩( ˆoˆ  )۶

They both looked super classy. Die had a dark grey suit with a long jacket, his usual award winning hair and wore sunglasses.

Kyo had a black jacket (with a round Chanel pin) and shirt, green hair, he wore glasses (not sunglasses).

When they sat (Kyo stood in front of the chair first until Fujieda gestured them to sit) F asked them to introduce themselves.

D: ども、Dieです

K: 京です

...and then F announced 'today is Kyo's birthday!' and a birthday song melody began to play😆

Kyo turned on his murder face glaring at Fujieda who happily observed 'oh what's this song?'😂

The soft Happy Birthday melody got then a guitar joining in and Takabayashi came on the stage carrying a small strawberry shortcake (with a chocolate message おめでとう京さん) which of course he placed in front of Kyo.

We couldn't sing but we clapped.

Kyo snatched a strawberry and popped it in his mouth. He gestured 'throat slashing' looking at Fujieda😂

And then ate another strawberry🍓😂

F: the song was made by Die.

K: (only interested in the cake) Could I get a fork?

(staff went to get him one)

F: how do you feel? (about your own birthday)

K: I don't care.

The fork arrived and Kyo literally dug in right in the middle, scooping a huge piece he put whole in his mouth.

Fujieda wisely left Kyo to his cake then and started talking about RMK footage. Die said they had hard time deciding on a tour or events like this in COVID situation. They also mentioned the secret show in 2009 was held in RMK.

Next Die talked about how nice it was to rehearse and play together with the band, first time since March, he was happy about the show, creating sound together as 5 people.

F: did you finish eating K?

K: yup

(there was last 🍓 left (out of 4 big ones), he ate about 25~35%?)

F: then tell us about recording the RockMayKan show!

K: the place was very narrow.

F: anything else?

K: Not really.

But then he added more, that as it has been a while it felt like the first day of the tour.

F: was there anything that was difficult? Was a struggle?

K: when recording I can do it at my own pace, I can do one song when I want, but that day it was back to performing over 10 songs all at once, it was tough, hard on my throat, energy/stamina wise.

But at the same time it was exciting, meet with other members, play music together, that was nice.

F: 2019 was filled with shows, it was busy, then things changed. So after a break to see an audience again got me nervous, in a good way.

Next F said had would like to talk about the release of Oboro.

D: what do you want to know?

F: so the song is not out yet, any hints?

D: it's gonna stay a secret for a bit more.

F: the 2nd track is TDFF？

D: (interesting letters ???didn't catch exactly) it's a powerful song.

F: how is Oboro for you Kyo?

K: quite fresh/refreshing

F: really?!

D: especially the video

...but then Kyo just burst with a whole speech how Fujieda always ask something and when he gets an aswer he didn't expect he doesn't react well, just says what he wants, is not listening to what Kyo says and... it went for a while😆

Next F moved to the topic of the merchandise and asked the band members which items they like.

K: the big badge, before the big pick was huge, shouldn't the badge be like this size (showing about 20cm with his hands). It bothered me from when I saw it. Isn't it just normal?

in the end they agreed it's just 'a bit big' 😂

F: how about for you, D?

D: the rubber key chains?

F: they got sold out very quickly, sorry to fans about that.

D: they are cute. And I like the wristbands too. The color combinations are nice.

T: the badge has the old band's logo, it brings me back

D talked about old times when artists made stickers like that, with logos, to put on their equipment, they worked a bit like business cards, he said he still have some at home.

T picked the rechargeable heat pack.

K: so it's to be used instead of heat packs? (ホッカイロ)

F: uh, it's already warm.

D: huh? Show me? (F passed it to him) it's like a phone that gets hot when charging.

Next they moved on to fans questions. ("~~" is a question from fans they read)

K (unusually picks the first question super fast): "what's your favourite cake?"

K: Well, the strawberry shortcake is good, but this one doesn't have strawberries inside, just some jam, it should have strawberries inside too.

(F so dead😂😂😂)

F: "what's your best or bad memory connected to birthdays?"

K: at a concert somewhere, it was quite long time ago, I got a present all wrapped and in a bag from a silver accessories brand I liked, so nicely wrapped, I opened it and it was empty, isn't that really strange? I looked at the attached letter and it said the person is keeping the item for themselves. It annoyed me so much, the worst bd memory ever.

☹️

F: how about you D?

D: it's not exactly bad memory, but many band members have birthdays in February, in the past when we were still giving each other presents Toshiya and I had to think what to get for 3 people, it was always tough. We stopped that at some point.

T: "any memory/story about China Town?"

D: I like China Town

T: do you go often?

D: sometimes. But only to my favorite restaurants. (?? Talked more about the stadium?)

T: do you usually order the same thing?

D: Mabodofu, the spicy version

(then I think he said something like there's no point in overdoing spicyness, it's not healthy??)

K: I don't know which restaurants are good so I get annoyed. I don't know what decides it's a good one or not.

F: I don't go, but I'd like to.

then they talked about the types of Chinese food and food they tried when in other Asian countries.

K: when we were touring in the US I ordered Chinese abd it was terrible, it was all bad. The egg soup was all clumpy, so bad.

D: "any stories about RockMayKan?"

D: honestly I don't have good memories with this venue, when with a previous band we played together with more senior bands and they took over the dressing room, we couldn't use it, and we also had to greet all senpai musicians.

K: remember when Shinya sat on the lockers? Like on top of the 170cm lockers?

D: was it in Nagoya?

K: he's done his make up there, like a cat or something

D: Shinya climbed a locker and made a space for himself there

K: He's not exactly human. Normally you would not even consider climbing a locker...

D: we usually did our make up on the stairs, didn't use changing room. When we played at RMK as dir for the first time I saw 'this is the changing room!'

He also talked about how the hair spray used by all the bandomen would stink up the whole place 😂

F: "what do you usually wear to sleep?"

K: just underwear. Doesn't matter if it's summer or winter I want to feel the towel like fabric, I use towel cloth for my bedding, I want my whole body to feel it so there's no point in wearing pajamas.

D: at home...wait you mean my home or my family house? At my parents' I always wear the pajama my mum got me, currently the Mickey Mouse one. I only have that one there.

K( with sudden interest): can you draw it?

D: it's about this big, quite big print. The one I wear at home, it wasn't sent by my mum.

K: not Mickey one??

D:  that's Nightmare Before Christmas.

K: Disney theme?

D: this one has a face in the front.

K: do you change characters (for pajamas) every year?

D: this year it's Nightmare.

Next was something they wanted to say to F. K chose to comment on his haircut, because it's asymmetric K is bothered that it will end as an uzumaki in the back. They talked more about F's style.

F: "I'd like you to tell us about your costumes you wore for RMK show".

D: I wanted something motovating so red colour.

K: I had no special reasoning, just what I wanted to wear then.

D: "have you gotten any food delivery?"

He said he only got it once or not much, I think he said he's not fond of shops that don't do it properly, but when recording it's good???

F: Shinya said he orders Uber almost everyday.

K: I only got Uber once.

F: what did you get?

K: Burger King. I quit McDonalds. After eating Burger King I can't go back to McDonalds.

They talked about sizes of burger here?? Whooper versus Junior Whooper?

F: So McD is not good?

K: the meat taste is different. McDonald now tastes like trash.

F: what about the Mc fries, when they get a bit soft.

K: not only a bit. Gross.

D: in the US we usually also have some American staff, when we had some time and we went to eat out, it was funny, American staff went for sushi, Shinya went for McDonalds.

F: was it last time?

D: no, quite some time ago.

F: when did you eat McDonalds the last time?

D: I also don't eat it, it's been some time already.

They talked more about the food, some restaurants D liked in the US (didn't catch the name🙃 but in Sacramento?), then F talked more about event schedule and the time was over.

Last comments from the band members:

Die: From today the new series of film screening starts, thank you for coming to the first day. So well... the band is working on the new album while coming to the events at the same time, we're working on creating a great album. Please come amd enjoy the events.

Kyo: I don't have a special thing to say. Many of you will be coming to few or many events and will end up with many t-shirts, you can do whatever with them, even use them as a doormat, there are many ways to use them, no problem for the whole year.

#dir en grey #kyo #京 #die #目黒鹿鳴館gig #爆音会 #attempt at live report

[4lph4kidz]

For the super cool character headcanons meme, what about Dirk Strider?

2-4 songs that are probably on their iPod

Disclosure - When a fire starts to burn (C2C remix) - I'll confess I don't know of a lot artists that use samples or turntables, but I like C2C's stuff a lot, so.

Hopsin - Rip Your Heart Out (ft. Tech N9ne) - as featured in House of Dirk!

Ken Ashcorp - 20 Percent Cooler - I... had to. I had to pick a brony song. but I unironically like Discord so instead I picked this one. It's referencing a Rainbow Dash meme specifically, written by a horny weeb musician to boot? C'mon.

SBAHJ the album - well obviously he has the movie soundtracks.

the one place they sometimes end up falling asleep – where they’re not supposed to

I hc Dirk having serious insomnia even after losing his dreamself so I'm not sure what kind of sleep schedule he even has? I invoke the rule of comedy to say he might be the type to occasionally pass the fuck out in the middle of whatever he's doing. In his workshop. On the couch. At the dinner table. Mid conversation. Out like a light. Goodnight, sweet prince.

the game they'd destroy everyone else at

Scrabble. Do not play Scrabble with this motherfucker. It's not worth it, he knows academic greek words with fucking x's in them and it's just too tiresome to argue with his pedantic ass about whether or not he's allowed to play them just because they're part of his daily vocabulary.

the emoticon they’d use most often

That stupid custom emoji with the triangle shades. (I love that Hal has his own version that's just the shades, btw)

what they act like when they haven’t had enough sleep

Again, I headcanon Dirk as the more deranged variety of insomiac who gets random bursts of manic energy and tends to makes Bad Decisions when he's sleep deprived enough.

their preferred hot beverage on really cold nights. or mornings. or whenever.

My clown instincts say this bastard will heat up soda and drink it. My 'reference Detective Pony' instincts say 'healthy soup'.

how they like to comfort/care for themselves when they’re in a slump

Self care is overrated. You work through that slump until you inevitably crash and burn and die, that's the Dirk Strider way.

Actual answer: I think if Dirk does learn to take breaks and stuff then he'd prefer physical activity, good way to work off energy and get some sweet sweet endorphins. Showers are a good way to self-soothe/stim also.

what they wanted to be when they grew up

Like three billion different things according to his introductory page. But I think his most heartfelt desire was to be a hero, like his brother.

their favourite kind of weather

Calm and sunny weather is the least bothersome to deal with in the middle of the ocean, but it can get monotonous, so part of me thinks he'd kind of appreciate the inherent drama of a good thunderstorm.

thoughts on their singing voice (decent? terrible? soprano? alto?)

I guess he probably has like, an OKAY singing voice? But prefers rap.

how/what they like to draw or doodle

I mean... we have some examples of the kinds of things he draws, don't we? But maybe he draws occasional fanart too.

#ask #anon #ask meme #headcanons #second anon don't say things like that it's not good for his ego #anyway dirk strider boils soda at 3am while listening to brony music. such is my decree

[harringtonstudios]

best friend’s ex.

plot: he’s your best friend’s ex and you should stay away. 

A/N: i wrote this in one sitting and it’s very long <3 took some creative liberty here so imagine 2020!kells but he hasn’t made it just quite yet in the industry. this is heavily based off the song release tonight with blackbear so enjoy (maybe while listening!)

masterlist!

The circles in New York are different than the ones in Los Angeles. There’s a hint of familiarity in the New York circles, everyone seems to know each other connected by one person or a distant story of that one night the whole crowd tripped on molly. It’s dizzying, intricately knowing every single person backstage or at some club without recognizing them exactly.

You haven’t gotten used to the life, not yet acclimated with the high-fives and looks thrown your way at a party, or the nameless phone numbers crowding your text messages. It’s all new, fun and exciting and you have no one to thank but your best friend.

She’s made for this life, for the late nights and the rushes, the sticky floors and glittery lipgloss. This is her environment, where she thrives, and sometimes when you look at her in the club, necklaces shining with the overhead lights, you find it hard to connect this Domi to the one who you’ve seen crying on your bedroom floor after watching a despairing animal shelter commercial. But then she throws you a grin, crowds close, drapes her arm over your shoulder, and it just makes sense.

It’s been years of friendship, ever since you two met at freshman orientation for college. Her roommate was terrible, and more often than not, she’d be camping out on your twin-sized bed, offering you bites of her snacks in exchange for a safe haven. You both hadn’t really been into the party scene at school, too busy scrambling for reports and fibbing results for the endless lab sessions.

Domi graduated a semester early, spent an entire summer taking accelerated classes so she could go fly off to New York right before the new year started. That’s when things seemed to change. You’d been upset with her, hints of jealousy tinging in when she’d send you pictures of fancy clothes and people she was hanging out with, the nicely decorated venues she’d find herself in. She invited you to come to the city a few weeks in, buzzing on Facetime about backstage passes.

Then you were graduating yourself, packing two suitcases and jetting halfway across the country to live in the shitty apartment Domi’d been renting out with a couple of strangers. It had been hard to settle down at first, the air was different in the city and you’d had to up your resting bitch face game when you sat on the subways late at night, but before you knew it, you were enjoying the city that never sleeps, best friend right by your side.

Colson had stumbled into your life a year ago, and then been ripped out six months after. He was a up and coming musician (self-proclaimed) and had taken a chance bet on the city, moved from Cleveland with his friends and a mixtape. He was beautiful in a rugged way, angled cheekbones and lanky limbs, but Domi had taken one look and called dibs, so you tampered any attraction down.

It hadn’t taken long for them to start dating, even if Domi claimed they were just fooling around, it was clear to see that there was some level of intimacy there, a relationship itching to be formed. You’d been happy for her truly and it was easier than you’d expected to fall into a camaraderie with the guys.

Colson’s friends were funny, quick on their toes and absolutely chaotic. They fit into New York better than you did, and almost every single night, you would find yourself at their apartment, playing shitty drinking games and jamming to loud music.

Domi kept the relationship as lowkey as she could, and at some point, you would hear less and less about Colson. It didn’t really hit you then, but it was the beginning of the end in a way, and then she was walking in, eyes red and wet before yelling out the fated words, “We broke up.”

Everything you had gotten used to was suddenly taken away. You spent weeks consoling her, reminding her that she was better than this guy, stronger and that time was the only way this would heal. She begrudgingly listened, and then took your phone from you, casually blocking Colson’s number along with all his friends.

At first, you’d been mildly upset. She was the one who’d fucked up, the one who’d decided to break up with him, so why was this effecting you? It didn’t make sense, they were still your friends and you liked them more than anyone else you’d met here.

But then she’d given you her patented puppy dog eyes, and you’d dismissed it, decided that if this was what she wanted, so be it. You could stand to lose the drunken nights, your liver would thank you.

Colson Baker and his friends disappeared from your life as fast as they had appeared into it. You spent your nights cooking at home instead of going out, focused on building back your sleep schedule instead of getting drunk off your mind, and the days went by.

-

Of course, nothing lasts forever and six months later, your coworkers’ are begging you for a night out, like the old times. Everyone’s antsy for your reply, know that you haven’t been to a social function with them in ages, and you take one look at their faces before sighing and agreeing.

The entire office claps, you flip them all off before catching sight of your boss, who simply smiles and shakes his head. There’s a faint flutter in your stomach, memories rising from months ago, parties and late nights, flashes of lights and thumping music. You shrug it off, tap your pen against the desk, bring your focus back to work.

Three hours later, you’re catching the train back home. It isn’t exactly rush hour yet, you’ve gotten out a little earlier than usual, Friday evenings usually being dull at work anyway and you’re glad because there’s less people mulling around in the sticky heat of the train station.

The station doesn’t smell great, there’s a tinge of stale pee filling up the air and you discreetly move to the other side of the station, trying to get as far away from the smell as you can. New York City man.

The train pulls in, and you automatically put in your headphones, music blasting in your ears as you sidle into the train car, passing the passengers coming out. It’s relatively empty, being near the front and you thank the train gods before sliding into an orange seat near the door.

There’s a couple of guys sitting at the other end, they’re loud and boisterous, shoving each other and you give them a once-over before settling into the seat. The train moves, and you pull your purse onto your lap, patting it once before letting your eyes fall close.

The next stop comes abruptly, jolting you out of the little dreamscape you’d created. There’s a shout as the doors open and you pause your music trying to tune into what’s going on. It’s still the group of guys, but now there’s more of them and you roll your eyes at the banter drifting across the car.

The music starts up again and you lean your head back, try to get comfortable again, but it doesn’t work. There’s a weird feeling in your gut, making you uneasy but you brush it off, raise the volume until all you can feel is the dirty bass.

A minute later, someone kicks at your shoes and you open your eyes, ready to angrily scold at them until they can feel the rage across the car.

The words die in your throat. Colson Baker’s standing there in all his glory, lanky arm leaning against the metal, blonde hair puffing around his head, grin lighting up his face.

His nose is pierced now and you take it in, the way it brings out his eyes and you pause the music mumbling out, “Nose ring looks good on you.”

You bite your tongue right after, embarrassed that after months of silence that’s the first thing that falls out of your mouth. He laughs, body shaking and you’re flashed back to nights in his apartment, watching him laugh on the other couch, head thrown back.

“Thanks,” he murmurs before going, “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” you answer honestly and there’s another shout from across the car, Colson turning to wave a hand.

“It’s the guys. They didn’t think it was you, but I could tell yanno,” he explains and you raise your eyebrows as he continues, “They’re all still kinda pissed you blocked us.”

The statement falls between you two, awkwardly as the train car rumbles on. You wince a little as he fake coughs to fill the empty space.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about all that man. You guys were like family,” you carefully mention, hands playing with the hair tie on your wrist.

“It’s cool. I get it, I mean we both know Domi,” he stammers out and his own hand goes to rub at his chin.

This conversation isn’t what either of you expected and you shift up in your seat, trying to change the topic at the mention of your best friend.

“So what’ve you been up to?” you ask and he smiles at the gateway question, eager to get rid of the uncomfortable energy.

“Got signed to a record label,” he murmurs and the smile that takes over your face is unreal. There’s pride blooming in your chest.

“No way!! Oh my god, congrats dude. That’s killer,” you gush out and his cheeks taint red at your words.

“Thanks,” he says, eyes meeting yours.

“I knew you’d do it. You’re immensely talented,” you continue on as the train comes to a stop.

It’s not yours but it seems to be his. The guys all shout over at him and he’s looking up and then gazing at you, caught between the two options before he makes up his mind.

He doesn’t choose you, you’re not surprised.

“I appreciate you!” he shouts out before running off the car, joining the rest of the guys on the station.

You turn in your seat and wave at them, catching a couple of glares and hesitant waves back before the car pulls away, to the next destination.

The music starts up again and you will your heart to slow down for reasons you can’t even comprehend.

-

Domi gives you a look as you rush into your room. Usually after work, you spend time in the kitchen, milling around grabbing little snacks as she cooks, but you actually have plans tonight.

It’s the first time you’re going out in months and you take a quick shower before pulling out all the old outfits you’d shoved into the back of your closet.

There’s a nice dress, black with faint traces of glitter and you eye it for a second before deciding against it. This is a fun night with the coworkers, not your insane best friend who’d always managed to get you to dress your very best.

There’s a pair of skinny jeans tossed into a dresser, and you eye the rips in it before pulling it on. It looks good, tight in all the right places and you root around for a shirt that can be just fancy enough.

There’s a nice purple one tossed in the closet, slipping off of a hanger and you grab it before pulling it on and tying it up in the front.

It’s pretty, makes you look just right and you play around with your hair before sitting down and committing to a makeup look.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re throwing your keys, a pack of gum, gloss and your phone into a small purse. It hangs off of your wrist and you take a look in the mirror before stepping out of your room.

“Where are you going?” Domi asks, her tone slightly cold.

“Night out. Coworkers invited me and I couldn’t say no,” you explain, running your hands down the jeans.

“Oh,” her face falls.

“Do I-look good?” you ask hesitantly.

“Yeah. You always do bitch,” she half-heartedly adds and you smile at her.

“I’ll see you tonight,” you say, grabbing a carrot from the countertop.

“I’ll wait up,” she smirks and you nod before heading out the door.

The club’s only a few stops away and when you swipe your metro card again, you groan at how low the funds are running. You haven’t filled it just yet, and the $1.25 flashes up at you, taunting.

“I’m poor,” you scoff at the machine and the girl swiping next to you laughs.

You get in somehow, sneakily using the swinging baby stroller door and by the time the train pulls up, you’re only running a few minutes late.

It only hits you when you sink into the familiar orange seat that you didn’t tell Domi about running into her ex. You know she doesn’t care as much about Colson now, scorchingly refers to him as that one rapper, but it’s an unspoken rule. You always tell if you run into the ex.

Your fingers tap against your phone screen, wondering if texting her is appropriate but you drop it quickly. It’s not a big deal. You’ll just let her know when you get home tonight.

The doors open, you leave and then you’re stalking towards the club doors, eyeing the long line. The bouncer is staring everyone down, and you wade up to the front. You’ve learned enough tricks in the short party lifestyle you’d had.

“I’m with the VIPs,” you flash your ID and then a $5 discreetly tucked under it. He looks you up and down, grumbles slightly before taking the money from you.

The rope opens and you smile before stepping through into the dark. It’s loud inside already, the lights contrasting the slight evening colors from outside. You look around before you spot the team and walk over to them.

“Hey!!!” they exclaim and then you’re being handed a glass, cheering the night as everyone drinks it down.

It’s tequila, stings in the back of your throat and you cough before wiping your mouth, “God, I haven’t had this in so long.”

“See that’s why we needed you out tonight,” one of them goes, checking your shoulder with theirs. You laugh before agreeing and order your drink of choice, chiming into the conversation.

It’s going so well, the night seems to be twinged with good vibes. You feel nice and loose, arm draped over your nearest friend as you two sway at the songs playing.

There’s a commotion at the door and you guys turn towards the bouncer only to see people scuffling around, pushing to get closer.

“Hey dude! I’m playing tonight. Musical guest here!!!” comes a loud voice, and it rings familiar in your head. It’s faint, digging somewhere into the back of your mind and you get on your tip-toes trying to see.

“Fuck you,” someone else spits and it echoes around the club.

The crowd splits open then, and you get a glimpse at old friends, adjusting their hats as they stalk across to the stage.

Rook’s fuming as he walks past you, and you spot the tell-tale crease on his face, the grit of his teeth. It scares you, the memory of it all after late night game losses, the way he would blow a gasket about cheating.

Slim and Baze wander behind him, they seem cooler, always are, but the anger is brimming under and you look away as they pass you.

AJ isn’t there and you guess he’s already in the club. He’s always been the sensible one, stable and ready to take control of the situation when it inevitably turns bad.

Colson’s following the rest but his eyes are on the crowd, hand going out to meet people, smiling at everyone. There’s a faint cut on his lip, blood trickling out and you want to scream at him. He comes up around to where you’re standing, and you step back, let your coworkers high five him as he passes.

He doesn’t see you, it’s better that way.

You order up another drink, ignore the whispers of the pesky rapper as they fill up the air around you. He’s well known here apparently, people aware of him in the scene. They mumble about the fights, the way he never seems to show up without a cut or bruise.

You take a shot, sip at the alcohol, smile fading as your coworker ravishes on about how good looking the musician is.

It takes about twenty minutes, and then the music shuts off. There’s a squeal of microphone feedback and everyone around you ducks, hands rushing up to cover their ears.

“Fuck,” a mumble comes across the sound system.

There’s another shuffle and your friend grabs your arm, pulling you closer to the stage. There’s already people there, milling around, clutching drinks and you try to stay on the sidelines, out of view.

“We should go closer,” he determines and then you’re being pulled forward again, swimming around in the second row.

Colson is standing front and center in all his glory. The shitty lighting makes him glow, and he looks big, energy filling him up. He pulls the mic off the stand and steps back before going, “Afternoon. We are Machine Gun Kelly.”

The name isn’t familiar. You don’t know it and quite frankly, it doesn’t place anywhere either but that’s all you get before the music starts up. It’s weird, a pace you don’t expect from him and then he’s off, singing with a grit in his voice, fingers flying across a guitar draped over his shoulder.

Everyone seems to bob along in the crowd and you do too, losing yourself in the way he sounds, the tone of his voice as he croons. The music is great, drums harsh and strong, guitar loud behind the vocals.

The set’s over quick and you’re slightly sweating by the end of it. He thanks the crowd before jumping off stage, and you immediately retreat back to the bar, anxious to steer clear of him.

Even in your drunken state of mind, it’s a bright red flashing light: Stay away from Colson. Stay away from the guys.

You switch to water for a while, try to stop your head from spinning with the lights. Everyone you came with is somewhere on the dance floor, so when an arm drapes on your shoulders, you freeze up, still facing the bar.

“Hey,” and then you’re looking up at Slim’s face, sweaty and eager.

“Slim,” you breathe out, vice in your chest loosening at the fact that it isn’t Colson. You don’t know why this is better, but it is.

“What’re you drinking?” he asks, hand going up to call over the bartender.

You don’t have the heart to say water, know that he’ll laugh and then get you a beer, so you murmur, “Get me a shot of vodka?”

His smile widens and he shouts the drink order over the counter before dropping his arm, “You sipping the hard stuff now?”

Shaking your head, you respond, “I’ve always drank the hard stuff.”

“Yeah, back when we hung out,” he slips into the banter, and your heart stops. You didn’t realize it had hurt them this bad, that months later, drunk and high off of a good show, Slim still manages to bring it up, voice tightening slightly.

“Look, I’m sorry about all that. I really am,” you start, but then he’s passing you the drink and locking arms.

“Cheers,” he says and you clink your shot glass against his, tipping it back.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble out but he throws you a look.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says and then he’s shouting out, “Yo Kells!”

It clicks into place then, the Machine Gun Kelly. It’s his nickname, has been for years apparently since he was rapping in middle school hallways, but he’d always introduced himself as Colson to new friends, let them decide whether the Kells fit him or not.

You hadn’t called him Kells once, in the months of knowing him, had laughed about it a couple of times with Domi, who loved to mock it any chance she could.

“You stalking me?” Kells sleazes out, there’s already a drink in his hand, someone following him around with bright eyes.

“No,” you state, moving away from the counter. The red lights are in full effect, this could end up terribly.

“Seems like it,” he sums up, coming in closer to lean against the bar. His lip is still cut, looks swollen as he approaches you.

“You fucked up your lip,” you state, mind cursing at the lack of filter you seem to have around your best friend’s ex.

“What?” he goes, and then his fingers are rubbing at the fat lip, eyes scrunching, “Guess I did.”

“Well it was nice to see you again,” you try.

“I just got here, you leaving already?” he murmurs, brushing off the person following him.

Slim’s moved to the other end of the bar, Rook’s throwing you a glare.

“Don’t think your friends want me around,” you nod over.

He turns his head and makes some kind of motion. Rook drops his eye contact, head going to duck at the bar. Slim smiles.

“They don’t know what’s good for them,” he mumbles, head turning back. His fingers tap at the bar, and there’s a beer appearing. He smiles at the bartender.

“I’m good for them?” you scoff, there’s a hint of bitterness at your tone, but it’s not directed exactly at them. It isn’t their fault.

“Always have been. The good influence when we would try and do stupid shit,” he says thoughtfully. He’s almost as drunk as you, eyes slightly red.

You laugh at that, “You’re always doing stupid shit. Great set by the way, impressed the fuck out of me.”

“You didn’t expect it?” he says as if you were supposed to have known all his songs by heart.

“I haven’t heard any of your music,” you honestly reply.

“Not even the mixtapes?” he seems shocked.

“No, Domi never sent them to me and you all just assumed so,” you stop yourself, falling into dangerous territory.

At the name drop of his ex, he winces a little, “God she was a fucking head-case.”

“Hey that’s my best friend you’re talking about,” you shout a little too loud. You catch Slim slamming a hand onto Rook’s shoulder. The air becomes stifled.

“Sorry,” Colson offers, taking a long, pointed sip.

You sigh, “Don’t be. She can be a little much sometimes. I’m sorry for how it all ended.”

“You should hang with us tonight,” he calmly says, switching the subject. Your breath catches in your throat.

“I don’t know-“ you start.

He cuts you off, “I get it. If you want, we’ll be here for a while. Find us.”

That’s all you get and then he’s walking towards the gang, slipping into the crowd. You drop your head onto the shell covered bar, groaning out.

-

The night dwindles down, your coworkers trickle out, slamming messy kisses on your face before walking out. You’re left by yourself soon enough and there’s a pulsing in your head, matching the music vibrating under your shoes.

It doesn’t take long to decide. You want to hang out with Colson and them, with Machine Gun Kelly. It’s a bad idea, you can tell before you’ve even fully determined it, but it’s as if fate’s lined everything up for you. It’s gonna happen.

You push away the nagging thoughts, wander around the club trying to find someone, coming up empty. Everyone seems to have left and you roll your eyes before stepping out yourself. Maybe fate doesn’t want this to happen.

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, you spot Rook across the street, blunt in hand. He hasn’t seen you, looking down at his shoes but you know him well and if he’s around it means the others are close by.

You brace yourself, work up some form of courage and walk over. He looks up at the sound and there’s immediate dislike flashing across his face.

Out of everyone, Rook’s been the most temperamental. You’d thought it was going to be Colson at first glance, but were quickly proven wrong by his friend, by the harshness of his demeanor at times. He doesn’t hide his feelings, and while you respect that, you’re also intimidated by his posturing.

“Hey Rook,” you mumble.

“Y/N,” he bluntly states.

“How have you been?” you try, but immediately know it’s the wrong thing to say.

“Cut the shit. What’d you want?” he bites out, eyes hard.

“Was wondering if I could catch a ride with you guys?” you question. 

AJ usually drives them around, his black van large enough for the gang, and his self control strong enough to stay sober. You don’t know if it’s changed since the last time everyone hung out, but you’re hoping it hasn’t for the sake of your almost empty metrocard.

“Why’d you think we drove here?” he’s shrugs, giving you a hard time, and you shake your head wondering if your pride is worth this.

“Never mind dude,” you turn around but then he’s groaning behind you.

“Yeah we’ll take you back home. Kells’ kill me if I let you walk around here drunk. C’mon,” he says and you try to hide your smile as you follow him.

He takes a few more hits before tossing his blunt to the ground, and you’re glad he hasn’t offered you any. It would be too forgiving of him, too close to what you all used to be, and you wouldn’t know what to do if it came to that. Domi would kill you, hell she’d kill you if she knew you were getting into a car with them right now.

He stops in front of the familiar van, opens the door with force and everyone’s shouting inside, clambering over each other. You almost smile at the chaos, the familiarity of it all.

“Y/N!” Colson’s shouting and you do smile then. He slumps over long limbs and comes over to the door, reaching his hand out to you.

“You coming with us?” he asks and you nod before Rook mutters, “She needs a ride home.”

Colson purses his lips before looking back over at you, hand still outstretched, “Yeah, c’mon in. AJ got you.”

It’s late, later than you should be out and there’s a reminder that Domi’s waiting for you back home, wants to hear about your night. Your resolve flickers the minute his hand wraps around yours.

He tugs you in the van, and you follow, stepping in before they all scatter around, making enough space. There’s another girl with them, someone you don’t remember meeting or knowing but she smiles at you and curls into Rook’s side.

The music in the van is almost as loud as in the club, filling up the space. You wonder, not for the first time, how AJ drives like this, how he casually sings along, fist bumping the rest of the guys after a song.

Before you know it, there’s a blunt being passed around. Colson skips you on the first round, and you try not to let it hurt, remind yourself that you’ve stung them harder than this, hurt them worse.

He leans into your space after handing it off, whispers, “You still don’t smoke right?”

There’s a painful twist in your stomach at his question. When you all first met, you wouldn’t smoke blunts with them, hesitant about the strain and Domi’s eyes on you. She hated weed, despised the smell and would always remind you of that fact before you’d all spend the night out.

After the breakup, she’d loosened up on that, didn’t care if you smoked out on the fire escape, and sometimes even joined in, it was weird. Weirder than the fact that Colson somehow remembered all this months later.

“I do,” you whispered back, licking your lips, “smoke I mean.”

“Oh,” he softly says and then the blunt’s coming back around. He barely takes a hit before handing it off to you, pushing your hand slightly with his fist.

“Thanks,” you mumble, smoking it in. It’s strong, brings an immediate rush. You close your eyes.

When you open them, Colson’s too close to you. The red lights flash hard in your head and then the car’s stopping in front of their building.

You don’t even hesitate, “Is it wrong if I come up with you?”

His eyes look into yours, it’s quiet enough that you feel the weight of your statement sink in. This is bad, so bad.

He doesn’t say anything but everyone around you is moving, pulling off instruments and slamming doors. He carefully takes your hand, pulls the blunt out from your other one.

“AJ, we’re gonna chill for a while,” he says, towards the front seat, giving him the blunt. There’s a hum and then he’s opening the door, pulling you out just as he’d pulled you in.

For a second, you hesitate and then you’re falling into him. His arm wraps around your hips, pulls you back up on the sidewalk.

“You okay?” his voice is quiet, the world still moves around you both but it feels like you’re the only two people who matter.

“Yeah,” you nod.

“Wanna go home?” he says, and the words hit you for a second before you shake your head.

“No, this is cool,” you tongue out.

You’re both walking into the building then, satisfied with your answers. The manager gives you a once over at the front desk but that’s all before Colson’s thumbing the elevator button.

“What about everyone else?” you murmur.

He looks at them unloading the van and lets out a laugh, fingers tightening slightly against yours as he shakes, “They’re gonna be busy a while.”

You laugh back, try to tamper down the feeling of seeing him full-body laugh for the second time that day. The elevator dings and you step in, he follows.

It’s the same damn elevator as it was six months ago, but there’s something different in the air right now. It’s staticky, thrumming through you and it feels like you’re stumbling right on the edge of something.

The doors close, it’s just you and him. The feeling gets stronger, his fingers loosen against yours. You grip harder and he looks up straight into your eyes.

The door dings open again and he huffs a little, “Forgot to click the button.”

You smile but it feels thin. Your brain is flashing wrong, flashing red, screaming Domi’s name, but your heart is racing, pounding against your chest.

You screw your eyes shut.

He hits the button, the elevator starts going and you step closer to him. His back is against the elevator wall and there’s a calm look on his face, but you can tell he’s nervous, can feel it in the clamminess of his palm where it’s sticking to yours.

“I’m going to kiss you,” you blurt and you don’t even have time to regret the words before he’s pushing into you, lips finding yours within seconds.

They’re warm and softer than you expected. He lets out a groan as you kiss back, and you’re reminded of his cut, the swollen lip he’s sporting now. You move back, rest your forehead against his.

“Sorry, your lip,” you attempt to explain, but he shakes his head, forehead sliding across yours, twisting it.

“I like it,” he mumbles and you smile before kissing him again, feeling his arm wrap around you, pull you closer.

It’s the first time you’ve kissed him, he’s strictly off limits, a forbidden idea, but it feels like everything has suddenly fallen into place. The warning signs dissolve into bursts of serotonin as he makes little sounds, pressed up with your mouth.

The door dings open. You break apart and step out. Is kiss drunk a thing, or are you losing your mind? He grins at you, pulls your joined hands up for a soft kiss brushing on your knuckles.

Your heart flutters right then. If you’re losing your mind, you’re glad it’s with him. Dealing with the aftermath is something you’ll do later, so you push all thoughts of Domi and her complications aside and follow him straight into his apartment, consequences be damned.

-

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[juliettalfacharlie]

Day Two: Sole Survivor

CW death...

Since she'd been promoted to assistant chief, Lin hadn't missed a single moment of her scheduled shifts. No late arrivals, and certainly no early departures. 

She called off two days in a row, turning into a third. 

Aang's health had been on the decline for years, but the previous six months saw him become largely bedridden. Kya had returned then, helping Katara care for him, and Bumi received shore leave three months after that. 

Tenzin was grieving, feeling the weight of his legacy more than ever. He swung between suppressing his emotions and imploding, prone to short, intense bursts. It was something Lin had strived to overcome herself, and she did her best to nullify his other stressors. She'd threatened a number of politicians and risen to become a more public figure, diverting media attention from Tenzin and his family. 

Still, she'd always been limited to absolving the surrounding issues, not the main ones. Even the combined healing efforts of Katara and Kya couldn't improve Aang's health, as it wasn't possible to reverse his cells' aging. 

Kya had said she saw that the first layer of Aang's aura was dim, back when she first arrived. She expressed further concern on Saturday; his seventh layer, which protected the rest of his aura and represented his spirit, also seemed weak, and that's when Lin took off work. She'd remained on Air Temple Island, breaking dormitory customs to sleep beside Tenzin. 

Now it was Monday, and she'd awoken with a particularly high energy. She, Bumi, Kya, and Tenzin had taken turns filtering in and out of Aang's quarters, not keen on crowding the small room. Aang spent a portion of the day resting, as was the new normal, but he seemed to be without pain. 

Lin received reports and updates from the station, but she spent the majority of her time with one of the three siblings. It was fun to shoot the shit with Bumi, and he helped her destress after Tenzin's withdrawals. He'd been taught to throw knives, axes, and a boomerang, and it was a skill he certainly maintained; in a competition without bending, he beat her in an accuracy contest. She kept him in shape, going hand-to-hand and spotting his lifting. 

She sparred a little with Kya too, but the two more-frequently just talked. They liked to visit the sky bison caves, and those jaunts had evolved into general hikes, satiating Kya's drive to explore and Lin's enjoyment of the outdoors. Kya was the easiest to converse with, despite her incessant teasing banter. Lin voiced her concerns about Tenzin, Katara, and her job, topics she was unable to tell anyone else. Kya listened, offering her input when Lin asked and remaining silent when she simply needed someone else to know her thoughts. 

Of course, she still spent the majority of her time with Tenzin. He recognized her struggles despite her effort to hide them and expressed his apologies for contributing to them. She'd naturally brushed off his concern, but he made an effort to reach out in times of distress instead of simmering alone. Particularly at night, he now spoke with her about his conflicts, and Lin tried to do the same. She wasn't wholly comfortable speaking about her discomforts, especially with those who caused them, but she wasn't a fan of dishonesty or deception either. 

He and Lin went gliding that afternoon, and they both had an amazing few hours. Afterwards, the four kids brought dinner out to the pavilion, taking advantage of the beautiful weather after nearly a week of gloominess. 

Lin sat against Tenzin while Bumi played his flute. Kya had brought a drum, obviously having coordinated, and her voice was strong and soothing. Lin let herself relax, unable to remember the last time she'd loafed around listening to music. 

The sun had just begun to set when Aang appeared, leaning on Katara for support. He'd been unable to sit up in bed just yesterday, so the sight was startling. 

"Dad!" Kya explained, the first to notice. Lin's eyes snapped open and she pushed off of Tenzin's chest, blinking at the sight of the Avatar. 

He smiled, though it did little to soften his features with his face so gaunt. "Don't stop on my account, sweetheart. I just came to listen." he said, voice scratchy. His steps were slow but stable, and he carefully kneeled down just by the top of the steps. His back rested against a pillar, and Katara was at his side. 

Bumi and Kya shared worried glances, but the eldest obediently raised his instrument back to his lips. He began to play a mellow tune, likely inspired by something he'd heard in his travels, and Kya improvised with a quiet beat. 

Aang had closed his eyes, focusing on the melody from his son's flute. Katara held his hand, gaze sweeping over her children. 

Kya and Bumi continued to play, eyeing one another for cues. After fifteen minutes Bumi slowed his tempo, unable to improvise another unique verse. 

Kya looked back at her father, who wore a content smile on his face. She gasped as his aura darkened, his features slowly relaxing. 

Katara gave her daughter a short nod, eyes focused on her husband's weathered features. Silence seemingly fell over the island; Kya grasped Bumi's hand, and Lin clung to Tenzin. 

It was the night of the new moon, and the end of the Air Nomad month. While there could be no correct day to lose your loved one, especially when he was so young, it seemed like a fitting end for Aang. Surrounded by those he cared for, in the outdoors, able to see the city he'd built. In Air Nomad culture, death wasn't solely a sad thing, and funerals were held to celebrate one's life instead of mourn their loss. 

No tears were spilt then, though they'd surely come in the following days. For the time being, the family was quiet. No words were exchanged but the two musicians began another tune, hoping it would soothe Aang's spirit travelling along its final journey.

Just after they got into bed, Tenzin finally spoke, "I'm the last of the airbenders now." His voice was strained, forced past the knot in his throat. He wrapped an arm around Lin's middle, forehead pressed against her shoulder. 

"You're not alone in this, Tenzin, just as Aang wasn't. You have Bumi and Kya, and Katara. You have me." she said, insides twisting in guilt. Tenzin had never tried to convince her to have children, nor had he expressed any disappointment, but she knew it was something he needed. 

A fraction of her, the part not driven in her job, and not terrified of raising a child that doubted every aspect of his or herself, almost wanted to give in.  

Tenzin's palm was flat against her abdomen. While it was not an unusual position, tonight she felt it bind her. 

"I know, thank you," he responded, thumb rubbing against her skin, "It's just terrifying not having him here anymore. My father's gone." he shuddered, pulling her closer. 

Lin put a hand atop his, illness rising in her chest. What kind of girlfriend was she if she didn't even try to help him? 

The fleeting thought of motherhood made her more anxious, and she felt fucking terrible for it. Why couldn't she do this? For Tenzin and for Aang? 

#linzin #angstpril #cw mental health #lin beifong #tenzin #kya lok #bumi lok #aang #katara

[leejihoonownsmyheart]

Broken

Part Six of the Christmas Kiss series

Summary:

When your apartment complex’s elevator breaks, you have no choice but to walk up and down the stairs with your aloof neighbor

-

Your neighbor Lee Jihoon was one of the most complex people that you knew.

He never exchanged a single word with you. Not when you said good morning to him and not when you wished him a good night. He never looked at you- maybe he never even heard you speaking to him. After all he generally had an earbud in his ear.

But only one earbud always stuck in his ear, and the way that he glanced at you sometimes when you proceeded to greet him everyday that you rode the elevator together despite the fact that he never said hi back made you get this feeling that he did in fact hear you.

But either way you were stuck with him. A stoic boy, who rarely had visitors past a tall puppy dog of a man who greeted you in the hallway much to Jihoon’s disdain. You didn’t mind him. You could do worse with neighbors, but you also knew that you could do much better.

You sighed and opened your room door, hearing Jihoon’s door open slightly after yours. You were a little surprised. It was a little later than you normally left for work in the morning but then again you supposed somehow Jihoon always left at the same time as you.

No matter if you left early, or late, or perfectly on-time, Jihoon’s door opened slightly after yours and you both entered the hallway at relatively the same time every day.

You turned your attention to said boy and gave him a smile.

“Good morning Jihoon.”

And he proceeded to say the first words to yo that you had ever heard leave his mouth before.

“The elevator is broken.”

You were so shocked to hear his voice for the first time that you weren’t really sure how to react.

His voice was... Higher than you had imagined it would be. It wasn’t that you thought he would have a deep voice, but his voice was a little bit on the higher side, and honestly that surprised you.

He was a... very cute guy. You could tell by looking at him that you would be dead if you said that to his face, but it was true. He was on the shorter side and had very soft features. You had seen him smile once before with Mingyu and the way his lips curled up and his eyes light up when he was happy had made your heartbeat.

You were a little stupid, probably, for having a crush on the boy.

When you had realized it- a day that you had overheard music wafting in from his apartment through your thin walls- you had been thoroughly taken aback. You didn’t tend to fall for people that you didn’t know.

You supposed that Jihoon was just special to have you so completely enraptured by him.

“Uh-”

You were thrown back to reality by Jihoon, noting that he seemed a little embarrassed by your silence. You raised your eyebrows at him slightly to hide your surprise. Jihoon never seemed to get embarrassed.

“We’ll have to take the stairs.”

You smiled shyly and nodded.

“Yeah, of course.” You hesitated a moment. “We’ll take the stairs... Together.”

The thing about taking the stairs with Jihoon was that it would take longer to walk down the stairs. Four stories, with Jihoon. You could handle a thirty second elevator ride in silence with the boy. But a four stories walk down the stairs: “You’re going to be late if you wait any longer,” he stated, a small smile crossing his lips when you jumped at your close proximity. You looked at your watch. He was right.

“Of course, yeah, let’s uh, let’s go.”

The first flight you two stayed completely silent. You were nervous to say anything, and Jihoon was clearly nervous to speak as well. It made you unsure of what to say, and if you should say anything at all. Or if you should just keep your mouth shut.

“So-”

The words leaving his mouth were disrupted by you jumping in surprise, falling over your feet as you near stumbled down the stairs entirely. Luckily, both you and Jihoon were quick on your feet- You caught yourself on the handrail, just as Jihoon’s arm snuck around your hip, and steadied you on the stairs.

“Are you alright?”

Hearing Jihoon speak so much wasn’t doing good things to your heart. Instead, it was making your heart jump in surprise and your body react accordingly.

“Uh, yeah,” you replied nervously. You unraveled yourself from Jihoon’s arms, a shiver running through your body as you did. You were suddenly regretting not wearing a jacket.

You watched as Jihoon’s eyebrows furrowed at you. You weren’t sure what he was annoyed about. Or why he was so emotive today. Maybe it was because Mingyu had been there the night before. He was always happiest when Mingyu was around.

“Thank you for catching me,” you finally said, rubbing your arms. Jihoon’s eyes watched the movement and his fingers brushed against the edge of his own jacket.

“You’re welcome,” Jihoon replied.

And after that you didn’t speak. He walked you about a block towards your work and then headed off his way to wherever he went every day.

And then after work, there he was- crossing the street at the same time as you meeting you at the corner and you didn’t even have to slow your steps to fall in line with the boy.

That was another interesting thing about Jihoon. He was always on schedule with you.You didn’t know how, you had never met anyone who was more perfectly intune with your life. When you left for work there he was, when you got back- there he was again.

You couldn’t believe it and yet without having to say a word he was always there.

“The elevator is broken again.”

The next morning was the same as the last.

Jihoon was talking, and Jihoon was there a step after you as you walked out of your apartment. You looked at him as you locked your front door.

“Mingyu didn’t come yesterday,” you observed softly. Jihoon nodded.

“No, my friend Hansol did come over though.”

He paused in thought while he waited for you, and then when you  began to walk he started talking again.

“I’m working on a project.”

Jihoon never really spoke about himself... Although you supposed you didn’t have to illustrate that if he never spoke to you at all before. But even so it was nice to hear him speak about his life. You found yourself pretty eager to hear him speak.

“Project?” You prodded. Jihoon nodded.

“A music project... I’m writing this album, and I got a little stuck for a second...” He trailed off again but you dared not interrupt- waiting for what he was going to say next eagerly. “But thanks to something that Mingyu said I was able to get back on track. A surprise honestly, Mingyu usually prevents me from doing my work.” “So, you’re a musician?” You questioned, sensing that Jihoon was pretty much done talking about himself. His face flushed at the question, but he didn’t pull away into his shell. He just nodded.

“Sort of.”

“Any good?” You asked him, feeling your tongue slip between your teeth. Jihoon looked over at you in surprise at the qestion, before noting your cheeky expression.

“You can judge for yourself once I release this album,” he replied with a roll of his eyes.

The more you got to know Jihoon, the more eager you became for work.

On weekends you didn’t see Jihoon. He never left his apartment, and neither did you. Weekends were for relaxing, not working and thus neither of you would leave your homes.

In the past it hadn’t been so deppressing as it was now. An apartment complex with a broken elevator and a boy that you couldn’t see now just seemed dreadful.

So when Monday cane and you finally had the chance to see Jihoon again you were ecstatic. You pushed open your door with a new rush of gusto and greeted him with a smile and-

He looked tired. Dead almost.

He had heavy bags under his eyes, was saying a little where he stood.

“The elevator is still broken,” he mumbled, but all you could think was that he looked broken.

“Are you okay?” You asked. Without asking you reached forward, your hand cupping Jihoon’s cheek.

You thought he’d probably protest it were he in his right mind, but he was too tired to do so. Instead he turned his face more into it.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. Your eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“You’re not.”

Jihoon stared at you with the widest eyes you assumed he could muster.

“I stayed up a little later then usual writing for my new album,” he admitted softly. “That doesn’t mean I’m not okay.”

Still unconvinced you turned Jihoon towards his apartment door.

“Get some sleep Jihoon, I will not allow this zombie imposter to follow me,” you stated firmly. Jihoon looked like he wanted to protest but instead he just sighed.

“I just wanted to see you one more time before I wrapped up the album. I’ll be pulling a lot of hours these next few days And won’t be able to see you.”

The admission was surprising. Mostly because you had never thought Jihoon liked you that way. His confession made your face reddened. He mustve been really tired.

“Go to sleep Jihoon. I’ll see you in a few days.”

And like that you mustered up all your courage, turned away from Jihoon and walked away.

-

“The album is done.”

You weren’t surprised anymore when Jihoon greeted you with his words other then his presence. These past few days he had opened up so much that it wasn’t really much of a shock.

You were glad for that of course. You loved speaking to Jihoon, and you loved hearing him talk about his music and his frustrtations. You gave him a wide-toothy smile.

“Does that mean I finally get to hear it?”

Instead of responding Jihoon took the pair of headphones that was dangling from his hands and gently secured it over your ears. The close proximity made your heart leap.

You tried bot to let it show as you two climbed into the elevator and the music began playing in your ears.

Every day I see your face, don’t know how you behave, when you aren’t alone with me

Having a terrible day? Bet I knew you feel that way

The beat to the song was more upbeat than you thought it would be. You found yourself nodding your head as Jihoon’s voice blasted through the headphones. He sang a good high note, and the way that his voice rose and fell gave you the impression that he was very emotive when he sang.

You hoped one day you could see it.

I wonder if you care about me

You are kind and sweet, your voice is like honey

I feel myself slipping away

As the lyrics continued to play you found yourself wondering idly who he wrote it for. It was sort of a romantic song, and that cane to you as a surprise. Jihoon didn’t really come off as the sort of person to fiddle with love. And yet this song only made your heart pound.

Every day I see you, it’s not enough

Your laugh, your smile, I want a lot

Your heart wouldn’t stop pounding now. You couldn’t be sure, but you could almost swear that this song was about you. You didn’t want to be cocky, but even the way that Jihoon was avoiding your eyes gave it away.

I’m getting greedy and I don’t care

Hey there, don’t know if I should share

You slowly began to remove the headphones, but the sound of the song still played loudly from the headphones:

“I think you’re beautiful, elevator stranger,” Jihoon sang along with the music. Yo put the headphones around your neck and rushed forward, cupping Jihoon’s face with your hands and pressing your lips against his. He smiled into the kiss, deepening it and pulling you closer.

God, he was so warm.

When he pulled away, he smiled at you.

“So, I’ll take it you like the song?” Jihoon asked softly. You smiled, rubbing your forearms nervously.

“Love it, really,” you responded. The doorbell dinged and you jumped in surprise. Was the elevator ride really over?

“I miss the stairs,” Jihoon admitted as he slipped the device playing his album into your pocket. “It gave me more time with you.”

“Maybe...” You trailed off. “The elevator will break again soon.” Jihoon smiled.

“You know what? I hope so.”

#Lee Jihoon #b: 'Cause you're my happiness #Seventeen #Seventeen Fanfiction #Seventeen Fanfic #Woozi #Woozi AU #Woozi Fanfic #Woozi Fanfiction #Fanfiction #Kpop #Kpop Fanfiction #Kpop Fanfic