#Also Wander wearing headphones and jamming to music?

[casablancarossa]

Please Amore.

<< a taemin x reader story>>

asdfghjkl; I'm fine seriously. Totally have recovered(?) No I have not been sitting on this fic for a while.

Pairings : Taemin x female!reader Genre: Smut. Content Warning : 18+, Minors DNI, Yeah it is smut okay?! Synopsis: You missed a side of Taemin. The non-gentle side of Taemin. And you are hellbent in seeing it. Authors Note: Seem I am incapable of writing anything short? So here ya go darlings. Another long read of Taemin torturing us.

You relaxed back into your seat of the green room, watching through the monitor of Taemin's performance. He was breathless, sweating and positively oozing with 'fuck me' energy. Something about him performing Strings really stirred something in you where you couldn't control yourself around him. It was like a little drug in your system that craved being held by him, being right under him. A lump in your throat caused you to cough violently which caused the stylists and other stage staff to giggle at you a bit.

It was not a secret, at least to anyone in the industry that Taemin had been seeing someone since before enlisting in the army. Even eagle-eyed fans knew that the very song he was singing was on ode to someone he was seeing. If anything, Taemin was no stranger to releasing music that felt sinful but with such an angelic voice, it offered that duality that piqued the interest of fans.

Such a daring mixture to play Strings after Heaven too. It made you laugh how bold Taemin has been and it's something you needed him to let loose out on you. You wandered out of the green room so you could wander towards the side of the stage, wondering if you can take a peek through the equipment. Staff were running back and forth, making sure the the lighting underneath the tilted stage were still responding when the lights needed to be changed,

Taemin was not even halfway through his set list and he was already annoying you and you had to sit there and witness this man, not only ruin your life but as well as thousands of Shawols' lives too, purely by existing. You try not to even think about the stunt he pulled with Criminal. So early onto the concert too. That's right honey, destroy all our fucking underwear why don't you. Groaning, you ask the stage manager if you could borrow some items that could make you pass as stage staff so you could walk around top up Taemin's water bottle collection.

You were surprised when a stylist noona commented that you could probably fit into Taemin's regular clothes and go out unnoticed if you layer and pad yourself out. While jamming to Taemin singing his pretty little heart out, you rush back to the green room and throwing Taemin's clothes on and layering a thick hoodie on top of it all. His favourite cap laid on the makeup table. If I wear this, would he recognize it's me? You quickly grab the hat and tuck your hair in before the same stylist walked in with a black mask and glasses.

She comments how it might help and shield your face a bit more, understanding how fans might not take a random female stage staff too lightly, but also just in case you might get recognized in the future.

As you walk back to the side stage an ahjussi has prepared a staff lanyard for you and headphones. With this, you truly looked like you have been working as a stage staff the whole time. Euisoo saunters towards you, giving you water bottles to carry outside, commenting to keep your head down and try not to distract Taemin. He warned you knowing fully well, that while you may have no intention or plans or even attempts to distract him, he knows Taemin well enough that the mere sight of you, or your presence amongst the crowd sends the boy on frenzy and ends up distracting himself.

Taemin would finally have a chance to settle, get some water, not wanting to pull away from his adoring fans. He was so grateful for them and you admired how humble he was under the care, love and support Shawols have given him. You make your way out the hidden staff door under the stage so you could hug the walls of the platform, walking to the nearest water station and placing the bottles Euisoo had given to you.

The cold arena felt suddenly warm as Taemin walks towards where you were picking up a water bottle, crouching down. He surely couldn't have noticed you already did he? With your head down, you stand back, stepping beside one of the ground staff who were talking to Taemin through his earpiece. Idle babble of lighting, warning about various pyro and confetti explosions and adjusting sounds were going on. A supposed 15 minute conversation happened in less than a minute in your head, surprised by how efficient Taemin was communicating with the team while his mic was still on, giving hand signals for simple yes and no questions. All the while, he was staring you down every now and then while he conversed with the fans.

Of course he noticed you. He could pick you out from a line-up, while horribly wasted and half blind. Taemin also knew what you were like, how this side of him performing drove you insane. He was so happy to leave you accustomed to his chaotic childlike, puppy behaviour at home, that when he switches during performances or in bed, it felt like a bus had crashed into you from how sudden and unexpected it is.

You did only have yourself to blame, afterall you were the one with the pitiful request to let Taemin spare you from his sinful advances on a very regular and almost too frequent basis. As much as you adored the side of Taemin that you see in stage, with you, it felt like he had set the dial was at 100. Taemin was rough for sure, his dominant streak was what got you hooked and dear gods he was good at it too.

How on one occasion during his trip back home from the military, for a family dinner, Taemin had used the small kitchen to his advantage, brushing his hips against yours with a slight buck, whenever he needed something from the cupboard in front of you. How during a photo-op encouraged by his mom, caused him to delicately trail his fingers up and down your spine, which he knew sent you dizzy and breathless. Yes that is what Taemin loved to do to you, to tease you in public. While he may have enough self composure to not go wild, you however could not and by the wee hours of the night, you are begging, pleading and if it was in an empty house, probably screaming Taemin's praises.

But after one too many arguments, accusing Taemin that he only wanted you for your body, the quality of sex didn't necessarily die down, but the significant decrease meant that Taemin was more susceptible to being more casual, more tender and loving. It's no surprise to anyone, but Taemin was a cheesy romantic. He was the type to scatter rose petals in the bath tub when you had a long day. He was the type to quietly harass Kai, Jimin and Ravi to go to a spontaneous location he had picked mere minutes ago so he could take you there and by the time you two have arrived, Taemin's friends would be panting, breathless after quickly decorating a very elaborate and stocked picnic set-up.

At it's very core, it was all romantic and yes Taemin had no qualms in ravaging you in public, but nowadays it felt like Taemin no longer fucking you but made love to you instead, which was completely two separate things for you. You loved getting fucked by your boyfriend but you treasured being made love to even more.. It was heated and passionate without the frills and it was just the two of you with Taemin coveting your body like the goddess he deemed you to be. But you weren't an idiot or insensitive either, deep down more than ever you knew, Taemin craved that extra form of control, to have you be a broken mess under him, to have you be at every beck and call to his commands, not because you were scared but because you did enjoy it as much as he did.

Gods, how long have you been staring at him from the bottom of the stage? You were so lost in your thoughts that you had been functioning on auto-pilot for the last few minutes and if it weren't for the explosion during Danger, nothing would have snapped you out of it. From the corners of your eyes. you saw Euisoo gesture for you to rush towards him to the staff door. The manager, mentions something about outfit change and having Taemin upside down again and how your boyfriend might appreciate a comforting face for support.

"Wah, Lee Taemin, you were so cool out the there!", you exclaimed as you walk back into the green room.

There he was, your own personal Adonis, shirtless once more, holding his next outfit in his hands. Shocked that he wasn't dreaming that you were indeed wearing his clothes as you plop his hoodie on a sofa. "Were?" he cocked his brow at your statement.

"Are. Still are" you corrected yourself at his behest, stepping towards him as the stylists carefully take the mic pack away from his trousers, setting it aside. While yes it is their job to get the idol all dressed up and ready, you really did not need to see them get handsy on your man, despite them having literally the most purest of intentions. "Don't worry eonnies, I can dress him from here", you stated out loud, casting your eyes at the women as they remained while Taemin walked towards the changing screen to change in private, had they stayed in the room.

At your words, Taemin cracked a grin, looking back behind him. Is his girlfriend having a stand-off with his stylist noonas? The air was thick with tension and you couldn't have been anymore obvious that you wanted them out of the room. He offers a nod to one of the older stylists that it was okay. It wasn't your first rodeo in getting him ready. For the better part of 'Hard' promotions, Taemin had you chasing after him because he refuses to get his hair and makeup done properly after eating and mainly because he got distracted annoying Key about their 'couple bags'.

As soon as the doors closed and that you two were finally alone, Taemin, resumed getting undressed, hastily putting on the red outfit left behind consisting of some baggy pants and a very convoluted styled sweatshirt with dangling pieces of fabric and an overskirt to wear over his pants. Meanwhile, you had approached him with a puff sponge in one hand, already coated in product as you dab at his face gently, working the product in and trying to apply it evenly, lifting his chin so you could even out his jawline. Your fingers playful trickle down the side of his neck before wrapping them around the base, looking up at him with desires that could burn this room right now.

Taemin quickly grabbed your wrist, pulling them away from his neck, still holding on with a firm grip, his head lowered, just so his lips were mere millimetres away from each other. Before he could lean in to kiss you, your head darted back, avoiding his advances. You stumble backwards to walk towards the vanity. With a slight bend of your back and over the table, you dropped the sponge and picked up a lip tint this time, carefully applying it to yourself with your fingers without contaminating the applicator.

You watched through the mirror as your partner's eyes had darkened, watching you bent over any surface, watching your finger carefully swipe against your plush bottom lip before biting them, as your siren eyes lure him even so slightly. You played coy as you rested both of your hands on the desk to keep yourself up while jutting out your backside for Taemin's viewing pleasure. Your hands carelessly tousled through your hair before hiding a devilish grin behind them as they cascade to frame your face.

How is it, not a word has been uttered between the two of you and yet so much was said. You were trying to play with fire and Taemin was not pleased by your actions. He lets out a little cough to break the silence, making his way towards you. One hand grip at the backrest of a chair that was standing beside you, he carefully lifts to tilt it forward an inch before slamming the back legs down to catch your attention, almost making your jump in your spot.

Your body effortlessly sway and sit down on the seat Taemin had moved, your eyes were more alert, constantly staring at the dark haired boy through the mirror. His tongue clicks, before standing right behind you, his eye were barely peeking through his fringes. You didn't like it when you couldn't see his eyes. Usually they were the first giveaway of what emotions he was feeling at a given moment. "Hands clasped behind the chair", he orders.

You struggle at his words, they sounded a bit darker and lustful. "We don't have much time, amore",

With a nod, your hands finds themselves clasped together, your eyes never leaving the sight of him. You wanted to take it all in, you wanted to see the switch, the dial up past 100. Taemin's hands rest on your shoulders, lightly massaging them as they make they way towards the nape of you neck. Taemin quickly rustled through his pockets taking out a lengthy red fabric, arranging it accordingly before wrapping it around your eyes, doing a loose knot behind your head.

It wasn't long before his fingers thread through your hair, clasping a fistful and pulling your head back. You normally would have let out a pained mewled but Taemin didn't give you a chance as his lips crashed down onto yours, feverishly kissing you while his spare hand roams your chest, carelessly grabbing at your breast, trying to push his digits past the bounds of your bra so he could pinch your nipple through your shirt.

His touch almost scalds you as quivers and squirm in his hands. God you craved his touch so much, you desperately sought out for his fiery skin against yours. You can already imagine how it would feel so nice to feel how soft his skin is, how it is hot to touch, how it smoothly glides against your own, every cell and fibre getting electrocuted at the intensity of it all. Damn clothes. Damn fucking clothes. You mewled more desperately into his kiss, silently pleading more.

As much as Taemin wanted to tease you, he couldn't resist. You could feel the back of your head hit what you assumed is his abdomen. His fistful grip never left your head, occasionally tugging at it, but not his other hand found your knee and with a swipe up towards your heated core, your legs had unconsciously spread open for him, his fingers trailing circles around your thighs. You found it hard to keep the grip on your own hand as you desperately wanted to touch him as well, to guide his hands where it mattered, but if you disobeyed him, he might not even touch you tonight.

The man's hands fumbled against his jeans which you were wearing and until there was enough give, he snaked his hand through the crotch area and began teasing your heated mound through the fabric of your underwear, eliciting a very audible gasp out of you. His lips were suddenly close to your ear, with heavy breathing. "Don't make a sound mi amore, they will hear how slutty you get", he teased.

You bit your lips trying to contain your voice, but it didn't help that Taemin was talented in finding your bundle of nerves, his finger pressing on it rhythmically and circling it around that cased your body to lean forward in pain. Taemin continued his pace before a teasing finger had pressed your underwear a little bit into you.

The sudden intrusion had cause your legs to almost snap shut, trapping Taemin's hands in between your thighs and it weren't for his growl, you would have followed through, but you focused so hard in keeping your legs spread, your thighs slightly convulsing after straining to stay open. Taemin rewarded your efforts by delicately manoeuvring his fingers to set aside your underwear and bury two fingers immediately into you, causing your body to lean forward even more, your lips spread almost silently screaming.

Taemin watched through the mirror as your body jolts here and there as his fingers relentlessly pumps into you, groaning at how your walls clenched around his digits, the only noise filling the room were subdued panting and squelching noises. "Don't you look pretty like this, mi amore", he asks pulling your head up by your hair.

What a stupid question. You were blindfolded, but you knew what he meant. He loved how easy it was for you to fantasize about what was happening to your whenever you were blindfold. As if you seeing yourself come undone by Taemin, helpless and needy, made you so much more wetter. "Amore..", you whimpered. "Please..."

Taemin let's out a sinister chuckle before whispering, "No". With his words, he pulled his fingers out quickly out of you and quickly grabbed the blindfold off you before rushing towards the door. You were so lost in the moment, you had not even realized there had been knocking voices for Taemin to get on the stage to get strapped in for the rotating platform.

Your look at yourself through the mirror wondering how the ever loving fuck did you look so dishevelled. A few baby coughs left your chest as you recollect yourself before standing up, finding it hard as a noticeable pressure has built up between your legs. Fucking Taemin, you are a dick, you thought to yourself before standing up to walk out of the room to see Taemin, already harnessed on and about to flipped for his entrance to 'Door'

As the concert continued, you stayed in the side-lines and watched Taemin perform, cheering quietly from where you were as to not disturb the staff who you already have probably annoyed tonight.

When it was time for another outfit change, Taemin hurried towards the sides, calling your name out repeatedly. The man stated out loud that you would be helping him get dressed again which caused the stylists to back down and giggle as his words caused an annoyed scowl plastered all over your face. His hands have a death grip around your wrists once more, rushing towards the room and giving the door a little slam. "Tae, you need to chill, people will definitely think we are about to fuck", you sighed as you stumble into the dimmed room.

"Fuck them" Taemin lets out a growl, a growl you know to well as his 'I'm horny and I'm angry growl'.

Before you could utter another word, Taemin grabs you by the shoulders, pushing you towards the makeup table, his hand roaming your sides and back as he plants a doozy of a kiss, forcing your lips apart with his tongue. It was like a familiar dance that you have found yourself in. He pushes you onto any surface and your automatic instinct is to sit on it, parting your legs to give room for Taemin to between them, while your arms are hooked on his shoulder, pulling him more into the kiss.

"Mmf--What. Am. I. Going. To. Do. With. You" Taemin groans, enunciating every word with a kiss, starting from your lips that trailed to your jaws then neck.

"Anything please. Everything." the words fell like a lump of nonsense and mumbles, but you were too focused on the fact that Taemin had nipped slightly on your neck.

Your pleading voice arouses him further, his hand snake up your body, tugging harshly onto the shirt you were wearing before lifting them up. You could see his eyes were filled with hunger seeing your breasts practically pooling out of your bra.

His lips began to pepper kisses along your chest before latching onto one of the mounds, sucking and biting on it, while his hands playfully massage them, flicking and pinching your nipples occasionally. "Tae wait.. if you keep doing that.. I can't help being loud" you gasped.

"Well then amore, hopefully you can control yourself" he winks up at you before sliding downwards kissing your stomach and placing tepid kisses on your hips.

His trip back up to kiss your lips was nothing short of sweet as he find the familiarity of stripping his jeans off you, picking up your hips so he could also include your underwear in the mix. The moment he heard the thud of the clothing hit the floor, Taemin spreads your legs once more and knelt in front of you with that darn devilish grin of his.

He makes the gesture of shh, placing a finger on his lips before using the same finger and slowly enter your core, causing you to whimper. Taemin chuckles to himself, knowing fully well that you were too bothered and sensitive to have the capacity of being silent. He pumps the lone finger, his head tilting from side to side so he could observe your face and body.

Your hips were bucking like you needed more, a small movement but it encouraged Taemin to add a second finger in, fully in motion of thrusting inside of you, twisting and spreading you to the best of his abilities. Once his fingers hook at a certain spot, he watches your head throw itself back, letting out a loud cough to cover your whimper.

You were seeing stars and your breathing had become so audible, you were convinced floor staff had heard you. You try to look down at your boyfriend pump his fingers into you unforgivingly but seeing the sight of him part his lips and envelop your clit was a sight to behold indeed.

Such sheepish licks, caused a shockwave through your body and all you could think of was trapping Taemin's head in your thighs as you grab his hair, trying to keep him down there until he finished you off.

You could feel the peak approaching as Taemin made good work of his mouth and fingers, making sure he savoured the taste of you while he was down there. But truly nothing could prepare you for Taemin immediately pulling away when you stated how close you were to bliss. Your body barely knew how to react as you let out a little cry, the sudden missing feeling of Taemin on you, made you tremble.

"Please Amore... that was mean.. " you panted, your vision settling to see he was in the midst of changing into the final lilac suit.

"Mean? What's mean is you not using your pretty little mouth"

You look up to see that Taemin had left the blazer and trousers unbuttoned and through his black boxers, perfectly outlined his erection. His body slumped back onto the sofa in the room, beckoning you to move towards him. He chuckles darkly as he watches you naked from the waist down and your shirt rolled upwards, resting on the slope of your breasts. "Here, just in case", he laughs once more, chucking a blanket scarf your direction.

You catch the item, roughly wrapping it around your waist , enough to cover your privates but thin enough to know you were bare under it. In a fluid motion, you crouch down to crawl towards Taemin, settling yourself between his legs. Your hands roam his thighs before meeting at the band of his boxers, sheepishly tugging it down until his dick had popped out, surprising you. "May I taste it... Sir?" your eyes lift ever so slightly.

As if it wasn't obvious from Taemin's hitched breath and the way his cock twitched, hearing you mewl your last word sent chills through his body. The last time you had called him that was the last time he acted as a dominant and where you finally argued with him about feeling like a sex toy rather than his girlfriend in bed. He doesn't recall being disrespectful but is fully aware that he gets in the zone too hard and would punish you equally as his previous bratty submissive partners.

Taemin carefully reaches forward, brushing your hair and holding it to a ponytail with a firm grip. His other hand cups your cheeks, his thumb tenderly brushes against your lips before using his hold on your hair to guide you closer to his aching member.

Without wasting time, your tongue darts out to lick from base to tip before opening your mouth to take him in. "F..fuck y/n"

You giggle despite having your mouth filled as you proceed to bob your head up and down, twirling your tongue and moaning. The vibrations and sensations overwhelm Taemin as his hips jerk upwards, causing your to gag a little. While it didn't deter you from continuing on, it was enough of a sign for him to use your mouth as he pleases.

Taemin roughens his grip on your hair, pushing you down as his hips thrust up. God he missed this. He missed fucking your face, hearing your stubborn coughs as you allow him to abuse your throat like this. He couldn't help notice how gorgeous you were like this. His obedient girl. Something primal triggered within him as he watches you remain strong willed to not pull away, noticing how strings of saliva had began dripping from the corners off your mouth. How he was fucking your mouth had become so messy with slight tears smudging your own makeup and how the slightest hint of your lipstick has tinted the base of his cock. Taemin lets out as hiss as you fully take him in with a pause letting the tip of his member rest at the back of your mouth.

Just because he denied you your orgasm, doesn't mean he doesn't get to finish. He internally swears he will make it worth it. He tries to shift in his seat, so he could lean forward to give a gratuitous slap on your ass as he keeps your head down on him. "Drink me up Amore.. " he grunts every word with a thrust, picking up the pace.

It didn't take long before he mewls your name, coughing and using whatever articles of clothing to dampen the sound escaping his lips. You could feel string after string as Taemin fills up your mouth with his cum. You lap it all up, making sure not one drop is wasted as you lean back to an upright position sitting on your knees.

Taemin lets out a few more coughs, trying to collect himself, panting heavily as he smirks at you. You daintily wipe the corners of your mouth with your finger and offer him a little smile. "I think the fans have finished singing" you note.

Right on queue, the knock finally at the door came, asking Taemin to come out quickly. "I promise to make it up to you Amore" he whispers, his hands cupping your face to place a kiss on your forehead before standing up to finish getting dressed and heading out.

You sat alone in that room, thinking to yourself how you couldn't wait for him to fulfil his promise. You desperately craved his primal side now.

As if the stylists knew something funky went on in the room, they knock, just to make sure, that you were okay for them to come in to tidy up. You cough and hurriedly scoot to where Taemin had stripped you, grabbing your underwear and rushing towards the changing screen, calling them in.

As soon as you finally had calmed down and made yourself modest, you rushed out back to the side stage, making sure you were there for Taemin as he wraps up his final set. You were in such awe and couldn't wait to drown him in affection and congratulatory praises, but your cheeks were downright flushed thinking about the prospects of what happens next.

You were too lost in your own dirty fantasies that you had not noticed Key and Minho standing in front of you, waving and trying to pull you out of your daydreams. "Yah, Lee Taemin, I think y/n is no longer with us" Key calls out to your boyfriend who had just exited the main stage and rushing to hug Minho and Key.

"H-huh?" you mumbled, finally snapping out of your thoughts to see the three Shinee members standing in front of you, smiling however Taemin's was coated with wickedness.

"Wow. You really love him so much that you are in awe huh" Key jokingly scoffs at your direction.

"I couldn't be more proud of him" you giggled, stepping forward to embrace Taemin and peck his lips. "By the way, I didn't put my underwear back on, but the eonnies left you a spare change of clothes" you whispered into his ear.

Taemin chuckles as he pulls away, pardoning himself so he could get changed. Conversations happened here and there and instead of celebrating immediately with drinks and food close by, Taemin had suggested that he wanted to go home first to let his mom know that he was planning on drinking and might be home late and need her to take care of the cats.

This was obviously a lie, kind of. His mom would need to take care of the cats however, due to Taemin's busy schedule, the cats were at her place instead for the weekend.

As the pair of you began to part ways from everyone after an agonizingly painful debate on where to eat, and one heated argument with Euisoo later, Taemin managed to convince his manager that he would like the chance to be able to drive his his girlfriend to the next location and be able to bond with here in peace.

What a fool they were for thinking how cute that sounded because as far as you were concerned, you and Taemin never really made it further out of the carpark.

After waving everyone off, Taemin had hurriedly thrown you into the backseat of his car, jumping in with you with a hungry kiss. "Mmmf, Taemin.. you sure?? Here?" you gasped in between his barrage of kisses.

"Taemin? What happened to Sir" his tone had shifted once more. "Beside I thought you might appreciate the intimacy of a tight enclosed space. Now what was that again about not having your underwear on"

You giggled as you lean against the passenger door, raising your hips so you could pull out said article of clothing from the back pocket.

"How dirty of you Amore, soiling my clothes like this" Taemin whispers, his hands falling familiar to unbuttoning the jeans once more and tugging at them so they just gathered around your knees.

Taemin pulls you off your position and despite the tight area, he manoeuvred you with ease, placing you in front of him bent over, with your hands in the footwell to keep yourself up and your ass in perfect view from his face.

He daringly bites the plump flesh of your cheeks causing you to wince, with his hands once more, teasing your core. Flick. "Amore, listen to me well.." Flick. "Sir desperately wants to fuck you senseless" Flick. "I want this car to shake and be filled with your screams. Okay?" his words were concise but struggled here and there.

He gave a good smack on your ass once more, enough that it stung but that was a sign to get it moving. He had quickly discarded his trousers and boxers, lost in the void of the front seats. Your body shuffled once more to allow yourself and Taemin to be in position where you could sit on his lap, there was not much headroom, but you found yourself leaning back into him, back flushed against his chest

You spat on your hand enough that when you reach down to hold Taemin's member, it was enough lubrication the guide the tip at your entrance, hesitating for a bit.

Taemin however could not wait as he thrusts up, intruding and spreading your open earning a pleased groan out of you. Finally all the tension in your body caved into the pleasure of having Taemin's cock in you. You absorbed every movement as he makes the best effort of plunging in and out of you in a steady rhythm making your bounce on his lap. "Nngh.. sir.. please" you whimpered.

"Please what?"

"More please.."

Taemin secured his arms around your torso, and slightly sinking into the seat so he had the positional advantage to drive himself up in you in a rapid pace. Your grip shifted to hold onto the backrest of the front seats almost holding yourself in place because if Taemin thrusted any harder and you would be either through the roof of the car or half of your body would be over the centre console.

It didn't matter that you were uncomfortable as the euphoric feeling zaps every nerve in your system, overwhelmed by how rough and aggressive Taemin was getting with his pounding. Delicate fingers sneak under your shirt and what could only be described as the man handling of your breasts.

Taemin's name would be the only word left in your brain as he softly whispers sweet nothings into your ear. His hot breath felt like fire against your skin and hearing his shaky breaths and how he moans your name, it sent you wild. "y/n.. y/n.. y/n.. god you. drive. me. insane" he punctuates his words with long and deep thrusts.

Those thrusts came with a price as it it had tickled just the right spots in you evoking a squeal and your walls clenching down on him. You couldn't tell if it was dark out or had your eyes been squeezed shut and you were beginning to see stars. "Taemin .. I mean.. sir.. please fill me up" you moaned, turning your head to look back at him.

He chuckles, pushing your ass up and off it, giving it a quick slap and kiss. "Turn around, I want to look into your eyes as I flood you y/n".

Obedient as you were, it took a few attempts to get to a comfortable position in the back seat as you straddled Taemin, drinking up the sight of how sweaty he had gotten, how his eyes were half lidded shut, equally lost in his arousal. Unconsciously, you began to grind on his shaft, teasing the both of you as his tip poked at your entrance every now and then.

The hot air surrounded the two of you as streams of panting came from both of you. For a small moment, you manage to catch Taemin's eye, filled love and desire. He offers you a soft smile, hand placed on your cheeks. Without breaking eye contact, his spare hand reaches down so he could align himself so in your next grind, he would finally fill you up again, letting out a shudder. Your walls were gripping around him tight and he knew fully well, you two wouldn't last at this rate.

Taemin leans forward to nibble at your collarbone, slapping your ass once more to get you moving as you now bounce up and down, feeling more intense by the minute. He would make you lose your mind even further as me meets your bounce with the thrust, essentially slamming his self into you. His name fell from your lips like a trance, singing his praises and how you craved him.

Your body could barely hold itself together as your body collapses backwards ignoring the fact that your balance was supported by the front two seats, your shoulder resting on either side. Taemin watch your body arches, eyes ogling as your breasts flail with every buck of his hips. His hands get to work. One hand reaches up at your neck, wrapping his fingers around them and applying pressure while the other hand palms at your lower abdomen, sinking lower until his thumb could reach to stimulate your clit once more.

Taemin was more that happy to comply that he would make it up to you. You were a mewling and moaning mess under his control and he could see that you were on the brink of probably causing a scene as your volume was probably leaking out of the car. "Amore.. wait... wait..", you could barely speak out as a scream teared through your throat as you finally reach your release.

Your whole body contorts and honestly, you would have screamed bloody murder if it weren't for the fact Taemin's hands was on your throat and essentially holding you down. Seeing the sight before him unravel, it didn't take long for Taemin to follow suit, releasing his own into you.

There was moment of silence before you felt Taemin's arms snake around you, pulling you back to him. "I think... we should bail on dinner" he breaths out against your skin making you mewl.

"Amore.. we can't keep disappearing on group dinners"

"Fine... but when we get home we need to discuss some safe words before I break you"

[crmsnmth]

September Sky Chapter One, Part 7

"Come on, Let's go to my truck and we'll figure it out from there. Most likely somewhere close," she said as we walked out into the afternoon sun. A cool breeze blew past, causing my arms to get goosebumps. I shivered slightly. I didn't have a jacket or anything. Addison was wearing a denim jacket that looked as if it had seen much better days.

Without thinking, I took the books from her hands. It came naturally, and just like the right thing to do. In some ways, I still had a brain from an era long gone.

"You don't have to do that," Addison said with a smirk that could cure anyone's depression.

"I technically don't have to do anything," I came back with.

"Fair point, but still. I can carry my own stuff." For a second I couldn't figure out if she was seriously upset or not. Then she smiled.

"Chivalry may be dead, but I dress like a corpse," I said, deadpan, back.

She laughed loudly. It was brighter out because of it. "Alright, alright. You win, cadaver boy." And she looked at me with a real smile. A smile that shouted interest. A smile that I would do anything to see. A real full on smile. She really was beautiful. I know how redundant this is, but fuck off, this is my story.

I'd never actually been in the concrete box that was the parking garage. I never had a reason to. I didn't drive at all. So, I relied on public transit and my feet to get me where I was going. And my feet got used more than anything. I like walking. I like just jamming to music and wandering around the streets. And even with the risk of being mugged or shot, I loved late night wandering.

Addison led me up to a small maroon Ford truck. The thing had to have been from the late 90's. It didn't even have a CD player. Just a tape deck that Addison had put one of those tape to headphone jack things in it.

She unlocked the driver's door and pushed her seat forward. She turned around and took the books from my hand, tossing them behind the small space between the seats and the cab's end

"Thank you," she said as she climbed up into the driver's side. I just smiled and nodded, not having a witty or smart thing to say back to her. I went around the truck, hopping in the passenger side quickly. It was almost like, if I moved at a normal pace, she'd come to the realization she's hanging out with this strange scrawny fucking weirdo. It didn't make sense, that I'd get this lucky. Three fucking years. Three fucking years. How the fuck did it get me here?

Addison started the truck up, and music blasted both of us, making us jump. I only needed a second to recognize the song. It was the last few seconds of 'Pretty in a Casket' by Blitzkid.

"Hey, alright! I love Blitzkid," I exclaimed, excited not only because it's good music, but also by the fact Addison and I now had a common ground. Even it was just a simple band. Conversation grows from seeds planted. Not what falls from it.

"Me too!" Addison said over the music, before turning it down. She gave me another one of those smiles I keep talking about.

Addison backed out the spot she was in and made her way out of the garage. The street outside was quiet for the time of the day. Any other day, I'd be waiting at a crosswalk for fifteen or twenty minutes because, and say it with me, pedestrians don't matter.

"So did we decide where we're going?" I asked.

"I guess we'll just go to The Uptowner. It's a dive, but it's really close and it'll work." Addison said. So she must live around here then two. The Uptowner was a dive, but I liked this dive.

"Awesome, cool. I know the Uptowner. I saw Mischief Brew play there once."

"Oh cool. I wanted to see that but ended up working. Plus, it's really close to where I live."

"Same. It's only a two or three block for me. I live over on Booth."

"Oh neat. One of my friends lives on Booth. Maybe there your neighbor? I live over on Fratney. You know that Irish pub on Fratney?"

I shook my head. "Not really no. Basically anything on the other side of Center is unknown territory."

"So that's why I haven't seen your pink hair around."

"I'll have you know, it's Midnight Magenta."

[wanderfan2000]

I rewatched The Lonely Planet and The Brainstorm for it’s 6th anniversary and I got SERIOUS NOSTALGIA from both of them! 

The Lonely Planet hit me with a BUNCH OF OLD MEMORIES! Also, it reminded me of my crazy obsession I had with this episode when I was younger! 

[datingintampafails]

Chapter 32: Timmy*

Timmy* gave off a frat-boy kind of vibe with the pictures in his profile, a trope that has become my type. His profile did seem to be half-heartedly filled out; his hometown was just the abbreviation of the state, his employment simply said "cardiac surgery," and a couple typos.

Mostly my reason for wanting to message him, in particular, was that one of his prompts about a travel story was very obviously cut off and he ran out of characters. I messaged him saying the cliffhanger was dramatic and wanted to hear the whole story. It was a very long story, involving being in Ireland and a random person coming into his and his family member’s room. I mentioned I didn’t have anything quite that interesting regarding my travels before. We chatted more and although I wouldn’t say we had a lot of similar hobbies and interests, the conversation did flow well. He was definitely more active than I, going to the gym often and eating pretty healthy and en mass. Very much a gym bro type. I also had assumed he was a surgeon, given his position being cardiac surgery, but then learned later he was more involved in some sort of programming instead for cardiac devices, so not really cardiac surgery per se.

When we moved away from Hinge and onto text messaging, we were both mutually behaving as if we had known each other a while, and better than we did. At one point, he had asked, “are you a guy version of me?” To which, I was very aware of how little we knew about each other, which led me to respond that it was too soon to tell.

I did however confirm my place as forever the more aggressive one; I text him one day "Timmy*, when they fuck are we going out?" Not that it had been too much of a long time talking, but just that he had not yet made a move, and that we were obviously getting along and it would make sense for us to take that next step. We plan for a few days from then, a Tuesday, after work, and that it would have to be more or less played by ear because of our jobs' schedules being semi-unpredictable. My easy place, Armature Works, was chosen as where we would meet up.

Our date got pushed back slightly, as I got off on time, but he was going to be held up at work later than expected. He did however give me ample heads up, so I just relaxed at home a little longer than I would have otherwise, and perfected my outfit and minimal make-up. The day of the date, and leading up to it, I made jokes about being a catfish and that I was actually a middle-aged, fat, Russian man. I continued this while I waited for him when I was describing what outfit I was wearing so he could recognize me better with my mask on, then later added that I was still a middle-aged Russian man, but that I was still wearing a skirt and crop top. I waited for him on a bench for almost 30 minutes. I arrived on time to when he had delayed the date, but still too early apparently. Luckily, I had brought my headphones, so I just listened to some music to pass the time by.

Finally, I received a text message saying that he had parked and then that he could see me. Nothing is more uncomfortable than being seen and not seeing who is looking at you. I looked around and didn't see anyone that looked like him, so I went back to staring at my phone. Eventually, a man looking more like him appeared trotting down the small set of stairs next to me. Although he definitely wasn't short, he seemed shorter than what I was expecting, and his hairline seemed to be just starting to recede.

He was not familiar with the location as much as I am, so I took it upon myself to give him a tour of the location. Despite being indoors, and still pretty amidst a pandemic in late February, Timmy* kept taking his mask off. As a healthcare worker, I was confused and appalled; he should know better. I yelled at him every time to put it back on. Once he said, "you're one of those huh?" I almost rolled my eyes back into my head. Then he also asked me, "well when can I take it off?" to which I responded, "when we are outside and/or we sit down to eat/drink." He got a beer at one of the bars, and it was a beer that had some marijuana in it, which was an interesting choice. After having toured the whole place, it was time to split off to order our respective meals. I got my food, and a drink, and wandered over to the area I had last seen him, as he had said he was going to get a pizza. He was nowhere to be found, so I text him asking where he was. He indicated that he was over by where he had gotten his beer.

I found him and then he told me that he had ordered food from two different restaurants because he couldn't decide and also eats so much due to his athleticism. We found a spot to sit nearby outside, and it is a lovely night, we were comfortable in the fresh air. We both finally did take off our masks and started to eat.

I half-heartedly apologized for being so hard on him regarding the mask-wearing, but emphasized that I am passionate about proper mask-wearing because of my experience with having the virus and wanting to make sure to reduce the spread. He then said, "Oh you had COVID! I'm in a way glad to hear it." He then pauses before saying, "I have COVID too. My doctor said I'm asymptomatic? So I'm totally good." My eyes must have gotten the size of saucers; I leaned away from him and was looking around seeing if anyone had heard him. "Wait what?" Is all I could say. "Uh, no. Please tell me you're joking?" Timmy* stares at me confused, "I'm asymptomatic! So that means like I don't have it."

I am prepared to leave immediately. "So you had a positive test? What? Why are you here right now?" I say. Finally, he drops the rouse and admits he was kidding, but that he got me. "That was not funny. I was legitimately terrified!" So far, this date is bizarre. He mentions that because I joked around so much that I would appreciate it. I did not.

We eat our food and chat. Unfortunately, he also is a person who seems to eat with their mouth open. Another strike. Timmy* has become very comfortable around me, as he also decides to tell me another long story about the time he was "sexually assaulted by a doctor." Which was that he went to a doctor for a physical and that she had grabbed his testicles and had him cough, though the way he told it was extremely drawn out and had many mini-stories leading up to the point that was supposed to be the assault. I then told him, "I'm sorry to say that your doctor was not trying to hit on you on anything, that is a normal thing that happens with mens' checkups." This was news to him. It was obvious that he is not a well-versed healthcare worker.

Once we finished our food, I suggested we walk along the river. First, though, I wanted to drop off my leftovers in my car. We walk to it and I make him guess what kind of car I drive. He is impressed by my car and we don't linger long before I say we should leave the parking lot. He tells me that he has a muscle car, which is so random and I would never put him in a car like that. Whereas a sixteen-year-old girl might be googoo-gaga over this, as a full-grown adult, it isn't quite as alluring to have a car like that.

While on the riverwalk, I become irritated at the fact that he walks very slow. Slower than I am able to walk. It makes no sense as I am significantly shorter than he is, so my strides shouldn't be longer than his. I mention to him that he walks slow and I ask that he walk a little faster. He picked up the pace, but then slowly reverted to his tortoise-like speed over time. I tire of our uneven velocities and we take a seat on some rock benches. We chat about brief things and I suggest we walk back. Again, I battle with the paces, mention it a couple more times that I am unable to walk as slow as he walks.

We get back to the main area of Armature and take a seat in some oversized chairs. He tells me about his family and some stories about his relationships in middle school and high school, which are also drawn out and bizarre. It nears 10pm, and we are told by staff that they close at 10. A couple minutes til, I remind him we need to leave and I ask where he parked. He parked in a different lot, I offered to walk him to his car. He offers to drive me to my car. We do so and his muscle car is indeed very overly-masculine. He goes on to go through a bunch of random songs on Spotify, only playing each song for less than 30 seconds, very ADHD-like. He drives me to my car, but wants to keep me there, again showing me more songs. I'm politely just listening as he flexes on all the types of music he listens to. He tries to show off that he knows "alternative music," my preferred genre, but I point out that a lot of the songs he's playing are more "pop-punk" or just old alternative jams.

He compliments my music taste and mentions that he has noticed I am adept at knowing song names, musicians, movies, and so forth. I begin to joke that likely I am a little autistic, adding "I'm working on my eye contact," as I make direct eye contact with him. What he says next, is something that I was not prepared for, and something that still baffles me, and possibly always will. "Yeah, you do look a little retarded." Immediately, I burst out into laughter; not because I think what he said was funny, but because I am so bewildered and shocked by what was just said. Eventually, through the laughter tears I am able to get out, "Dude you shouldn't say that to a woman." He insists it was a joke and makes excuses, but I keep laughing, with my hand on the door handle just waiting for a good moment to step out. I repeat that what he said isn't cool, and eventually stop laughing long enough to say, "alright, on that note, I think I should head out." Being friendly, I still ask that he tell me when he gets home since I know he has a longer commute home than I do. I wave goodbye through our car windows.

The formalities are complete; he texts me ever so briefly the next day, respectfully I respond, knowing well I never plan on going out with him again. Then it seems we have a mutual ghosting situation, as I don't try to text him, nor he to me. This day I have another date, and after that one, I have no one that I want to communicate with as that is also a dud. All is good until a few days later when I am out with my friends in Ybor, drunk. I get a text from Timmy* saying "yo." I lament and groan and my friends ask about my reaction. I explain the situation and one of my guy friends asks for my phone. I hand it to him as he starts to text him on my behalf.

My phone is with my friend, but with my Apple Watch, I can see the text conversation and when he is responding. I start yelling "oh god please don't bring him here. I don't want to see this guy." Respecting my wishes, my friend decides to still fuck with him, but prevent this poor soul from spending money on an Uber and coming down.

My friends then send a selfie of themselves, with me not in it, saying "she's with me." I yell at them more saying, let this guy be, just ignore him. However, instead, my friend takes it a step further.

I tell my friend that he was too harsh and that I of course would have told him I wasn't interested, but a lot more mature and kindly. When later I check, understandably Timmy* has unmatched me on Hinge*, likely blocked my number. No loss there though.

[kookitykook]

Seven Soulmarks: Hoseok (”Can you even breathe in those pants?”)

~genre: soulmate au, fluff, humor, sfw, hoseok being an absolute chaotic mess

~word count: 2.8k (this is short but one of my fav things i’ve written pls give it a chance)

~pairing: dancer!hoseok x yn

~warnings: record store owner!yoongi (and his soulmate) make an appearance if you’re sensitive to that kind of thing 

~summary: At the exact moment of your twentieth birthday, the first words your soulmate will ever say to you appear in black ink on the inside of your left wrist. Seven boys meeting their soulmates is just more proof that the universe knows what it’s doing. 

See how the other boys meet their soulmates (all interconnected) 

Jungkook -- Taehyung -- Jimin -- Namjoon -- Yoongi -- Jin

~~~~~~~~~

Hoseok lived and breathed dance. Movement was in his bones, his blood, every muscle and ligament and tendon in his body. It was his one true love.

And you can’t have dance without music. 

That was the initial reason why he had started setting up his street dance sessions in front of music stores. Surely if people loved music then they loved dance too and would be willing to drop some cash, right? And that had proved to be mostly true, but the only drawback was that the music store owners and managers tended to not like him all that much. 

It made no sense to Hoseok. If people were coming to check out the music and saw him along the way, it’s a win. If people were coming to see him and decided to check out the music too, also a win. 

Unfortunately, the four music store owners and managers that banned him from their sidewalks never did see his point of view. 

Yoongi did, though. 

It had been Hoseok’s junior year of college and he had invited his new buddy Jungkook, who was a freshman at the time, to come and street dance with him in front of a new music shop he had found, Agust D’s Records. 

When Yoongi had come out after seeing the crowd watching the two dancers, Hoseok had been prepared to take another loss. To his surprise though, Yoongi had just offered to let them borrow better speakers since Hoseok’s were, in Yoongi’s words, “complete trash.” 

And thus blossomed the oddest friendship. Hoseok, sunshine incarnate who could never stop dancing, and Yoongi, an old man trapped in a young man’s body who just wanted to sleep. Their biggest similarity though was their drive and work ethic. 

Sure, Hoseok was silly and Yoongi was serious, but both of them worked their asses off for their dreams and that was the foundation of the mutual respect driving their now their years-long friendship. 

And that very respect is what had Yoongi telling his friend:

“Get the fuck out of my store or I will beat your ass.”

“Hyung, it was an accident!”

“How many times have I told you not to take drinks into the aisles?”

“Not many—”

“Seventeen times. Get your ass out, you’re fired.”

“I am not fired.”

“You’re suspended.”

“That’s not even a thing.”

“Why did she have to find her soulmate?” Yoongi lamented dramatically, referring to his other best friend/employee, who had cut back to part time hours since getting together with her soulmate Namjoon, one of Hoseok’s best friends from college (yeah, small world, I know), who was also rich as hell so she didn’t need to work as much anymore. 

“Why did I hire you?” Yoongi continued. “Why, God?”

“Shut up,” Hoseok said, laughing at Yoongi’s dramatics. “I’ll clean up the mess.”

“What mess?” 

Both men snapped their head over to where Yoongi’s very pregnant soulmate was waddling out of the bathroom. Her eyes narrowed in Hoseok’s direction and he winced. 

“Did you spill a drink in the aisles?” she asked. 

Normally, Yoongi’s soulmate was the sweetest, most calm and caring person ever. But pregnancy a week and a half past her due date had … changed her, to say the least. 

“Hoseok!” she shouted at his guilty expression. “And it’s all over your pants!”

Hoseok looked down at himself and sighed. Sure enough, coffee was drying all over the right side of his pants leg — his very tight pants leg. 

“Yeah, Hobi,” Yoongi taunted, going over to gingerly help his soulmate over to a chair behind the counter. “How are you ever going to attract your soulmate with dirty, tight pants?”

“Watch it,” Hoseok said with a point.

Soulmates were … a touchy subject for Hoseok. 

When he was 20 his words had appeared like everyone else, no big deal, right?

Big deal. 

While all of Hoseok’s friends had soulmarks that were interesting and exciting and vague in the coolest ways, his was … embarrassing, to say the least. And he didn’t get embarrassed easily, so that was saying something. 

But for the last six years, the words “Can you even breathe in those pants?” were in bold, black letters right across his wrist. 

Can you even breathe in those pants?

Seriously?

It didn’t even make sense when they appeared! Hoseok rarely wore tight pants at that age, opting for joggers or shorts so his dancing didn’t feel so … restricted. 

But he sure started wearing them after that, even if his friends gave him hell for it on a daily basis. 

“Yeah Hoseok,” Yoongi’s soulmate teased, grimacing briefly as she finally sat down and rested her hands on her swollen abdomen. “That coffee stain is awful distracting.”

“Are you really going to tease me about my soulmark Miss I-Silently-Stalked-My-Soulmate-For-A-Year?”

In a normal situation, Yoongi’s soulmate would have taken the gentle ribbing with grace, probably blushing in embarrassment briefly before looking over at Yoongi and deciding she didn’t care about the teasing. 

But throw pregnancy hormones and lack of comfortable sleep in the mix? Not the same reaction. 

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry!” Hoseok said, rushing over to her and Yoongi as tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m an idiot, don’t listen to anything I say, I’m sorry!”

Yoongi sighed, letting his soulmate turn her head into his shoulder and cry against him. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll fire him.”

“Promise?” she choked out.

“Promise.”

“Wait, what?” Hoseok balked.

“You,” Yoongi said lowly, meeting Hoseok’s eyes over his soulmate’s shoulder. “Go upstairs, change into a different pair of pants, then come back down and prepare to do expense reports until your fingers bleed.”

Hoseok didn’t even bother responding as he took off to the stairs leading up to Yoongi and his soulmate’s apartment above the store. 

***

You were not a dancer. 

Well — correction: you were not a good dancer. You accepted this about yourself and were completely content with it, had been all your life. And this small little detail did not keep you from dancing anytime and anywhere you wanted to. When the music touched your soul, you were going to move. You couldn’t help it! And if anyone had a problem with it they could get over it! 

This is the attitude you tried to have all the time, and mostly succeeded in. 

But your soulmark had to go and make things difficult for you. 

“Nice moves.” 

 You just knew — you knew that the words were said sarcastically. No one in their right mind would look at your flailing about and say “nice moves” in a genuine fashion. 

So your soulmate was a little sarcastic brat then. Fine by you! He would meet his match whenever you heard him say the words. Oh yes, you had practiced many a comeback in preparation of the day you met your soulmate. You couldn’t wait to shock him and make him fall in love with your startling wit. 

So maybe you were a little bitter about your soulmark. But just a little, honestly. It’d been four years since the words had showed up and you had gotten used to them (and were well prepared to hear them of course). 

You still danced so … joke’s on them. 

“Now tell me again what kind of headphones she wants?” you asked your brother, holding your phone to your ear and trying to talk quietly so as not to disturb the other people in the store. 

You were in a music shop you had never been to before called Agust D’s Records, and the owner had briefly introduced himself earlier while holding a very pregnant crying woman. Other than that odd moment, the store was really cool. 

“The rose gold Beats,” your brother responded. You were shopping for a birthday present for his soulmate and because they lived on the other side of the country, you didn’t know her that well and had asked for gift advice. “But if they’re too expensive, it’s really fine.”

“No I can afford it!” you defended yourself. “I sold two paintings just yesterday thank you very much.” 

“Woah, really?” 

“Yeah, it’s actually going really well,” you said with pride. “I’ve got a few well-to-do clients that like my stuff. And the museum wants to promote me to full time next month since their other art curator’s assistant is retiring.”

“Y/N that’s awesome!”

You grinned. “Thanks. I’ve been saving up to fly out and see you guys, too. And I want to get to know my brother’s soulmate better, you know?”

“Hey, maybe when you can finally get out here you’ll have a soulmate of your own I can meet.”

“Ack, shutup,” you muttered. Your brother only laughed. “Anyways, I’m in a store so I should probably get off the phone. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“You got it. Bye, sis.”

“Bye, love you.”

After ending the call you pocketed your phone and wandered back over to the headphones. Sure enough, there were the rose gold Beats. You picked them up with a grin, then saw that the store had placed a blue pair out with a sign that said “Try Me!” 

Might as well, you thought to yourself. You pulled your phone back out and opened Spotify, plugging in the headphones and pressing play. The last song that had been playing was from your “dance jams” playlist and damn you forgot how good this song was. 

Soon enough, you were in your own little world, just you and the music. So much so that you didn’t notice the guy standing behind you. 

***

“Oh wow,” Yoongi said, doing his best to bite back laughter as Hoseok walked down the stars — well, more like waddled. “Babe, babe look up, this is going to make you feel so much better.”

“Nothing can … oh my gosh.” Yoongi’s soulmate switched from crying to laughing in the blink of an eye as she looked up to see Hoseok wearing a pair of Yoongi’s skinny jeans, which were practically high waters on him. 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Hoseok said as he made it back to the store floor, pulling at the crotch of his — no, Yoongi’s pants without shame. Gosh he could hardly breathe in these pants.

… Wait a minute.

“If you don’t meet your soulmate today, nothing makes sense in the world,” Yoongi said with a laugh. His soulmate was still cackling.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Hoseok stuck his tongue out and grabbed a box of records that needed to be shelved from the countertop. “I’ll get to work.”

“Please do,” Yoongi responded, he and his soulmate still cackling like children. If Hoseok weren’t struggling to walk he would have taken a moment to appreciate how cute they were. 

There were only a few customers in the store, and they all looked at him with amused expressions. Fortunately for Hoseok, he was the type to play up an embarrassing situation so he laughed right along with them. 

It was fine. Everything was fine. 

“Yoongi you skinny ass,” Hoseok muttered, dipping into the empty headphones aisle to pull at the pants once more. These jeans did not factor in his dancer thighs. 

Movement to his left suddenly caught Hoseok’s eye and he froze, hoping he hadn’t just severely embarrassed himself even more, but …

Nope. Nope, this time he was not the one to be laughed at in this situation. Instead, the girl dancing like an absolute idiot was the embarrassing factor. 

What was she doing? Hoseok didn’t know what song she was listening to but there’s no way she was dancing on beat because … well, because she wasn’t dancing to any beat. Her arms were flailing around and her hips were … gyrating? Not in the sexy way though, but in a … he didn’t know, but some odd kind of way. 

And even though she looked like a total moron she was also … smiling so big? He couldn’t help but grin even though his dancer brain wanted to grimace. She just looked so happy. Her eyes were closed and she was just listening to the music and dancing. Dancing badly, but … dancing all the same. 

“Nice moves!” he shouted loud enough to cut through the sound of the headphones. 

The girl jumped, opening her eyes and looking over at him, surprise and shock in her eyes … but no shame. Hoseok liked that. 

She blinked, scrunching her eyebrows in a way that said she hadn’t heard him at all. 

While reaching to press pause on her phone and take off the headphones, Hoseok repeated himself.

“I said—”

***

Shit, shit, shit.

You pressed pause on the music, taking the headphones off in a motion that made your hair go everywhere, turning to the cute boy that was clearly amused by you and was trying to say something. 

“—nice moves.”

Your heart dropped. Actually, your phone dropped, but the sentiment still remained. 

It was time. Your moment had come. IT WAS TIME. 

Finally, now was your chance — your one chance to say something snarky to your little asshole soulmate making fun of you. 

But nothing had prepared you for how cute he was. A heart shaped mouth, hair that looked so soft it should be illegal, glowing, dewy skin, eyes twinkling with damn starlight, and —

The tightest highwater pants you had ever seen. 

“You’re a,” he pursed his lips mid-sentence to stifle a chuckle, “a really great dancer. I like the arm flailing the best, very nice technique. Where did you train?”

Your mouth dropped. 

What a brat!

“Can you even breathe in those pants?” you snapped without hesitation.

All of your memorized comebacks and that was way better than anything you had prepared. You wanted to pat yourself on the back. Hell yeah.

“Ha!” 

“The world makes sense after all.”

You and the boy turned at the same time to look at the owner and his very pregnant soulmate (you guessed) laughing hysterically. 

“Can I just say that I know you’re his soulmate,” the pregnant woman said to you, “and I already very much love and adore you. Please put this brat in his place daily for me.”

“What—”

“I think I get all the credit for this match,” the owner said.

Your soulmate pinched his nose in exasperation. “Hyung…”

“What? They’re my pants.”

“Why are you wearing his pants?” you asked incredulously.

“Because he spilt coffee in the aisle.”

“But there’s a no drinks sign.”

“See, Hoseok?” You take mental note of your soulmate’s name as the owner speaks. “Your soulmate is clearly smarter than you, like I always predicted.”

“Please stop talking,” your soulmate muttered, ears turning bright red much to your amusement. 

“Sweetheart,” the pregnant woman said in between bouts of laughter. “We’re sorry, but this is very exciting for us. We’ll give you an item from the store for free, I—”

The woman froze suddenly, her eyes going wide as she…

“Oh and you yell at me for spilling coffee!” Hoseok shouted as her water broke all over the record store floor. 

“Shit, shit,” the owner said, grabbing his wife’s forearms to hold her upright. “We’ve got to get to the hospital. Can you drive?”

You blink as you realize the owner is talking to you.

“Who, wh — me?” 

“Yes, you! My car is almost out of gas and this idiot only has a skateboard, so can you drive?”

“I — y-yes. Yes, I can drive!”

“Well go get your car! Hoseok, go with her and meet us out front. Everybody! Shop’s closed, get out!”

“Come on,” Hoseok says as he grabs your hand and drags you toward the front door. 

“Wh — I — what is going on?”

“I’m Hoseok, you can call me Hobi, I’m your soulmate, and my best friends are having a baby and you’re driving us to the hospital. Where’d you park? Where’s your keys?”

“I — across the street.” The bell jingles and you barely know which way is up. “My keys are—”

In your nervousness and confusion, you drop your keys to the sidewalk. 

“Don’t worry I—”

The rip of Hoseok’s pants as he bends down to pick up your keys is the loudest, most hilarious noise you have ever heard. 

A beat passes before you promptly burst into hysterical laughter. Hoseok takes one look at you as he stands back up to his full height, a slight breeze on his ass, before joining you in hysterics. 

With a grin still plastered on your face, you throw your arms around his neck and plant a kiss on this stranger’s lips, both of you still smiling. 

“I’m never going to let you live this down, I hope you know that, soulmate.”

“Yeah, yeah, when you embarrass yourself during our first dance when we get married the tables will turn.”

“Deal,” you say as you kiss him again. 

“What are you idiots doing? My wife is having a baby, get in the car!”

[darktypeimagines]

hello ! can you please do headcannons or a scenario for raihan with a s/o who is very shy and timid, but is secretly a dj and he finds out about it one day which makes makes him love them even more?

Ahh this one’s interesting.  FUN FACT! My mom was a DJ!  That being said, it was long before I was born, and I don’t have much experience with DJs?  I’m a homebody.  But, I’ll try my best.  Also, since I don’t know what kind of music you are into or where you would like the character to perform.  I’ll make a few guesses as to personality and whatnot, but try to keep it somewhat vague? Also, making it gender neutral, since you didn’t mention a specific gender.  

Another note, sorry.  So, uh, my only main experience with DJs have been at conventions, because I’m a nerd, I guess?  So this turned slightly into con HCs, too.  I dunno, that’s just where my mind went. And it’s much longer than I originally intended. I hope you like it anyway!

 Everyone wonders how Raihan ended up with such an introverted S/O.  He’s rather outgoing, after all!  But, your shyness is honestly one of the traits he likes about you!  He thinks it’s adorable.

But, the one thing that bothers him is your secretiveness.  He notices that you seem to almost disappear at times.  He’ll drop by your house unannounced, wanting to surprise you, only to find you aren’t home.  This normally wouldn’t bother him, but when it happens over and over again, and your explanations don’t always line up, he begins to wonder what’s actually going on.

 Luckily, he doesn’t have to wonder for long. Being a well-known influencer and the strongest gym leader in Galar, he often gets invited to events and parties.  

 You always tried to make sure to DJ only for events where Raihan wouldn’t be there. When you signed up to DJ for a PokeFan convention (full of all of the neatest PokeMerch you’ve ever seen), you figured he wouldn’t be there.  He was busy that week, anyway.

 Raihan initially had exhibition matches planned that week.  But when Piers came down with a nasty cold, it turned out dragon master Raihan had a free day.

 Plus, for some reason, his fans were pestering him to attend this convention. Apparently, a few other high-profile trainers would be there, hence the pressure to have him there, as well.

 And, of course, this is a man who knows how to please his fans.  So yes, he immediately took a flying taxi over to Wyndon, where the convention was being held.

On the taxi ride, he flipped through promotional material for the event to figure out where to go.  Once he flipped to the vendor list, he immediately knew what he had to do.

You know those cute couples Pokemon stuff?  Like the Espeon and Umbreon Valentines mugs?  Well, there was a vendor making custom art prints for couples, featuring their favorite Pokemon!

  Of course, he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to surprise you with something special.

 As he walked down the halls (swarmed by fans, as expected) toward the vendor’s section, he passed by the dancehall.  On a whim, he wandered in.

Wait… That DJ looks so familiar…

But there were crowds of con-goers.  He decided to come at the busiest time of the con, so it was beyond packed.

As he was half-way done wading through the masses to reach the DJ booth, the DJ-who-looks-suspiciously-like-my-S/O darts off towards the exit.  Everyone is confused.

It straight up takes half of the remaining time of the con for him to catch up with the DJ. He eventually finds them in the vendor hall, wearing different clothing, browsing the stalls.

“Hey!” You turn around.  You knew you had been caught, so there was no point in prolonging this.  You explained that his suspicions were right; you were the DJ he saw in the dancehall.

“Wow… To think you had this whole side of you I didn’t even know about!  Think I can get you to do a couple of gigs for me? I’d love that.”  He said, with that familiar grin growing wide.

You pale at the thought of this.  It was already hard enough, just being known as his S/O!

He notices your reaction and chuckles a bit.  “Well, whenever you’re ready to shine, I’ll be there right beside you. Until then, I guess this is just our secret, huh?”

Honestly, he was relieved.  Everything was making sense now; you were probably out and about at events!  And your secretiveness suddenly clicked, too. You were so shy, he imagined the stress of being known as a popular DJ would be too much for you.  And while he’d never admit it, as much as he loves his fame, there were drawbacks, as well.  He couldn’t blame you for your choice.

 And all this made him love you even more.  He was a little worried that you hadn’t found ��your thing.”  Having something to be passionate about, and something to set goals for, was so important!  So knowing you had something to be passionate about, something you were even willing to risk losing your anonymity over pursuing… He admired this.  He gained so much respect for you, all in this moment.

Totally goes to that vendor and buys a custom art print for the two of you.  What you didn’t realize is your favorite Pokemon is a bit different than you imagined… He asked the artist to make the Pokemon look like a DJ, with headphones and all that equipment!  It was adorable. And yes, his dragon Pokemon (the artist suggested Flygon, out of his team) was cuddled around your Pokemon, jamming away.

[aaaaagaronia]

im chernobyl miniseries on main but stupit bros headcanons time [smirk]

YOURE SO VALID AND YEAH!!!!!!!!

gonna split these up so i can actually read jfkbghfdjbjhvfd

also youve read like most of my headcannons for nauls already ali but here we go fdjkngvfdkjhj

theyre just guys being bros :)

nauls:

nauls goes Dramatic on Main and palmer goes [eyezoom] every time

and dramatic on main i mean he starts monologuing and hes so vague about what hes talking about if you were just listening to him you wouldnt tell what he was doing

he can and will wear socks and sandals to piss everyone off

if you wander into the kitchen at around 3am it’ll feel like youre in the twilight zone because hes wearing the embodiment of wacky 80s core and crop tops and you will go [eyezoom]

come back an hour later and hes back in his usual clothes jfdkhgfvjd he just likes to mess around with people :)

hes gnc (gender non conforming) because i like to project uwu

absolutely rocks fuchsia colored nail polish

his first name is actually Khiry but he prefers to go by Nauls

blasts music in the kitchen a lot not just because he likes to jam out but also because it drowns out the noise of pans clattering since thats a big sensory trigger for him

he!! is chungy!! a squishy boy!!! because i like to project and the Boy alleviates the body dysmorphia 

love for the friends is stored in the Baby

doesn’t really eat meals despite cooking a lot; he just snacks on things throughout the day 

needs glasses but refuses to wear them hdsbfgdh hes far sighted

insomniac but people just think hes just a really hard worker that refuses to sleep so he can keep his kitchen clean which is true but he also cant sleep fdjkbvhfjdrinks 

energy drinks to stay awake when hes really struggling

you can tell hes big sleeby when hes like,,, doing that slow blink cats do

he naps in the rec room sometimes; dont bug him or he wont get that sleep he need

she never actually looks sleep deprived jkdfnhvj hes either wide awake and baby or nodding off jkbgvjhfd

loves his big bro (palmer) to bits and no one knows why

verbally key smashes (so like its just a bunch of different noises) before he actually laughs

palmer:

palmer chucks ice at the windows (not the guy, but like the window panels) when hes outside

he can kinda sing but he prefer not to and the only man who can actually get him to is his widdle bro (nauls)

he!!!!! likes to draw!!!!he also!!!! likes to shitpost!!!!!

hes really impulsive fjdkbvjhfddoesnt like to put effort in making food for himself but if he has to make food for someone else too he’ll like try to put effort in it

knows like,, one magic trick and uses it all the time 

knows some spanish but he uses it in the wrong places so hes completely incoherent 

used to have long hair but chopped it off because he didnt want to deal with the maintenance of long hair

his laugh is a higher pitch than his talking voice

trips people by sticking his long leggys out but 80% of the time its unintentional

has put french fries in the toaster once; no one knows why but he did and they took forever to get out

he gets quiet when hes upset

:^) its the internalization

has like 4 walk mans but hoards headphones like theres no tomorrow

if you get his jacket dirty you will be slapped; only hes allowed to make it dirty

knees are bad so he has to sit down sometimes

his hair was blond when he was a tiny bastard but it turned brown as he got older

doesnt really drink,, like not consistently but like he will on occasion

[youreonlylow]

Can you heal my broken heart with a 5+1 drabble abt Lucas borrowing Eliott's jackets? Please? Episode 5 was like a punch in the stomach..Also, I like your writing so much

Can you write some fluff going around Lucas borrowing Eliott’s trademark jacket?

Alright so I know you posted the thing where you said your inbox was open a while ago, but if you’re still taking requests, can you write some elu related fic where they share clothes and all that jazz? I’m sorry if my English is bad, but that prompt is sooo my jam

Hey sorry for the long wait! Uni and such is keeping me busy! I’m glad you like my writing it means a lot. I hope you enjoy this even though it’s not exactly what you asked for! I had to put some similar prompts together!

The weather had changed overnight. When Lucas had made the decision to stay over at Eliott’s the weather had been great and he had only been wearing a long-sleeved shirt. 

But as he woke up the weather had completely shifted. 

Grey clouds filled the sky and strong winds were fighting trees and traffic lights.

Eliott was not lying beside Lucas, the mattress was cold, he got up and went into the kitchen to check if he was there. 

Eliott was sitting by the table drawing and listening to music. A half full cup of coffee abandoned. He didn’t notice Lucas coming in. 

Lucas went to make himself some coffee and get breakfast, leaving Eliott in his bubble a little longer. Lucas was leaning against the counter eating some cereal, watching Eliott. 

Eliott was bent over the paper in deep concentration with music loud enough Lucas could hear the faint beat of it. 

How Eliott could listen to loud dubstep at 7 in the morning continued to be a mystery to Lucas. Lucas glanced down at the weekly pill box Eliott had on the counter. The medicine of today was gone. 

Eliott took out his headphones and as he stood up he turned. 

He flinched so hard when he saw Lucas, “Fuck, I didn’t see you.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Lucas said, “I just didn’t want to disturb you. What are you working on?” 

Eliott walked over and gave Lucas a chaste kiss, “Just something for my portfolio, you’ll see it once it’s done.” 

Lucas sipped his coffee, looking at Eliott, “But important enough to get up super early and leave me in a cold bed?” A smile was ghosting Lucas’s lips as he spoke, teasing Eliott a little. Eliott just smiled at him. 

“Do you have a jacket I can borrow? I didn’t bring one and it’s pouring down.” 

Eliott nodded and left the kitchen. When he came back, he brought his trademark brown jacket. Lucas raised an eyebrow at Eliott, really? 

Eliott smiled innocently back at him and Lucas let him. Eliott hung it over a chair and returned to his drawing, without the music. Lucas went to get dressed and get ready for the day. 

When he returned Eliott was exactly where he had left him. Hunched over his drawing. Lucas couldn’t quite see what it was supposed to depict but didn’t think much of it. He grabbed the jacket which got Eliott’s attention. 

As Lucas shrugged it on he said goodbye to Eliott and wished him a good day. Eliott was quiet. He glanced at Eliott who was, unapologetically looking Lucas up and down. Lucas chuckled. 

“You gave it to me to ogle at me for 30 seconds before I leave?” 

Eliott smirked, maybe. “What if I did? I like seeing you in my clothes.” 

Lucas laughed a little. Eliott got up and moved towards Lucas quickly. He grabbed Lucas and kissed him deeply. While Lucas didn’t mind, he was a little surprised. One of Eliott’s hands started wandering and Lucas had to break the kiss. 

“As much as I love that, I do have to go to class.” 

Eliott looked disappointed but only for a brief second. “Skip the first period. I promise it’ll be worth it.” 

Eliott leaned in to kiss Lucas again and fumbled with Lucas’s button on his jeans, slowly getting down. “Eliott. I can’t. I already have too much absence. You okay?” Lucas asked, a nagging concern in the back of his mind, bringing Eliott back up. 

“Yes, I am fine, I am great,” Eliott answered, a big smile spreading on his face.

 Let it go, Lucas, he is fine. It’s not your job to monitor him. 

Lucas smiled back at him, “I am glad you’re happy. Take care of yourself, remember to eat.”

When Lucas came to school none of his friends let him forget whose jacket he was wearing. 

Never again. Okay, maybe again. 

It was nice being surrounded by something that was Eliott when they weren’t together.

[kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995]

Roadie

I want to thank the lovely @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles she helped me so much with this story and fine tuning it also she has become such a great friend so as I am posting this if everyone can go check out her stories God Is A Woman or Girls Talk Boys that’d be wonderful they’re awesome stories who deserve to be seen.

Ashton didn’t know how it had ended up like this. In the beginning, he was happy ready to take on anything this lifestyle threw at him, but after 2 years of living in Los Angeles he found himself feeling lost and empty. If it wasn’t someone’s birthday party, it was a club opening or any excuse to party really. Another night with another random girl who’s name he’d already forgotten, he could never shake the dreadful feeling of loneliness. He knew why he was unhappy but didn’t know how to fix it.

It helped a bit to try and run away from his problems, at least physically. His feet pounding out a rhythm on pavement, getting lost in his thoughts, drowning out with whatever music was on shuffle on his phone. He drove out to Runyon Canyon Park and slipped his earbuds in and took off. He got lost in the music a bit too seriously and ended up in a part of the trail that was unfamiliar to him. Now he had to find his way out of the woods with only his car keys and no phone service. He was cursing at himself for being so stupid. So he closed his eyes, breathing deeply and counting to ten, trying to regain his focus. He ran his fingers through his unruly brown curls when he heard a faint noise behind him that sounded like whining. Trying not to get even more lost he went to follow the noise. The only problem was every time he would get closer it would sound like something was running from him.

After about 15 minutes of chasing he sees a clearing ahead and beyond the the familiar trail he had wandered off of. Looking back he sees a very dirty and very malnourished beagle puppy slowly edging his way towards him. Leaning on one knee he carefully reaches his hand out to the little pup. When his head was about an inch away from his hand he lifted his face into Ashton’s palm. The puppy was in an awful state, and Ashton didn’t really know much about dogs. They were going on tour in a couple weeks so there’s no way he could take on this kind of responsibility. Looking down at literal puppy dog eyes was just too much for him to take, he picked the little guy up and as soon as he got in the car he called Calum to ask what vet he took Duke to and Calum told him the address and said he’d meet them there. Once Ashton pulls into the parking lot he sees Calum smoking a cigarette by his all black Range Rover.

Once they get inside the building and signed in Ashton can finally take a good look at what the puppy looks like. The dog is white with light and dark brown spots from what Ashton could tell he has little to no hair and is skin and bones. Calum looks at Ashton and says “ what are you going to do with him?” Ashton looks at Calum and replies “ I’m going to see what the vet says and go from there” . The vet walks out calls out “Mr.Irwin” they follow her to the back and then she starts her examination she could tell that the poor little guy has a skin infection that can be cleared with skin ointment. But she also told Ashton that because the handsome pup is so skinny he’ll have to eat twice a day and give him special vitamins through food. Once they left the veterinarian's office Ashton started thinking about how to take care of a dog but at the moment when he pulled into the petsmart to get everything a puppy would need the thought of if he should keep him was still on his mind.

Once they were home Ashton set up everything for the dirty pup to get a bath, a towel, the special shampoo,one of Ashton’s favorite bandanas, a black and white one that says 5 Seconds Of Summer on it,and a small cup to rinse off the dirt and mud. He began to lather his hands with the shampoo and rub it into the dogs skin while he was checking everything over looking for any hot spots.

Once Ashton deemed the puppy clean he got the towel he bought in with him and got him out of the tub and started to dry him off. After Ashton dried him off and the pup rubbed himself all over the carpet, he put the cream and his bandana on his foster dog before deciding to go to bed. While he was changing into a clean pair of boxer briefs he could feel eyes on him so he looked behind him and saw the little puppy waiting patiently in the doorway of his room. Ashton scratched the dog on his head and told him good night and got tucked in himself and turned off all the lights. Just as he was drifting off he felt the puppy squeezing into his arms to feel his warmth.

Flash forward two weeks and he'd named the brown and black spotted pup Roadie, and gotten the dog a collar with a name tag even though he keeps the bandana around his neck. Roadie had made significant improvement, his skin was clearing up enough that he’s not itching so badly anymore. Anytime Ashton is tired or just lounging around Roadie climbs on top of Ashton’s chest and sighs in contentment. He’ll also follow Ashton into his music room and bounce around barking to the beat of his drumming. Ashton takes him running with him at Runyon Canyon He finds himself staying home most nights not feeling the need to drink the night away or lose himself in another pretty face.

Their tour manager, Donna, isn't happy when Ashton informs her he's bringing Roadie on the bus with them. Ashton can't stand the thought of being without his little guy, and, as he explains, Roadie is still on a special diet and will need all the attention he can get. The day came to get loaded onto the bus so Ashton made sure he had everything for Roadie a leash, ointment, dog food, dog treats, several chew toys, a dog bed, and a blanket specifically just for his little man. The boys had been on the bus for a little over a three weeks and Ashton had found himself a routine of having his headphones in to keep from hearing the remarks Donna their manager would make about Roadie. The only time he wouldn’t be wearing them is to bed but in all honesty he didn’t care to Ashton. Roadie was family and he should be treated as such. As for Roadie he had also found company in not only Ashton but the other guys as well they loved having a dog on the tour because it kept their minds at ease. But all of them found that when Roadie was done playing or running around he would be near Ashton at all times.

Ashton started an Instagram page for Roadie posting pictures of his precious beagle on stage in another city, with fans outside the venue, or by a landmark. There was a tour date in St. Petersburg the guys were getting ready for the show Roadie was running around Ashton and the drum kit. Michael had forgotten his ears and he was walking past one of the green rooms when he overheard Donna talking about Roadie, pausing by the door he saw Sierra with an annoyed look on her face.

“Look this is just ridiculous, he should've given the little fleabag away before this whole thing even started,” Donna griped.

Michael was about to step in but Sierra was quick. She was off the couch and in Donna's face “ if you had any decency in your heart you would see how happy Ashton is. That little “fleabag” running around onstage right now is the reason. We’re all happy because of that dog you’re a heartless woman you should be fired” when Sierra was done speaking she was seething. Michael just smiled and went and got his ears and went back onstage and saw Roadie in Ashton’s lap kissing him all over his face.

It was time for them to get on stage and Ashton told Roadie to be a good boy and listen to Sierra while he was scratching him all on his back. The intro was beginning so he kissed Roadies head and passed his leash off to Sierra. Looking back he saw Sierra and Luke kissing and while he was happy with his beloved dog he wished he had a woman to share the happiness with. Every once in awhile when he has a break he looks over to the side of the stage to see Sierra and Roadie jamming out, his pup bouncing to the beat.

Ashton was just getting out of the shower grabbing a clean shirt when he heard Roadie starting to whine. As they returned to the green room Roadie bolted for the door. Ashton ran after him grabbing Roadies leash, but stumbling as he did. He hit the ground hard, wincing as he rolled onto his side. Ashton saw Roadie standing next to a pair of pink Converse high tops. Looking up he saw the most gorgeous girl with blue eyes, dark blue hair,and a flawless complexion, curvy in all the right places and looking quite concerned.

When he went to grab Roadie and apologize to her she stopped him. said “No worries I love dogs and this little guy is too cute. Roadie's a cute name, very inventive” Ashton hopped up and extended his hand “I'm Ashton by the way.”

She shook his hand laughing, “yes I'm aware my name is Tanya and it’s nice to meet you.”

[probably-not-star-lord]

Guardians of the Galaxy: Part 2 (Peter Quill x Reader)

Part 1

A/N: Here is the second part for my Guardians of the Galaxy series. I don't like the first part too much because Peter isn't in it, but at least it gives a little backstory on the reader.

Warnings: swearing, mild violence, fluff

-

26 YEARS LATER

MORAG 2014

You step out of your spaceship letting the breeze on the abandoned planet blow through you. Surrounding you are rocks and debris that appear to be populated by small, rodent-like creatures. How the hell are you supposed to find some fancy orb here?  You spin around trying to find clues. There's nothing intriguing. All of the rocks look misshapen, out of place, falling apart. The debris floats across the ground or rests on top of rock formations. The creatures lurk creepily, sending shivers down your spine. It's hopeless. There are no possible hints leading to your end goal. On the brink of giving up, you think back to your sister: Gamora. You managed to escape the wrath of Thanos almost two decades ago, but she didn't.

Not long after your departure from Thanos' ship, you became a petty thief, making a bit of money here and there, sometimes at the cost of others whose items you were swiping. But, amidst the fun you had, there were melancholy times of loneliness where you longed for your friends again. Shortly after being taken from Terra, you, Gamora, and Nebula grew inseparable. You were sisters. The sisters you chose to leave behind in order to escape, only helping yourself. Recently, you ran into Gamora, the now tough assassin who had every right to be mean to you after skipping town on her and Nebula. But, she always had a soft spot for you, randomly being abducted and only trying to get out of whatever Thanos had planned, so she forgave you.

Gamora told you about how she and Nebula turned against each other after you left, longing for you to return and bring the friendship back somehow. She talked about how Thanos had become more powerful and menacing as time went on, and she was planning on betraying him through Ronan. Ronan is one of the Kree people who is working with Thanos in order to bring equality to the universe. He needs the orb to gain strength, which is exactly what Gamora promised to bring him. Obviously, she is not going to follow through and she actually intends on selling it to a third party. This third party is willing to pay a copious amount of units, something you love. You could use a few units to fix up your ship and it feels amazing having Gamora back as a friend, so she let you assist her in her plan.

That's why you're on Morag, scoping a dusty, old planet and looking for some fruity orb. To make the search possible, you need your beloved walkman. You put in your headphones and strap the device to your pants. Upon pressing play, you instantly recognize the song. Letting the rhythm take you, you start wandering the planet on a hunt for the orb.

Peter Quill waltzes out of the Milano, walkman at his hip, per usual. He is looking for some kind of orb. The same orb you are currently searching for yourself. Yondu sent Peter to Morag in search of the orb, however, he is destined to retrieve it before Yondu and make a little bank for himself. Upon reaching a flat area, Peter retracts his mask and presses play on his walkman. "Come and Get Your Love" by Redbone starts playing and he instantly picks up with the melody. He dances and sings along, never missing a beat after hearing the song so many times. He kicks some rocks and creatures out of his way, enjoying himself as he continues to get closer to his destination.

Hearing a noise, Peter immediately comes to a halt. He can hear someone moving near him, but he also hears...music? He takes his headphones off and presses pause on the walkman. He still hears the faded notes to a legendary song. Not only does he know this song, but he loves this song. Turning around in circles, he sees the source of the noise. His mouth falls agape as he looks at you, dancing, completely oblivious to everything around you.

"If you like piña coladas,

and getting caught in the rain,"

You belt your heart out into the lyrics as the song plays on your walkman. You sway your hips to the beat, finding the rhythm and making a fool of yourself as you move to it. You've become immune to dancing and singing alone in the comfort of your own ship that the thought of another being witnessing you has never crossed your mind. The days alone on your ship are spent blaring one of your tapes at an unhealthy volume and following all of the songs you know so damn well. Although you couldn't dance to save your own life, you lack embarrassment and just look so confident doing it that it almost looks good. Does Peter find this cute? Hell yeah, he does.

"If you're not into yoga,

if you have half a brain,"

You continue to sing as you head in the same direction as Peter, who is still in shock at this lovely woman in front of him. A Terran? With a walkman? That likes the same music he does? That's the dream! You are absolutely breathtaking to him. He finds himself infatuated by your awful dancing and off-pitch singing. Snapping out of his gaze, he returns to his casanova demeanor and upturns the corners of his mouth into a smirk as he saunters over to you.

"If you like making love at midnight,

in the dunes of the-"

Your singing is cut off by a man who stands in front of you, holding the earbuds he just took out of your ears in the middle of your jam session. Your face heats up slightly at the fact you were just dancing like no one was watching because you really did believe that no one was watching. You slowly lift your head up to meet the man's eyes. He wears a confident smirk and a smoldering gaze as he leans against the rock pile next to him. He eyes you up and down, not ashamed to check you out. It's flattering.

"What's funny is that I do, in fact, like piña coladas and gettin’ caught in the rain," he says, continuing to let his eyes linger on your body.

Trying to act annoyed, you roll your eyes at him, but you can't help stifling a quaint laugh at the cheesy line he just fed you. "Good one," you retort, crossing your arms and stepping past him towards a flight of stairs.

"Don't you like makin’ love at midnight?" he calls out after you. You quietly giggle, again. Why is his goofy charm working on you? Hopefully, he didn't hear you laugh. He follows you up the stairs as you open the large doors, revealing a dark cave. On a podium, sits a glowing ball, which you naturally assume is the orb.

You walk over to it and the man grabs your wrist. "And just what in the hell do you think you're doin'?" he questions you, slightly pulling you back from the orb.

"Probably retrieving this strange ball that appears to have the importance of Luke Skywalker's lightsaber or something," you huff. Peter's eyes widen at your reference to Star Wars, something nobody else in the galaxy would know but him. You raise an eyebrow at his silence and dropped jaw. "So, you know, I'm doing exactly what I came here for."

He chuckles at your words, a sincere laugh, and you can't help but smile. "Sounds like something I would say about this stupid thing," he says. You shrug, still impressed you made him laugh. Peter follows the outline of your figure with eyes again, followed by genuine eye contact. "You're from Terra."

"Wow, Sherlock, I'm impressed." The words spit out of your mouth sarcastically, but only with good intentions. "How else would I know about Star Wars?"

"You make a valid point."

You shake your head and lean towards the orb again. "I know. Can I get back to my job now?"

"No!" Peter yanks you back from the orb. "You're all wrong about retrieving it, darlin', it makes me think you're a terrible theif. You can't just grab shit like this. Here, allow me to demonstrate." With a cocky wriggle of his eyebrows, he pulls something out of his bag and lays it down on the ground. The orb slowly gravitates toward it and sure enough, it works. He picks up the orb and tosses it up in the air playfully.

You try your hardest to not act impressed. "Rad," you mutter. "Thanks a lot."

He gently places the orb in your hands and flashes you a bright grin. "You're very welcome. The name's Peter, by the way, Peter Quill, but people call me Star-Lord."

"Well, Star-Lord, I'm Y/N, Y/N L/N, and people don't call me by a silly, code name."

Peter shifts uncomfortably and rolls his eyes at you. "It's an outlaw name," he mumbles.

Suddenly, the doors are thrown open and several Kree men flood in. The leader, Korath, is followed by his henchmen that fill the room, surrounding you and Peter.

"Drop it!" Korath commands. The henchmen grab you and Peter, and you instinctively place the orb down on the ground.

"Hey! Relax. It's not a problem."

Peter backs you up. "Yeah, no problem at all."

Korath picks up the orb and inspects it. "How do you know about this?"

"I don't even know what that is. I'm just a junker, man. We were just...just checking stuff out," Thankfully, Peter talks first, so you don't have to come up with some lie to get out of this situation. Not that he did any better with the talking.

"You don't look like a junker. You're wearing Ravager garb!" Korath shouts as his henchmen begin to prod you and Peter with their guns.

"This is just an outfit, man," he states as one of the henchmen pushes you harshly closer to Peter. "Ninja Turtle, you better stop pokin' her." You grin at his words, making sure to hold back your laughter given your current state.

"What is your name?" Korath asks, turning to you.

"Y/N L/N."

"And you?" he gestures to Peter.

"My name is Peter Quill, okay? Dude, chill out."

"Move!" he shouts.

You raise your eyebrows in confusion. "Why?"

"Ronan may have questions for you." Shit, you do not need to see Ronan right now, or ever.

Peter puts a stop to their movement. "Hey, you know what? There's another name you might know me by," he says, smirking yet again. "Star-Lord"

Korath curls his face up in confusion. "Who?"

Peter sighs deeply. "Star-Lord, man. Legendary outlaw." He turns to the henchmen. "Guys?" The men say nothing and on Korath's command, they usher you and Peter towards the door again.

"Oh, fuck this," you state, throwing a nod to Peter who nods right back, ready for action. You kick the man who was holding you back and take his gun from him. You use it to hit him on the head as well as shoot the few men next to him, knocking them out. You quickly dash for the door but feel like you can't leave without Peter. You take a look behind you. He activates his mask and shoots at the remaining henchmen. He tries to pick up the orb, struggling with Korath. Finally, Korath goes down and falls unconscious after another shot from Peter's gun. You're surprised at what a good team you the two of you make.

Switching on his rocket boots, Peter flies past you, grabbing you by the waist and scooping you up to fly with him. Only in the air for a few moments, you take this time to actually check him out. His mask is covering his face but you already know he is handsome with those mossy, green eyes and arrogant smirk. He has dirty, blonde hair that isn't super messy but dismantled enough to make it attractive. He has a tall build and you can feel his muscular arms press against you as you both land back on the ground.

Damn, you have the hots for a man who calls himself Star-Lord.

Part Three: Here

[apathetic-revenant]

by the skin of your teeth, part eleven

AO3

hey guys! this is a long one. pack a snack. 

once again, no content warnings for this one except people dealing with the shit that’s already happened. 

coupla notes: 

1.) I feel sure I stole the idea of Fiddleford’s wife being named Madeline from someone, but I’m darned if I know who. so if I have committed accidental character name piracy against you, you have my sincerest apologies. 

2.) I definitely stole the reference to incomplete penetrance in genetics from this post. kudos and thanks to @a-million-chromatic-dreams for knowing a lot more about genetics than I do (and to @eregyrn-falls for helping me find that again.)

3.) (I know I said it’d be a couple of notes. I lied.) this is not the end! there’s gonna be one more chapter. not a terribly long one, I don’t think, so hopefully it won’t take this long to update again. but I told you guys I’d tell you when it was over and it’s not over just yet.

----------------------------------------------

They took Ford home in the morning, under a strict prescription of bedrest and a lot of fluids. He had to lean on Stan most of the way out, but flatly refused any offer of a wheelchair.

“I'm fine,” he insisted doggedly. “Just...a little unsteady.”

“You thought you were dying yesterday,” Fiddleford put in helpfully.

Ford gave him a look that could have withered flowers. Stan had to jam a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

The trip back was considerably more sedate than the drive to the hospital had been, in large part because Fiddleford insisted on driving this time. Stan shrugged and got in the passenger seat. “I don't know what you're complaining about. I got us there quick.”

“We very nearly went off the side of a hill,” Fiddleford said, gripping the keys tighter than necessary at the memory. “Three times.”

“Yeah, but we didn't, did we?”

“Also,” Fiddleford continued, ignoring this, “I'm wearing my glasses.”

Stan grunted vaguely. “Ain't got glasses.”

He'd worn them intermittently over the past ten years; there were times when the need to see real well outweighed his dislike of looking like a nerd-oh, call it what it was, looking like Ford. Plus, they could make for a great disguise. Put a big pair of glasses on and it was amazing how people struggled to recognize you without them. But he'd lost his last good pair quite a while ago, and it was hard to make an appointment with an eye doctor when you were homeless and on the run.

“Maybe not, but you need them, don't you?” Fiddleford said. “I've seen you squinting at things.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I don't want to die in a horrible car crash,” Fiddleford said calmly.

Stan shrugged and looked out the window. “You worry too much. I've been driving all over the country for the past ten years. My car's still in one piece and so am I.”

“That's not the same thing as not being in a horrible car crash,” Fiddleford pointed out.

Stan didn't feel the need to answer that one.

Despite his protestations, Ford promptly dozed off almost as soon as they got him into the car, and they made it back to his house with no more incident than having to stop for rabbits a few times. Stan roused Ford and helped him into the house, where he promptly staggered off towards the basement.

“Um, excuse me,” Stan said, as Ford headed for the the stairs. “Where do you think you're going?”

“The portal,” Ford said, as if this should have been obvious. “We have to take it apart.”

“Not right now this minute, we don't!” Stan said. He turned to Fiddleford. “We don't, do we?”

Fiddleford shrugged uneasily. “It's been down there all this time...I don't like it, but I don't see why a few more days should make any difference. As long as it's shut off. You did shut it off, didn't you?”

“Of course I shut it off,” Ford snapped, fumbling with the stairway door. “But as long as it's down there, it's a potential threat. If someone were to activate it...”

“Who's gonna activate it?” Stan gently-more or less-put himself between Ford and the door. “Look, Stanford, I get it, you wanna get rid of the thing, but you don't have to do it right now. Not anymore. Right now you're supposed to be in bed, remember?”

Ford faltered somewhat. “I...I have to...”

“Look at it this way,” Fiddleford said. “That's gonna be delicate work, dismantling that thing. If you try to do that now, while you're still sick, you're a lot more liable to make mistakes. It'd be safer to wait until you're doin' better.”

Ford slumped. His face gave away his exhaustion, but there was still a spark of desperate, driven panic in his eyes.

“Look,” Stan said. “I promise you, no one's gonna do anything to that portal while you're getting better, okay? I don't know who would, but if anyone tried, they'd have to go through me.”

And then, before he could stop himself, he added, “You can trust me.”

Ford opened his mouth and closed it again. Stan wished he hadn't said that; he could see the struggle written all over Ford's face, the force of deepset paranoia still not shaken. Trust no one. Trust no one.

But then, to his surprise, Ford nodded once and turned away from the door.

“Alright,” he said. “Alright...but as soon as...as soon as I can...”

“Yep,” Stan said, guiding his brother back towards the study with relief. “As soon as you can. But not any sooner.”

Once situated back in the study with the space heater and a lot of blankets, Ford's resolve wore out pretty quickly. Stan turned the lights down and left him sleeping soundly. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he thought that Ford was already starting to look better, despite his still-swollen eye and horrible pallor. Of course, cleaning up all the blood had probably helped a fair amount.

Fiddleford muttered something about cleaning up and shuffled off towards the workshop, leaving Stan, for the second time in as many days, standing alone and adrift in his brother's cold, dark house.

The thought made his heart catch in his chest and he had to take a moment to steady himself. Don't be stupid, he told himself, you're fine. Everything's fine now. Bill's gone and Ford's going to get better and there's no threat here, not any more.

Had it really only been two days, though? It was bizarre to think about, after everything that had happened. It felt like it had been years since he'd gotten here, but no: it was only the day before yesterday that he'd been standing on the porch, waiting to see his brother again for the first time in over a decade.

He wondered just how close things had come to it being the last time.

This was no good. If he stood here doing nothing, he was just going to get tangled up in his own stupid thoughts again. There had to be some way he could occupy his time. He thought about taking a nap--he was certainly tired enough--but he didn't think he'd be able to sleep, not yet. Not when his head was still buzzing like this.

Without quite realizing it, he found himself wandering towards the kitchen.

He caught himself in the doorway and stared into the room. There was still a sink full of undone dishes, and clean ones, long since dry, waiting to be put away. And there was still a spatter of blood on the floor, now dried a dull brown.

Stan walked over slowly and put a hand on the edge of the sink.

Wellllllwellwellwellwell, look who we have here!

No.

He braced himself against the sink and took a few deep breaths, willing his suddenly rapid heartbeat to calm down.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What was there to be afraid of? It was just a bunch of dirty dishes--just an empty kitchen--just him standing here, Ford asleep in the study, waiting--no.

A thought occurred to him. He shuffled out of the kitchen, back toward the mess of the living room. It was in even more disarray now than it had been two nights ago, but it didn't take him too long to find his duffel bag underneath the mess of papers Ford had been throwing around, and inside it, his Walkman.

Music had drowned out Bill once; maybe it could do it again.

Stan went back to the kitchen, tucked the cord for the headphones under his shirt to keep it out of the way, and turned the tape on.

He took another deep breath and then, humming quietly, turned the hot water on and began to clean.

Ford woke up to another brief thrill of panic, but it passed sooner this time. The room around him was warm and calm and soothing. He didn't know how long he'd slept; the world outside was still a persistent, timeless white, but it might have had a sense of afternoon about it.

He stirred under the heavy quilt, stretching some very stiff muscles, and wondered if he would feel that fear upon waking for the rest of his life. But then, not too long ago he hadn't thought the rest of his life would be very long at all.

Floorboards creaked outside, and Fiddleford poked his head in the door. “Oh--you're awake.”

He pushed the door open and came in, awkwardly burdened with a bowl, a glass, and several packages of cold medicine. “Here. I brought ya some stuff.”

“Oh.” Ford pulled himself into a sitting position and fumbled for his glasses while Fiddleford set the things down on the bedside table. The bowl had what looked like clear soup in it; the glass was full of orange juice. Ford blinked at it.

“Did I...have orange juice?” he asked.

“Nope,” Fiddleford said. “You didn't have hardly anything. That's why I went grocery shopping for you last night.”

“You didn't have to do that,” Ford muttered.

Fiddleford shrugged. “Someone had to, and evidence suggested it wasn't gonna be you.”

Ford couldn't come up with an appropriate rebuttal to this, so he sipped at the orange juice instead. Fiddleford opened the medicine boxes and tore off a couple of blister packs.

“Take these,” he said, putting them next to the soup bowl. “And try to get that soup down. I don't reckon you have any calories left in you at this point.”

He turned to leave.

“Fidds,” Ford said. “Wait a minute.”

Fiddleford paused at the door. “You need something else?”

“No--that is--I just--”

Ford swallowed hard, feeling the ache in his throat all too keenly.

“...I...didn't thank you,” he said at last.

“Ah,” Fiddleford said. “...Well, uh...you're-”

“I--I wouldn't be here without you,” Ford stumbled on. “I mean. You fixed that gun right in the nick of time.”

“I'm glad,” Fiddleford said.

Ford looked down at his lap and twisted his fingers around. “How's, um...so, um, the gun, is it-”

“Busted,” Fiddleford said. “Whole thing melted in on itself. Couldn't repair it now if I wanted to.”

“Oh,” Ford said. “...I'm sorry.”

Fiddleford folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “No, you're not.”

Ford hesitated over this for a long moment.

“You're right,” he said at last. “I can't honestly say that I'm sorry the gun is destroyed. But...I am sorry that your work was destroyed. If that makes sense.”

Fiddleford tilted his head to one side contemplatively. “Fair enough.”

Ford sighed.

Then he looked up suddenly. “Wait. What was that about even if you wanted to--”

“I'm not remaking it,” Fiddleford said.

Ford opened and shut his mouth a few times. “You...you're not?”

“No.” Fiddleford wrapped his arms even tighter around himself and stared at the far wall.“I...everything that I did to try to forget...what I saw, what I did...in the end it didn't matter. When it had me cornered, all it had to do was say a few things and it all started coming back...you were right that it never permanently removed memories. I don't...know that it ever worked the way I intended it to.”

“Oh,” Ford said. “So...you want to try to improve it, then--”

“No.”

“...no?”

Fiddleford took a while answering.

“When I say it didn't matter,” he said at last. “I don't just mean the gun didn't work the way it was meant to. I mean...it didn't matter. I thought I was getting better, I thought I was doing better, but it...just made no difference, when it came down to it. It only gave that thing more power over me. Something to use against me...you were right about that, too. It wasn't any good trying to hide from it, trying to run. Everything that I lost, that I was willing to lose, it didn't stop it at all. It was hurting you and I couldn't do anything and...”

“Fidds,” Ford broke in gently. “You did do something. I only have one broken finger, don't I? I could have had twelve.”

Fiddleford sighed. “Yeah, but...there was a moment, a long moment, when I couldn't do anything. And...even earlier than that. When I came here, and I thought, for a minute, that things had gotten so bad that there were...other people being hurt...and I thought, my God, I could have stopped that. I know you, uh--I mean, I found out what was goin' on, but...that thought stuck with me. Somehow it all got more real then. It wasn't...it wasn't just a boogeyman, it wasn't something I could say was just haunting my dreams, it was...it was someone real getting hurt. Right in front of me.You know what I mean?”

“I suppose I do.”

“It's not that I don't want to forget it all again,” Fiddleford went on. “Lord knows I do. I--I want it so bad, if the gun wasn't broken, I don't think I could resist...so it's gonna stay broken, from now on. There's just--too much to lose.”

Ford smiled. “Good for you. I mean--it really is better this way, Fiddleford.”

“Don't lecture me.”

“Sorry.”

There was silence for a few minutes. Gradually the awkwardness eased into something softer.

“What are you going to do about your cul--society?” Ford asked eventually. “Wasn't the memory gun sort of, erm, important to them?”

“Oh, they'll cope,” Fiddleford said easily. “I think it was more of a hobby for most of 'em than anything. They liked feeling ominous. Poor Ivan might take a bit of talking down, but he'll come around. He ain't got much choice.”

“And you?” Ford asked. “How are you doing?”

“Awful,” Fiddleford said bluntly. “Every time I close my eyes I see it all over again, with that hammer...” He sighed and ruffled a hand through his disheveled mop of hair. “But...I think it's...it does feel better, now. To know that it's gone. You know, no matter how often I used that gun, I couldn't get rid of that feeling of--waiting. Of something dreadful coming.”

He smiled slightly. “Maybe I'll try some of those meditation exercises of yours. See if they work any better this time.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Ford said, perking up a little. “I could show you-”

“Ah-ah, not right now. Right now you need to finish that soup and rest.”

“I've been resting,” Ford grumbled.

“Rest more,” Fiddleford said, and turned to go.

“Wait,” Ford said. “Fidds?”

“Yeah?”

“You--you know you can stay here, right?” Ford said. “I mean--you know--not that you have to, or anything--but-if you didn't want to be alone...I know it's hard. So. I mean.”

Fiddleford paused, hand on his chin. “I might take you up on that. If I can find anywhere to sleep, that is.”

Ford coughed and went a little red. “You might have to move a few things around,” he admitted.

“Well...” Fiddleford smiled slightly. “I suppose it's not much worse than our dorm room, come to that.”

Ford smiled as well. “Just...do me a favor? I mean, not that you haven't done enough--sorry--”

“What is it, Stanford?”

Ford looked down at his hands. “Keep an eye on Stan for me, would you? I'm--I'm afraid he's going to try to slip away while I'm not watching and I...I don't want him to leave yet. Not like that, I mean.”

Fiddleford glanced out the window. More snow was beginning to fall. “Well, I don't think he's going anywhere too soon, but...sure. I will.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure. Drink your soup.”

Ford rolled his eyes, but he drank his soup. He was surprised at how good it was; after who-knew-how-long skipping meals, the simple broth tasted like ambrosia itself, which was impressive considering he could barely taste anything at the moment.

Fiddleford left, apparently satisfied, and Ford leaned back against the pillow and watched the snow fall as he finished the soup.

The house was very quiet for the next few days. There were no more blizzards, but snow fell periodically in a stubborn, methodical kind of way. Ford mostly slept, waking occasionally to eat or take medicine or complain.

Fiddleford and Stan, by some mutual unspoken agreement, began to tidy the house. They threw nothing away, but they stacked up the books and cleared the paper from the floor, and washed a small mountain of laundry. Fiddleford organized the workshop; Stan took a bottle of bleach to the bathroom and scrubbed until all the accusatory rust-colored splotches were gone. He tried not to think very much while he was doing it.

Fiddleford slept in the arm chair, when he did sleep. Stan cleared off Ford's bed and slept there. The first night he was too tired to pay much more attention than was absolutely necessary, but the second night, he stubbed his toe on a cardboard box and, cursing, leaned down to get a better look at his assailant.

The top of the box was open slightly, and whatever was inside was brightly colored. Stan frowned, curiosity getting the better of him, and opened it all the way.

It was a stack of comics.

His comics.

In wonderment, Stan hauled the box up onto the bed and sat there, pulling out one issue after another. Batman and Superman and the Flash. Justice League. Green Lantern. Most of them weren't in very good shape-Stan had never been too gentle with his comics-but they had been stacked neatly and carefully in the box.

Ford hadn't thrown them out at all.

Stan had to put them all to one side for a little while so they didn't get wet while he sobbed into his hands. But later he fell asleep reading them.

On the afternoon of the third day, Ford shuffled into the bathroom, took a very long shower, and shaved thoroughly. Afterwards, he found Stan and Fiddleford in the kitchen, eating sandwiches.

He went over the counter, started making a sandwich for himself, and said, “Tomorrow I'm going to start taking the portal apart.”

His voice was still rough and his color bad, but he sounded determined. Stan and Fiddleford glanced at each other.

“Alright,” Fiddleford said at last. “But you let us do the heavy lifting, okay?”

“Fine,” Ford said. “But one way or another, it's coming down.”

It was a daunting task. As the three of them stood in the basement the next morning, looking up at the huge ring, Stan wondered how exactly they were going to dismantle the entire thing by themselves. Come to that, he wondered exactly how Ford and Fiddleford had gotten it up by themselves.

“This thing is safe to be around, right?” he said nervously. He remembered the noise the portal had made in Ford's mind, remembered falling into it. He knew it hadn't ever really happened, but it felt like it had, felt like a real memory in his head.

“Don't worry, Stanley,” Ford said, with more confidence than Stan was entirely sure he could back up. “The portal's deactivated. It would take a ridiculous series of coincidences to start it up now.”

Stan nodded, but he kept his distance from the thing as much as possible.

At first, the process mostly seemed to involve a lot of pulling plugs and disconnecting wires. Stan helped where he could--mostly by lifting heavy things--and loitered on the sidelines when he couldn't, keeping an eye on Ford. The more the work progressed, the more heavy things there were for him to lift, as they started taking apart larger components, and more than once he had to step in before Ford tried to pick up something that was clearly beyond him at the moment. He tried to do the same for Fiddleford as well, but the scrawny engineer turned out to be surprisingly strong.

“I grew up on a farm,” he said, by way of explanation.

Stan woke tired and aching the next day, but he didn't think anything of it. He'd spent the day before doing a lot more heavy work than he was used to, after all. It was hardly surprising. And if he couldn't seem to get warm, that wasn't strange either, considering how cold it was in Ford's house.

It didn't occur to him that anything was wrong at all until Ford had to wake him up for the third time.

“Stan, are you alright?”

Stan blinked, seeing his brother's concerned face swim into partial focus. He'd dozed off in a corner, using a toolbox as a pillow. It was hardly a comfortable position, but he was exhausted enough to not care.

“Yeah, 'm fine,” he muttered, sitting up and wincing at the crick in his neck. “Just tired. Guess I'm even more out of shape than I thought...”

He coughed.

Ford was still looking worried. “Are--are you sure? Only-”

“'Course I'm sure,” Stan said, and promptly started coughing again. This time it went on for a while.

When he finally caught his breath he looked up to see that Ford had gone white. “Stan, you're--you're not well,” he gabbled. “What's--what's wrong? What is it? Do you have a fever? Here, let me see--”

“Get off,” Stan said, swatting Ford's hand away as he tried to feel Stan's forehead. “I'm alright.”

“You're sick!” It was almost a wail. Stan stared. He didn't understand why Ford was acting like this.

“What's the problem?” Fiddleford had come over to investigate.

“Stan's sick,” Ford said, digging a hand through his hair frantically.

“I told you, I'm fine.” To prove it, Stan stood up, trying to ignore how dizzy this made him. “I was just takin' a quick nap and next thing I know Ford's over here freaking out-”

Fiddleford squinted at him. “You do look kinda flushed,” he said. “But it doesn't exactly seem like an emergency.”

“What if it's serious?” Ford demanded. “Who knows what you could have picked up, Stan, living the way you do--”

“Hey now,” Stan growled, starting to get riled. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“We have to take this seriously!” Ford insisted, wringing his hands. “Stan, if--what if you--I can't lose you again!”

The basement rang with the sudden silence.

“Ford,” Stan said, reeling. “You're not--you're not gonna lose me, okay?”

“He probably just picked up whatever you had,” Fiddleford pointed out.

This just made Ford more distraught. “So it's my fault!”

“No, that's not--” Fiddleford pinched the bridge of his nose. “What I meant was, you're gettin' over it just fine, and that was what with--well, a whole lotta things not exactly conducive to a swift recovery. So Stan's gonna be fine too. Okay?”

Ford was still shaking, but gradually and with great effort he relaxed a little.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Good,” Fiddleford said encouragingly. “Let's take a break, yeah? I could do with one anyway.”

They adjourned upstairs. Ford kept glancing at Stan as if afraid he was going to drop dead on the spot. It quickly got irritating, but Stan tried to let it go. Ford looked so worried, and it was disconcerting.

He sat in the kitchen staring at a spot on the wall that seemed oddly interesting while the nerds conferred in whispers just outside the door. To his amusement most of the whispering sounded like Ford being gently but firmly calmed down.

Eventually they came back into the kitchen and Fiddleford announced that they were going into town after lunch. “Gonna get the heating turned back on,” he said. “I'd say it's about time, wouldn't you?”

“Definitely,” Stan said vehemently.

“Also we're nearly out of cold medication,” Fiddleford went on. “I didn't know one man could take so much in so short a time. To be honest, I was a little worried about him but he seems to have survived.”

“I'm standing right here,” Ford pointed out from over by the stove, where he was dumping canned soup into a pot with a mutinous expression.

“Anyway,” Fiddleford went on without missing a beat, “if you wouldn't mind staying here and watching the house while we go do that--”

Stan could tell an excuse to make him stay behind and not wear himself out when he heard one, but he couldn't really be bothered to argue, especially if it would make Ford feel better. So he just shrugged and said, “Yeah, alright.”

Once the two of them had left, he settled down into the armchair, intending to read some more of the comics he had found. This plan did not take especially well.

He had been dozing for a while when he was woken by a knock at the door.

It took a while for the noise to register, during which it got increasingly loud and insistent. At last he got up and stumbled toward the door, wondering who could possibly be visiting Ford's house, here on this dead-end road in the middle of nowhere. He was pretty sure Ford didn't have any friends in the area besides Fiddleford--somehow, despite how long he'd lived there. Maybe Ford and Fiddleford had just locked themselves out. That was the most likely explanation.

Or...it could be something worse. A prickle ran up the back of his neck. What if it was the cops coming by to ask questions about Ford's weird set-up, or someone from the college demanding to know what he was doing with the grant money? Or someone from Fiddleford's weird cult?

By the time he got to the door, Stan was wide awake and his heart was pounding frantically. He tried to remember all the exits to the house, but he wasn't sure it mattered. He couldn't get very far on foot in this weather and in this condition.

“Open up!” someone called, pounding on the door as he approached and breaking into his thoughts. “I know you're in there!”

Stan squinted through the peephole. There was a woman standing on the porch, tallish with long blonde hair, wrapped in a winter coat and scarf but still shivering. She didn't look especially official.

“What do you want?” he shouted through the door.

There was a brief pause. The woman looked a bit confused at first, but then her expression hardened back into determined anger. “I want my husband back, you jerk!”

This threw Stan so much that he opened the door just to say, “What?”

“I haven't seen him in months and I know you're responsible, Stanford Pines!” the woman snapped. “What are you doing up here? Where is he?”

“Whoa, hang on,” Stan said, putting his hands up as the woman advanced on him. “I think you've got the wrong--”

“I haven't got the wrong anything!” the woman yelled. “You called Fiddleford up here for your damn project and I was patient, oh yes, I was fair, never mind that we had a newborn, I didn't mind him coming up here to help you out if he wanted to! But it's been weeks since I even got a phone call from him and that isn't like him at all! What did you get him into, Stanford?”

“Lady, please--” Stan tried.

“Don't you 'lady' me!” A finger jabbed straight into his face. “I know what you're like, Stanford! I know the kind of projects you do! And I know you can talk Fiddleford into doing anything because he's too nice to say no! If you got him in trouble, I swear to God-”

“I'm not Stanford,” Stan finally managed to get out desperately.

“Not--? Do you take me for a fool, Pines? I've known you since college! You can't just take your glasses off and think I won't recognize you!”

“I'm his twin brother,” Stan said.

The woman paused, and for a moment Stan thought she might believe him. Then he realized she was just building up steam. “His twin brother? That is the worst excuse I have ever heard in my life! I always knew you were a terrible liar, but that is something else--”

“No, really! Look!” Stan held up his hands, fingers spread. “Look! Ten, see?”

The woman halted mid-lambast and stared at Stan's hands. “O-oh...”

Then she grabbed one of Stan's hands and examined it critically. “But that's amazing. Identical twins but only one expresses the polydactylism gene? How fascinating--”

“Um,” Stan said.

She flushed and dropped his hand quickly. “Sorry! Sorry, I just--I get distracted. I'm a biologist, you see. Um. Oh dear, and I shouted at you rather a lot, didn't I...”

“It's alright,” Stan said. “I just didn't want you to waste such a good rant on the wrong guy.”

The woman gave him a small, embarrassed smile. “Sorry. I'm not usually like this, I swear, but--well, things have been, um, trying lately. I don't suppose you know where my husband is? Only the last I knew he was working with Stanford, and I went to the address he gave me but there was no one there--”

“Uh,” Stan said again. “You mean Fiddleford?”

“That's right, yes.” She looked up hopefully. “Fiddleford McGucket?”

“Yeah, he's--he's safe. He--um, it's kind of a long story, but he and Ford are in town right now. They should be back before too long.”

“He's okay?”

“Yeah,” Stan said, feeling a big guilty. Safe was not a lie, but he wasn't sure if describing Fiddleford as okay right now was entirely true.

“Alright then. Alright.” The woman let out a long breath. “So why the hell hasn't he called?!”

Stan winced and drew back.

“Sorry, sorry. Not your fault.” Fiddleford's wife rubbed her brow with one hand, then looked up. “At least--it's not your fault, is it?”

“Um. I don't think so? I only got here a week ago.”

“Probably not then.” She slumped a little. “Do you-is it alright if I wait here, then? For them to come back?”

“Oh--oh yeah, yeah!” Stan drew back, gesturing inside. “Sorry--”

“No problem. I'm Madeline, by the way. Madeleine McGucket.” She held out a hand. Stan shook it.

“Stanley,” he said. “Stan, usually.”

Madeline raised an eyebrow. “Stanford and Stanley?”

Stan made a face. “Our dad wasn't real creative.”

“Hmmm.” Madeline stepped inside, and Stan shut the door behind her. “Wow. It's not much warmer in here, is it?”

“That's mostly what they went to town for--to get the heat turned back on. I think Ford got behind on his payments.”

“I see,” Madeline muttered as Stan led her into the kitchen. She sat at the table, biting her lip, while Stan made tea.

“Thank you so much,” she said as he handed her a steaming cup.

“Sure,” he said, taking a seat next to her.

“Stan, um, I don't suppose...I don't suppose you know what's going on? With my husband and--and with Stanford, I mean? Is Fiddleford in trouble?”

Stan thought about Ford saying I ignored him and he paid a terrible price for it; about Fiddleford's apartment covered in drawings of crossed-out eyes; about the way the dreamy look on his face as he talked about his family had turned to one of horror as he struggled to remember why he had abandoned them; about him holding Ford down while Bill kicked and spat in his face.

“You know what,” he said, “it's probably better if you wait and ask him and Ford about that.”

By the time Ford and Fiddleford got back, Stan and Madeline had gone through two more cups of tea and the topics of the weather, various movies, Fiddleford and Madeline's college days, their wedding, Fiddleford's dreams of making computers and Madeline's dreams of raising hybrid plants, and were in the middle of an extensive lecture on biology in which Madeline was making use of a bag of jellybeans to explain dominant and recessive genes and the concept of incomplete penetrance when they heard the car pull in.

“Hello?” Ford called as the door opened. Stan took the opportunity to steal some jellybeans. “Stan, is someone else here? We saw a car-”

They walked into the kitchen and stopped cold.

“Madeline!” Fiddleford exclaimed, and ran to embrace her. “I'm so glad to see you--”

Then he stopped and drew up. “But what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Madeline said. “In fact, I came all the way up here from Palo Alto to ask you that exact question. What are you doing here and what is going on and why haven't I heard from you for weeks?”

Fiddleford blanched. “Um. It's...complicated.”

“It was my fault,” Ford said.

Madeline turned toward him, looking downright deadly. “I don't doubt it was your fault, Stanford,” she said quietly. “What did you get my husband into?”

Ford fidgeted almost manically. Stan couldn't blame him. “I...the project I brought him up here for...it...did not go as expected. There were complications...um...serious complications...”

“Such as?” Madeline demanded.

“A...source of information I thought was trustworthy turned out to not be so,” Ford said. “The project became dangerous, we had to shut it down...that's what we've been doing. I'm sorry, I've been keeping Fiddleford here working on it--”

“It wasn't all your fault,” Fiddleford said softly. “I've...made some mistakes, Maddie.”

Madeline's face softened slightly. “Mistakes?”

Fiddleford hesitated.

Stan stood up hurriedly, almost knocking the table over. “Hey, Ford, did you know I'm a genetic anomaly?”

“Really?” Ford said, with a remarkable amount of interest. “How very fascinating.”

“Yeah, how about we go somewhere...not here...and I'll tell you all about it.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Stanley, I think I'll take you up on it.”

“Don't go too far,” Madeline called after them as they beat a hasty retreat from the kitchen. “I might very well still need to have words with you, Stanford.”

Ford looked like he had nearly swallowed his tongue. “Of course,” he muttered.

The conversation went on for a quite a while. Ford cleaned the living room manically, while Stan went back to dozing in the armchair. Occasionally they heard raised voices, usually along the lines of “He did WHAT?” or “You did WHAT?”

Finally the voices stopped. Ford glanced anxiously toward the door. A moment later, Madeline appeared in the doorway, with Fiddleford trailing behind her.

She strode across the room and slapped Ford hard across the face.

Ford winced and rubbed his jaw. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“You did,” Madeline said. “Honestly, Stanford Pines, of all the stupid, senseless, dangerous things a man could do--”

She stopped and took a deep breath and said,“But you're cleaning it up now, aren't you?”

“Yes,” Ford said earnestly.

Madeline sighed. “Well, you're a right idiot,” she said, sounding a little calmer, “but I knew that. Still, you oughta be damned grateful my husband got out of this mess intact.”

“I am!” Ford said. “Erm, and not just because you would revenge murder me otherwise.”

“Damn straight I would.” Madeline shook her head. “Just promise me one thing, Stanford. The next time a demon from another dimension comes around handing out advice, don't listen to it.”

Ford gaped. “How much did you tell her?” he demanded from Fiddleford.

“All of it.” Fiddleford shrugged at Ford's glare. “What? She's my wife.”

“That's right. And right now, your wife is taking you home.”

“What, all the way back to California? Now?” Ford said, and gulped when Madeline swung her head toward him. “I mean--”

“No, not back to California, just back to my apartment,” Fiddleford said, taking pity on him. “We're gonna...sort some things out.”

“Tate is with my mom, so I can stay for a few days,” Madeline said. “It's too late to travel now anyway. But whatever you need Fiddleford for on this project, you'd better get done before we leave, because he's coming back home with me.”

“Of course,” Ford said, looking relieved.

“Take care of yourself, Stan,” Madeline said. “That sounds like a nasty bit of flu you picked up. Drink a lot of fluids.”

“She seems to like you,” Ford muttered as the two of them left.

Stan shrugged. “I'm a likable guy. Also, I didn't cause her husband to almost die and then go insane.”

Ford couldn't come up with an answer for that one. Fortunately for him, a serviceable distraction came along in the form of the heat finally coming back on.

The flu hit Stan hard the next day. He woke up late in the morning coughing, got up long enough to take some pills, and promptly went back to bed and wrapped himself as tightly as he could in the blankets. Everything hurt. He felt like he'd been run over by a truck.

He napped for a while, got up, took another pill, drank some juice, went back to bed, and discovered in disgust that he couldn't nap any more but was too tired to do anything else. He watched the snow falling outside, not thinking of anything in particular except how much his chest hurt.

There was a soft knock on the door and Ford poked his head in.

“You need help with something?” Stan asked, sitting up with a groan.

“No, no! Please, lay back down.” Ford looked nervous. He was holding something behind his back. “I...decided to halt working on the portal for the afternoon.”

Stan frowned. “But you were so worried about it-”

“Yes, but Fiddleford's still at home, and you...”

“I'm alright. I can work if you need--”

“No, it's alright, really! I insist. Anyway, we've gotten a lot of work done already. I'm...not as concerned as I was, anymore. Most of the volatile components are safely contained, and anyone attempting to use it would have to do a considerably amount of work to reconstruct it first.”

“Hang on,” Stan said. “Volatile components--?”

Ford coughed. “The point is, that's not why I'm here.”

Stan squinted at him. “So why are you here?”

Ford glanced from side to side and deflated a little. “This is probably silly...”

“Spit it out, Poindexter.”

“Well...it's just...” Ford fidgeted. “You know how, when we were kids...I used to read to you sometimes? Like when you were sick?”

Stan raised his eyebrows. “You came here to read to me?”

“You know what, this was a bad idea. I'll just leave you to rest--”

“No, wait,” Stan said as Ford turned. “I didn't say no.”

Ford paused in the doorway. “You mean it?”

“Yeah, sure,” Stan said. “I mean--only cause I can't sleep and you don't have a TV. No other reason.”

“Of course.” Ford pulled the chair away from the desk and carried it over to the bed. “So, you said you had read The Lord of the Rings. Did you ever read The Hobbit?”

“Nope. What's that?”

“Ah.” Ford got an especially nerdy look on his face. “It's the prequel to The Lord of the Rings. It's for a younger audience--Tolkien originally conceived of it as a bedtime story for his son. I thought you might like it.”

“Right,” Stan said. “You think I need something for a younger audience.”

“What? No!” Ford looked up in alarm. “I-that's not it.”

“Sure.”

“No, really. I thought you might like it because...well...” Ford rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Because it's about someone who...goes on an adventure even though he doesn't exactly want to, and he misses his comfortable home, but he rises to the occasion and...he's very brave and clever and outwits all his enemies. Also he saves the day by stealing something at the right moment.”

“Huh,” Stan said. “Y'know, that does sound like something I might like.”

“Also he wins a lot of treasure.”

“That definitely sounds like something I would like.”

Ford smiled slightly, settled into the chair, and opened the book.

“Comfortable?” he said. Stan nodded. “Alright. Ahem. In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit...”

The next few days went by quietly. Fiddleford came over less and less, more often holding long phone conversations with Ford. They were, Stan took it, almost done with dismantling the portal, and Fiddleford and Madeline were leaving soon.

So when he was woken one afternoon by the phone ringing, he stumbled towards it and picked up the receiver without thinking, expecting it to be Fiddleford again. After all, he couldn't think of anyone else who want to call Ford. He was only half-awake anyway, which was officially his excuse for picking up a phone and giving away his location without thinking. It would come back to bite him very quickly.

“Yeah?” he said, stifling a yawn.

There was a pause on the other end. Stan frowned at the receiver. “Yeah? What is it?”

“...Stanley?” the voice on the other end said.

It was not Fiddleford.

It was Shermie.

Stan's mind went completely blank except for the thought oh shit circling around and around like an airplane trying to land.

“Um,” he said helplessly. “No?”

“What do you mean, no?” Shermie spluttered. “That is you, isn't it?!”

oh shit oh shit oh shit “Um, um, um,” Stan said. “Um, listen, you know what, I have to--”

“STANLEY PINES IF YOU HANG UP THIS PHONE NOW YOU WON'T LIVE TO REGRET IT.”

Stan winced and dug a finger around in his ear. “Alright, alright! I'm not goin' anywhere...”

“Good,” Shermie said, and took a deep breath. “Where the HELL have you BEEN? What were you THINKING just taking off like that? Do you KNOW how worried I've been?”

“I did leave a note,” Stan said meekly.

“A note! Yes! One goddamn note on the fridge in the middle of the night! One note does not fix anything, Stanley! It's been five years, I was starting to think you were dead! Why did you leave?”

Stan stood there alone in the waiting silence and didn't know what to say.

“Are you still there?” Shermie said eventually. “You'd better still be there.”

“Yeah--yeah, I'm still here,” Stan said. “Look, Shermie, it's not that I didn't appreciate what you were willing to do for me and all, it's just...I couldn't just stay there and be a burden on you.”

Shermie made a strangled kind of noise. “You...Stan, you wouldn't have been a burden on anyone. We easily had enough money to put you up.”

“So I should've just, what? Stayed there and sucked up your money without doing anything to make it up?”

“No,” Shermie said, sounding agonized. “You...you wouldn't have been...we were trying to help you, Stan.”

Stan sighed. “Shermie, you know I ruin everything I touch. I didn't want to do that to you-”

“You do no such thing!” Shermie cried. “You're my brother! I just wanted you to be safe and happy--”

Stan laughed, and instantly regretted it. It made an already difficult conversation even more awkward.

There was silence for a moment.

“Look,” Shermie said eventually. “We'll talk about that later, just...tell me what's going on with you right now. You're at Ford's? Does that mean you guys made up?”

“Uh,” Stan said. “Yeah, I guess we did.”

“That's great!” Shermie sounded genuinely thrilled. “What finally made it happen?”

“Um...well, Ford called me up here--”

“Ford called you?” Shermie said. “I didn't see that coming...sorry, sorry, go on.”

“He needed my help,” Stan explained. “And then, um...we kind of fought for a while, but...we made up eventually.”

“Ford needed help? With what?”

“Uhhhhhh,” Stan said. “He...got in a spot of trouble. It's all good now though,” he added hurriedly.

“...Right,” Shermie said. “Well, I'm glad to hear that...I suppose. How long are you going to be there?”

Stan paused.

“I...don't know,” he said, realizing that in fact, he didn't.

“Well--that's okay. I'm just glad to know that you're okay now.”

Stan mulled that one over. “I guess I am,” he said.

“Is Ford there? I need to yell at him too.”

“Uh, yeah, he's in his lab. I'll go get him.”

He put the phone down--gingerly, as though it might go off--and went to find one the walkie-talkie he'd been using to relay things between Ford and Fiddleford when he was on the phone. He could see why the two of them had gotten the things in the first place; it certainly cut down on a lot of time going up and down the stairs.

There was a pause after he first radioed for Ford. Stan could imagine Ford extricating himself from underneath some panel with a dramatic groan and fumbling about for the walkie-talkie underneath whatever it had gotten buried beneath this time.

“Stanley? What is it?”

“You have a phone call,” Stan said.

“What? From Fidds? Alright, put him on--”

“No.”

“What?” Ford's puzzled frown was almost audible. “Well, tell whoever it is to call back. I'm in the middle of--”

“It's Shermie. And I don't think you want me to tell him to wait.”

There was a choking sound on the other end, and Stan almost felt guilty for drawing the news out like that. But if he had to have a rude surprise, so did Ford.

“Shermie's calling? Why? What does he want?” Ford sounded almost frantic.

“Um, I'm not actually sure. Just to check up on you, I guess.”

There was another pause, of a rather different tone. “I'll be right up,” Ford said.

Stan grinned to himself, tossed the walkie-talkie back onto the table, and went back to the phone. “He's coming,” he told Shermie.

“Good,” Shermie said firmly. Then, “Are you alright, Stan? You sound even worse than usual.”

Stan was about to wave that one aside, but unfortunately a wave of coughing hit him first.

“I'm a bit sick,” he had to admit when it finally subsided. “No big deal.”

“That sounded like a pretty big deal,” Shermie said, concerned.

Stan sighed and searched about for something to make Shermie lay off before he got too worked up.

“Don't worry,” he said. “I'm being taken care of.”

Ford came into the kitchen at not quite a run, smoothing down his shirt as if out of some misplaced desire to look presentable, and took the phone away from a grateful Stan. “Sherman,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise. Unfortunately I'm in the middle of some delicate work at the moment, so if you could call back--”

“Nice try, Stanford,” Shermie said. “Whatever your work is, you can put it on hold. You've got some questions to answer.”

“Um--”

“Like why haven't you been calling me like you said you would? Or answering the phone? Or your mail? Why have I had to start wondering if you were dead, Stanford?”

“...I...may have lost phone service for a while,” Ford muttered. “Also my mailbox.”

“You lost your mailbox?”

“It's a long story.”

Shermie sighed heavily. “You could have made some effort. I've been worried sick about you! What's been going on?”

“Ahh...” Ford said. “That's...it's...it's a long story.”

“And Stanley's at your house now? How did that happen? Why didn't you tell me you two made it up?”

“I've...been busy,” Ford said defensively. “It wasn't that long ago anyway.”

“Busy doing what, exactly?”

Ford said nothing.

“Right,” Shermie said. “I'm coming up there.”

“What?” Ford spluttered. “No, don't!--I mean, it's really not a good time, it's a mess up here--”

“I can see that I'm not going to get any answers from either of you two over the phone,” Shermie said firmly. “I need to corner you in person. And wring the truth out of you.”

Ford swallowed hard. “Um. Um--you know what, why don't we visit you instead?”

Shermie paused. “Well...you sure about that?”

“Yes,” Ford said. “I...I could stand to get away from here for a little while.”

“Alright then,” Shermie said begrudgingly. “But I'm holding you to it. If you don't show up, I will come up there, and I won't tell you about it either. I won't even knock. I'll just be in your house. See how you like that.”

“Noted,” Ford muttered.

He managed to arrange a tentative date before hastily saying good-bye and hanging up. Stan eyed him. “Did you just volunteer me to go visit Shermie?”

“It was either that or him coming here,” Ford said wearily. “I don't think we're getting out of this one, Stan.”

Stan sat down at the table and put his head in one hand. “What am I going to say to him? After all this time? What if he wants me to live with him again?”

Ford blinked owlishly. “Why would he want that?”

“I sure don't know,” Stan muttered. “But it's what he wanted last time. Tryin' to make sure I had a proper home and everything.”

“But--you're living here.”

Stan looked up in shock. Ford stared at him, looking not much less shocked.

“I...I mean,” Ford said. “You...well, if you want to--”

“Wh--Ford, I can't stay here forever,” Stan said, still thrown.

Ford sat down at the table, rather hard. “What do you mean?”

“Well...I...” Stan stammered, trying to figure out how to get across what should have been obvious. “I can't just--Ford, I can't just stay here and mooch off you. I, I mean-”

--all you ever do is lie and cheat and ride on your brother's coattails--

“I mean, you don't want me here,” he said.

“Yes I do,” Ford said. He was still staring, like Stan was the one not making any sense.

“No you don't,” Stan said. “Ford...you've got this, this house, this college money, you're doing all this impressive science shit, and I...I'm just a failed conman. Why would you want me around, being a leech?”

“Because I like having you around,” Ford said, and to Stan's amazement his brother's voice broke. “Don't you remember what that was like? The two of us, enjoying each other's company?”

Stan hesitated.

“Of course I do,” he said. “But...things are...different now. Aren't they?”

“I don't know,” Ford said. “Do they have to be?”

Stan shook his head. “You'd get tired of me,” he said. “You're just being generous now, but you'd get tired of me real quick-”

Ford sighed. “Look, Stan, if you really don't want to stay I understand, but I promise I won't get tired of you.”

“It's not that I don't want to stay,” Stan mumbled. “It's just...”

“It's just what?”

Stan knew the answer, but it was harder to get out than he had realized. It felt like something buried so deep inside that he had to unearth a great deal of himself to get it out.

At long last, not daring to look at his brother, he said, “I...haven't earned it yet.”

He heard Ford release a breath. “Is this because of what Dad said?”

Stan blinked. “What Dad said?”

“That whole stupid thing--about not coming home until you made enough money--”

Stan shrugged. “I don't know,” he said. “I mean, Dad was right, you know. I'd never done anything useful in my life, and I still haven't--”

“No he wasn't,” Ford said.

“What?”

“He wasn't. He wasn't right at all. Stan, listen to me-Dad was wrong. He never should have said that. I never should have let him say that. And...and you shouldn't have to spend the rest of your life under that. You shouldn't have to listen to Dad anymore.”

Stan could only stare at him.

“This is my house,” Ford said. “I decide who has the right to stay here. And I'm not letting you get thrown out again. If you really want I'm sure you can find a job somewhere around here, or--or I could probably get the grant board to let me hire you on as an official assistant, there's lots of things you could do--but you don't have to earn anything. Alright?”

“Well...” Stan began, still not entirely convinced.

“You saved my life,” Ford said desperately. “Stan, I wouldn't still be here if not for you. That's got to be worth something, right?”

“I suppose so,” Stan muttered.

“It doesn't have to be forever,” Ford said. “We can just...we can take it one day at a time. But please at least give it a shot?”

Stan wanted to say yes. He wanted to so bad he could taste it, but at the same time he couldn't believe it was true, couldn't believe that as soon as he said it the chance wouldn't be ripped away from him all over again.

But Ford was looking at him, and waiting, and somehow he couldn't bring himself to turn his brother down, either.

It was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do in his life to say, “Alright. I'll stay.”

Ford's beaming face in response was worth the effort.

[dipulb3]

OK, Google: Pixel Buds 2 are the real deal

New Post has been published on https://appradab.com/ok-google-pixel-buds-2-are-the-real-deal/

OK, Google: Pixel Buds 2 are the real deal

When Google unveiled its new true wireless Pixel Buds 2 ($179) last October, they seemed like a big upgrade over the original models. The Pixel Buds, which debuted in 2017, had a cord between them and earned decidedly mixed reviews thanks to their loopy Mentos-esque design and middling sound. But at the 2019 launch event for the new Buds, the prototype models weren’t working, so I was left wondering how they sounded and performed.

Like

Improved fit with stabilizing fin

Hands-free Assistant and Translate feature

Very good sound for true wireless

Excellent call quality

Nice charging case with wireless and USB-C charging

IPX4 sweat-resistant (splashproof)

Don’t Like

No active noise-canceling or transparency

Battery life isn’t stellar at 5 hours

Not quite as comfortable as some rivals

Extra features don’t work with iOS devices

Several months on, I’ve gotten my hands on a pair and can solve the mystery: They sound quite good, perform well and are worthy contenders in the premium true wireless earbuds arena, particularly for Android users.

The Pixel Buds will come in four color options, but at launch, only white will be available.

David Carnoy/CNET

Yes, the wearable Mentos look has returned, but I like the way the stabilizing fin — Google calls it an “arc” — has been integrated into the design. With a little clockwise turn the buds (5.3 grams or 0.19 ounces each) twist securely in place, barely sticking out from my ears. While the original Pixel Buds had an open design like the standard AirPods, these have a noise-isolating design, which means the ear tips get jammed into your ears, sealing them off to the outside world. (It’s important to get a tight seal to maximize sound quality.)

You do get decent passive noise muffling but these don’t offer active noise-canceling like the AirPods Pro, Sony WF-1000XM3, Sennheiser Momentum True Wireless 2 and an increasing number of true wireless earbuds. Some of the Pixel Buds’ closest competitors would be the Galaxy Buds Plus ($150) and the Jabra Elite 75t ($180). I did find those two models slightly more comfortable to wear over longer listening sessions and how you ultimately feel about the fit will depend on the shape of your ear. But the new Pixel Buds should fit most ears well.

The Mentos-shaped buds don’t stick out from your ears too far. 

David Carnoy/CNET

Aside from their improved design and fit over the original Pixel Buds, a few things stand out. First, the 56.1-gram wireless charging case (with USB-C charging port) is really nice. It’s compact, feels solid in your hand and has a smooth matte finish. I liked it better than the AirPods’ case and it feels more premium than Galaxy Buds Plus’ case. Also, the buds are easy to get in and out of it, adhering magnetically to their charging contacts.

These are also the first Google Assistant “hotword-enabled” earbuds. If you have an Android device running Android 6.0 or better, you can simply say, “Hey, Google,” or, “OK, Google,” and Google Assistant is ready to respond to your voice commands. The AirPods and Beats Powerbeats Pro have always-on, hands-free Siri and Amazon’s Echo Buds have the same feature for Alexa.

With new audio systems-on-a-chip from Qualcomm, hands-free access to virtual assistants will come to more true wireless earbuds later this year, but for now it’s pretty unusual. It worked quite well with the Google Pixel 4 XL I was using for this review, with Google Assistant responding quickly to my voice commands. (You can also access Assistant by tapping and holding the right or left earbud.)

After making its debut in the original Pixel Buds, the Google Translate feature returns with the Pixel Buds 2. Again, this is an Android-only feature. You just tell Google Assistant to help you speak whatever language you want, with more than 40 languages supported. You tap and hold either earbud and start speaking in the language listed under the headset icon. Your phone then translates and reads out loud what you said into your selected language. Just before the person you’re talking to speaks, tap the right microphone in Google Translate and their response will be translated into your language and played back through the Pixel Buds. It works surprisingly well, particularly in quieter environments, though the person you’re talking to has to listen to your translated language through your phone’s speakers, which have their volume limitations.

The Pixel Buds 2 are splash-resistant and can be used for running.

David Carnoy/CNET

While I thought the Pixel Buds 2’s sound quality was quite good — more on that in a minute — they performed really well as a headset for making calls. I’m currently not in New York, where I usually test out call quality, but I made some calls and played New York City street noise (via YouTube) in the background as I conversed. I put the volume pretty far up on a set of small speakers and callers were impressed by how little noise they heard around me, though some leaked in when I talked. Google says that “two beamforming mics focus on your voice, while voice accelerometers detect jaw movement to know when you’re talking.” The noise reduction is quite effective. The Pixel Buds 2 are right there with the best earbuds for making calls. 

Read more: Best wireless earbuds and Bluetooth headphones for phone calls

There’s an app for non-Pixel Android devices — with Pixel phones it’s integrated into the system — but no app for iOS devices, which is too bad. You can still use these with iPhones and Macs like standard Bluetooth headphones, but you lose extra features like the always-on Google Assistant.

As I said, there’s no noise-canceling. Instead, there’s an adaptive sound mode that automatically adjusts the volume to the environment you’re in. I didn’t see a transparency mode, but there’s some venting in the earbuds that keeps you from feeling too occluded and allows you to hear your voice in the buds when you’re making a phone call (Google calls it a “spatial vent for in-ear pressure reduction and spatial awareness.”) It’s not a full-on sidetone feature, though; I’d call it sidetone lite. Note that a little sound does leak out of the buds when you really crank your tunes, so you probably don’t want to play these at high volumes in a quiet room with people sitting nearby. 

Dual IR proximity sensors detect when the buds are in your ears and automatically pause your music when you pull one out of your ear and resume when you put it back in. You can also use one bud independently of the other (if you want to go the single-bud route for calls). And it’s also worth noting that I paired the buds to multiple devices, but I had to manually select the previous device from its Bluetooth menu if I wanted to go back to it. Google says the Pixel Buds 2 will store pairings with up to six devices. There’s a pairing button on the case, as there is with the AirPods.

The fit nicely in the wireless charging case.

David Carnoy/CNET

Like the AirPods Pro and Galaxy Buds Plus, these have an IPX4 water-resistance rating, which means they’re splashproof and sweat-resistant. I ran with them without a problem and I thought the touch controls were responsive and worked very well. A swipe feature allows you to control volume from the buds themselves.

Except for a minor Bluetooth glitch or two, my wireless connection remained rock solid and I was able to wander pretty far from my phone (more than the usual 10 meters) before losing the connection. The buds use Bluetooth 5.0, and I didn’t notice any audio lag when watching videos from streaming services like YouTube and Netflix.   

Battery life is similar to that of the AirPods and AirPods Pro — 5 hours, plus an additional 19 hours from the case (a 10-minute charge in the case gives you two hours of battery life, Google says). The Galaxy Buds Plus can deliver up to 11 hours at moderate volume levels. It’s unclear how much the impact the always-on Google Assistant has on battery life, however. 

These have “custom-designed” 12mm dynamic drivers, and, as I said, they sound very good for true wireless, with well-defined bass and good clarity. They’re right there with the Galaxy Buds Plus and Jabra Elite 75t with about the same bass performance or (it may be a touch less plump, depending on the seal you get from the included ear tips, which come in three sizes). The AirPods Pro sound slightly more open but the Pixel Buds 2 are a little more detailed. I didn’t see any way to adjust the bass and treble levels in the settings on the Pixel 4 or in the Android app. 

For sound, these don’t rise to the level of the top sounding true wireless earbuds, which include the Sony WF-1000XM3 and Sennheiser Momentum True Wireless 2. That said, both of those are more expensive, particularly the $300 Sennheiser, which delivers richer, more refined sound with a bigger soundstage. For example, listening to Red Hearse‘s self-titled track with the Sennheiser, the bass goes deeper and there’s a little more sparkle in the treble. The sound from Momentum True Wireless 2 just feels bigger and more immersive.

For better or worse, when it comes to sound, sometimes it helps to compare a headphone to the top models to hear what you’re missing. But if you were just using the Pixel Buds 2 without listening to anything else, most people would be quite pleased with the sound. 

In the end, Google finally has a set of wireless earbuds that are worthy contenders. They’re a little more expensive than the Samsung Galaxy Buds Plus, which are probably the better value — they get discounted $10 or $20 on occasion — but the Pixel Buds 2 are a solid all-around package with some distinguishing features and excellent call quality.  

First published on April 27.

[actualbird]

(wc: 1.5k. sorta sequel to this. michael teaches jeremy more filipino, listens to music, and has a bad day but it’s okay. sappy fluff. pining. oh god pining. bye.)

Michael doesn’t really have a taste music so much as erratic collection of songs and albums he just so happened to get obsessed with. His phone on shuffle has been described as an experience. There was the one week where only soundtracks of 1st gen and 2nd gen Pokemon blasted from his headphones. For three days he only listened Dreams by Fleetwood Mac over and over again. There was Electroswing Saturday, which lasted for a solid month. Last time he and Jeremy got stoned, Michael cried to the lyrics of MacArthur Park.

(“He left the cake out in the rain, dude,” Michael says, high off his bat and overcome with so many emotions he can’t name a single one. “It took so long to make it, Jeremy.”

“I know, it’s okay,” Jeremy pats his head, giggling. Richard Harris croons in the background on tinny speakers. “Shit happens.”

“It took so long the bake it, Jeremy.”

“So long.”

“And he’ll never get that recipe again!” He says over Jeremy’s cackles.)

Today, he finds himself in music limbo, clicking aimlessly on Spotify like a desert wanderer looking for an oasis of kicking jams. After maybe an twenty minutes of impatiently skipping past every random song that didn’t catch his attention, he finally stops on a song.

The first thing that gets him is that the lyrics are in Filipino. Lahat ng hassle ay nawawala. Then the beat comes on, his foot tapping along to it. By the time the chorus hits, Michael knows he’s got another Dreams by Fleetwood Mac situation on his hands. He sets the song on repeat, puts his headphones on, and goes to school.

It takes maybe three more listens for his bilingual ass to actually parse out the lyrics, and by that point, he’s humming along to it in the hallway. By the time it’s lunch, Michael’s singing to it and dance-walking through crowds of students who wordlessly part for Anti-Social Headphones Kid.

“Wala na tayong, mga problema,” he sings, skidding into the cafetorium, eyes scanning around for his favorite lanky boy. Michael finds him sitting at their table eating a fruit cup. “Tanggal lahat ng ating tinik sa dibdib.”

“Michael!” Jeremy greets. Michael doesn’t remove his headphones or stop the song, but he does crank the volume lower so he can hear his best friend. “You look happy. Is it a Marley day?”

“Nah, man, but I did find a great song which I’m gonna listen to on repeat until I get tired of how awesome it is,” Michael says. He slings an arm around Jeremy and sings the soft lyrics still playing “At sa mali mo’y, may liquid paper. Sa—” Oh fuck, wait. “—love life mong panis, control alt delete.”

“Oh, cool, it’s in Filipino.” Jeremy says, no doubt recounting the tangina incident. “What’d those lyrics mean?”

“’For your mistakes, there’s liquid paper. For your, uh, spoiled love life, control alt delete.’” He translates, ruffling Jeremy’s hair. “It’s a great song. Ayuz by Rico Blanco.”

“Awesome, I’ll listen to it later. Speaking of, do you wanna come over after school?” Jeremy asks.

“Don’t you have like, this big trig test tomorrow?” Michael grabs Jeremy’s wrist, stealing a spoonful of fruit.

Jeremy shoves him away, Michael happily snickering. “Yeah, I do but it’s not like studying for one night will actually help. Thought I’d just kick back instead. Is that a yes?”

“When have I ever said no?” he says, met with Jeremy’s stupid dumb gentle smile.

God.

Lunch passes uneventfully, mostly with Michael just rattling off the cool shit he watched on Discovery last night, Jeremy nodding along, asking questions here and there. They part when the bell rings, off to their last few periods.

That’s when Michael’s day goes not so great.

Something is up with his usual chair in class so that it creaks awfully with every move. This wouldn’t have been a problem if he sat still, but Michael hasn’t been still since he was an egg cell. He’s pretty sure it’s physically impossible for somebody to sit and not bounce their leg up and down, but with every move, the chair creaks obnoxiously. With every sound, he gets dirty looks from other students, which just makes Michael more anxious, which makes him bounce his leg more. It’s an ouroboros cycle of nervousness that feels like it lasts forever.

It’s stupid, it’s so stupid, but the whole thing gets him so on edge he can’t focus on anything for the rest of his classes. Every sound is a screech, every voice a yell. Michael can’t put his headphones on during class, so he settles for wearing his hood, but there’s only so much that can do. When class lets out, he scrambles to get his headphones on and lets Rico Blanco tune everything out. Wala na tayong mga problema.  We don’t have any more problems, god, if only.

By the time he meets Jeremy over where he parked his car, he’s pretty sure he looks like shit.

“Whoa, dude, you look like shit,” Jeremy says. Sensory overload be damned, he lowers the volume of his music. Jeremy’s voice never feels like too much for Michael. “What happened?”

“Noisy chair. It’s whatever,” he waves it off, pasting a smile on his face. “Come on.”

He and Jeremy get into his car and Michael tries his best to shake off the uneasiness crawling inside him. Ayus na, ayus na, ayus na, plays in his ears softly. Everything is fine. Deep breaths. Everything is fine. Start the goddamn car and drive. Just—

“Michael,” Jeremy says, hand hovering over Michael’s arm, unsure to reach out.

“Sorry, yeah, I’m just zoning out—”

“No, it’s okay. It’s just a little dangerous to drive with headphones on, right?” Jeremy says. He’s holding out the aux cord. “Why don’t you just play your music here?”

“Right,” he pulls his headphones down and plugs his phone in. “It’s only going to be this one song over and over again for the whole drive, so I hope you don’t mind.”

“Dude, if I didn’t mind Dreams for three days I don’t think I’ll mind this for a drive,” he laughs, the song begins to play, The combination of familiarity calms him down enough to actually start driving.

Michael hums along, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jeremy nodding his head along to the beat adorably.

Wala na tayong mga problema. Tanggal lahat ng ating tinik sa dibdib—

“What did that mean?” Jeremy asks.

“Uhhhh,” Michael rifles through rough equivalents. “’We don’t have anymore problems. The thorns in our chest have been removed.’ Or something like that.”

“Cool,” Jeremy smiles. Then he puts the windows down.

“What’re you doing?” He asks.

“Letting everybody else hear the song,” Jeremy shrugs. “It’s nice.”

Finally realizing that Jeremy is trying his awkward best to try and make Michael feel better, whatever uneasiness in left inside him fades away, replaced instead with a big, awful, mushy love for his best friend.

“Jeremy,” Michael says.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“No problem, dude.” Jeremy says before clumsily mumbling along to lyrics Michael is sure he’s butchering under his breath.

“I can’t even hear you but I know you’re saying it wrong,” Michael laughs.

“Well I’m a better singer, at least!”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffs. Michael belts out the chorus along with the speakers, “Basta’t kasama kita, ayus na, ayus na, ayus naaaa.” Why the fuck is this song so damn fitting, Michael thinks. That big, mushy love bleeds into that other type of love he likes shoving all the way to the back of his mind. “Lahat ng hassle ay mawawala, basta’t kasama kita.”

“Booooooo!” Jeremy heckles.

“Oh, you are so dead when we reach a stoplight.”

“You can’t kill me, we’re going to my house,” he says. “What does the chorus say?”

Michael reaches out to swat at Jeremy, but he expertly dodges. “If you think you can distract me that easily—”

“No, no, seriously. I just wanna know.” And there’s the stoplight.

“Well, it just repeats a lot but it’s basically just,” Michael takes a deep breath. “‘As long as I’m with you, everything’s okay. All the hassles disappear, as long as I’m with you.’”

“Is it?”

“Is what?”

“Is everything okay now?” Jeremy looks at him.

Michael’s had a bad day caused seemingly by nothing, and it’s probably going to bug him later. He went through a few classes without listening to a word, so that’ll also come to bite him in the ass. But he’s in his car listening to a song he’s been listening to on repeat with his best friend who he maybe likes a little bit more than just big, mushy friend love.

— Basta’t kasama kita, ayus na, ayus, na, ayus na.

“Yeah,” Michael says. “It’s all good now.”

(Later, when Michael gets home, he’ll accidentally press the shuffle button on his Spotify and it’ll play him another song. Your Universe by Rico Blanco. It’s in English and he’ll listen to it alone in his bedroom, and think shit. He’ll think fuck.

The song goes: Tell me something, when I'm feelin' tired and afraid, how do you know just what to say to make everything alright?

It goes: I don't think that you even realize the joy you make me feel when I'm inside your universe.

It goes: I’ll always be the lucky one.

Tangina, Michael thinks. Tangina.)

(now an ongoing fic. part 2. part 3. part 4. or read everything on ao3 here.)

[sand-rose]

Finally got around to drawing and writing Ezzy’s and Luna’s character bios! I’ve started playing their household a little alongside my others in Sims 4, so I’ll have a lot more photos of them to share in the future. I’m hoping that the more I play, the more they’ll grow on their own as characters like Reim did. They’re just too cute together!

                                Character Bios Below

Full Name: Ezlyn

Gender & Sexuality: Female, Lesbian

Pronouns: She/Her

Ethnicity/Species: Ego Entity

Birthplace & Birthdate: Ego World (specifically the city Gavron), December 20

Guilty Pleasures: listening to punk/rock/heavy metal music, energy drinks (she insists the caffeine crash is worth it for the rush), playing electric guitar and writing song lyrics despite her inability to sing, sweatpants and hoodies when at home with Luna, playing any sport that gets her blood pumping

Phobias: It might sound silly at her age, but Ezzy is afraid of losing her hearing. She never used to think much about cranking the volume on her headphones all the way up when listening to her favorite music, but after a relative warned her about it she became a little scared. She may be in the fashion biz with Miss Pan and Luna, but music is her true passion. She shudders at the thought of never being able to listen to her favorite songs again, and the thought of never hearing Luna's cheerful voice again really upsets her. So she takes care now not to turn the volume on full blast when she's listening to music, and she makes sure to give her ears plenty of breaks when listening for long amounts of time.

What They Would Be Famous For: She's part of Miss Pan's entourage in the fashion industry. She and Luna are always at her side, ready to offer advice and opinions on whatever crosses the boss's mind. When it comes to Miss Pan's clothing lines and fashion amusement park exclusives, Ezzy handles the more tomboy-ish designs for women's clothing, as that is her style. One day she would like to be famous for her song lyrics and guitar skills, but it's a dream she's kept on the downlow.

What They Would Get Arrested For: Probably skateboarding where she's not supposed to and then arguing with the cops about it. lol It hasn't happened yet, and hopefully it never will. And while it's not technically an arrest, before she moved in with Luna she had the cops called on her more than once for blasting the stereos full volume.

OC You Ship Them With: Luna. Luna is her best friend, the love of her life. She didn't mean to fall in love with her, but she did. For years they were Pan's assistants, best friends, inseparable. They were always together, two peas in a pod. Luna was dating a guy from the amusement park's makeup department at the time, and Ezzy realized after a while that she was kind of jealous of him. She didn't say anything, of course, and just pushed the feelings away, because Luna was her best friend and she was a little confused herself why she felt that way. After Luna and the guy broke up, it took Ezzy some more time to work out her feelings and finally work up the nerve to confess to Luna how she felt.

OC Most Likely To Murder Them: No one, really. She's pretty chill, relaxed... She's easy to get along with, and if someone does have a problem with her, that's their problem, not hers.

Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: She's honestly not too into either. She doesn't really watch movies or read books unless Luna urges her to check out something she's obsessed with at the moment. She'll happily oblige because she knows it'll make Luna happy. But if she had to pick... She likes superhero movies. The action is cool and she assigns theme songs to the characters. As for books, she likes comics because she can listen to music while she reads them and it adds to the story. They also tend to tie in with a lot of movies, so it's easier for her to get involved with the plot, trying to connect the dots.

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: She loathes musicals if the music is too bright and cheesy. She can deal with them if they're in the vein of Sweeney Todd, but upbeat musicals just annoy the crap out of her. She wants music she can bang her head to, damn it! And she's not much for what's called the classics. They had to read both Real World and Ego World classical literature in school and she hated it. She's not dumb, but looking up what certain words and phrases meant sure made her feel like she was. Fuck that Charlie Pickens guy, or whatever his name was!

Talents and/or Powers: She's a pro with the electric guitar, largely due to the fact that she started playing the instrument when she was 5. Her older brother Jax got one for his birthday that year and she pretty much stole it when he got bored with it. She's great with other instruments, too. And Luna thinks Ezzy's ability to assign a song to someone within minutes of meeting them is a talent, but that might just be some sweet flattery. lol Aside from music, Ezzy's pretty athletic and adapts to a new sport very quickly.   

Why Someone Might Love Them: She's the chill pal, the one who rarely loses her cool. If Luna is freaking out over something she might get caught up in the moment and freak out with her, but with anyone else she'll keep her cool. She's just a cool person in general. lol

Why Someone Might Hate Them: She doesn't put up with rude people, which is just one of the many reasons why Pan loves Ezzy being her assistant. She keeps people in line and makes sure they know their attitudes aren't welcome in Miss Pan's presence. She's not the violent type, but she will unleash verbal hell on a person and publicly humiliate them if they don't act right. So in short, she has zero customer service skills, so anyone who gets on the receiving end of her backlash probably will hate her. lol And you would think that because of this It might hate her, but they actually get along. They do bicker, but it's like friendly arguing. There's some people he hates because they don't put up with his attitude, and then there's people he respects for the exact same reason. She just happens to be one of those that earned his respect. lol

How They Change: As one of Pandora's assistants, she's a side character, so she really wasn't all that fleshed out when she first appeared in my old comics. She and Luna showed up a few times here and there and I really loved drawing and writing them, but there just wasn't much to their characters. Now that they're in my Sims game, I get to see how they act and evolve on their own, kind of like how Reim did. The main thing that did change was her and Luna's relationship. They were best friends and that's all I intended them to be. But looking back on the comics when I was making their characters in Sims, they just seemed so perfect together. And growing up in the conservative rural environment I did, 8-9 years ago it just didn't really click that they could be a couple. Now that they are, it feels right and I'm super happy for them! <3

Why You Love Them: She's the rocker chick of the gang. lol She's a total tomboy, the type that rarely wears dresses or skirts, and she's not afraid to get dirty in the mud while playing sports. She was always friends with the boys, and she'll speak her mind without a problem. She's the exact opposite of Luna, so they remind me of the whole yin and yang concept. Together they create the perfect balance, which is why they might work so well as Pandora's assistants!

Full Name: Luna

Gender & Sexuality: Female, Bisexual

Pronouns: She/Her

Ethnicity/Species: Ego Entity

Birthplace & Birthdate: Ego World (specifically the town Fairton), June 11 Guilty Pleasures: clothes shopping, buying dresses and shoes, and having mini at-home fashion shows so Ezzy can see her latest buys; going to the dog park and watching all the cute doggos (since their apartment doesn't allow pets), listening to Ezzy play the electric guitar, watching Ezzy jam out when she's listening to music through her earbuds, facial masks and hot tea

Phobias: Horses. When she was 6, her family visited a relative's farm and Luna accidentally spooked one when she wandered too close and shrieked in delight. The horse stomped its hooves and whinnied and the shriek of delight quickly turned into a shriek of terror. Looking up at the horse in that moment suddenly made it seem very very big and very very scary. She's fine with pictures of horses, but seeing them in real life or on tv or in a movie makes her uneasy. 

What They Would Be Famous For: As one of Pandora's assistants alongside Ezzy, she loves to design the girlier clothes in Miss Pan's clothing line or the amusement park exclusives. She already has her dream job designing clothes, so while Ezzy might venture into the music industry at some point, she's content to work with Miss Pan for many years to come. So if anything, her fame as a designer might continue to grow.

What They Would Get Arrested For: Nothing. Luna is very sweet and pure, so she wouldn't really do anything that might get her arrested.

OC You Ship Them With: Ezzy! They're just so perfect together, the sweet cheerful girly girl and the cool chill rocker chick! At this point I can't imagine either of them being with anyone else. When Luna and her ex broke up (they ended their relationship on good terms; they're still friends and coworkers) and after some time had passed, she was surprised when Ezzy confessed her feelings for her. She was nervous to think of Ezzy as anything more than her best friend, because she didn't want to ruin their friendship if things didn't work out, but after their first date she realized she might have already been in love with Ezzy too. Needless to say, it wasn't long until they moved in together and now they're happily married!

OC Most Likely To Murder Them: I doubt even It would want to murder Luna. Her cheerful personality might annoy him, but she's always nice to him and thinks his weird t-shirt designs are 'so badass!' And unlike Aurora, she doesn't scold him when he swears.

Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Like Pandora, she loves the sappy romantic movies/books. There's a spot on the coffee table in front of the tv in their living room that is always occupied by a box of tissues. lol

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: She doesn't really like the 'based on a true story' movies/books. Her dad loves them, and growing up watching those types of movies sometimes got her mixed up on whether the story took place in the Real World or the Ego World. Which led to her getting events and people confused when learning about both worlds at school. The Ego World basically 'copies' material things from the Real World (like books, movies, video games, merch, etc), but of course has its own original products, so it's not uncommon for kids to get confused with which world has what. (History, religion, ethnicity, and world culture can also be very confusing, as the countries in the Real World don't exist in the Ego World, but they share cultures and other aspects because of Egos learning them from their Hosts. It's... complicated. lol) And because Luna's dad loves learning about the Real World, it was especially difficult for her to keep facts in order.

Talents and/or Powers: Her dad and younger brother Seren call her 'Miss Moonshine', a play on 'Miss Sunshine' using the meaning of her name. (As a side note, this was before her dad learned the Real World meaning of moonshine, but by then the nickname had caught on and they found it hilarious.) They like to say her power is that she's always got a smile on her face and can always cheer them up when they need it. She also loves interior design and Ezzy gave her full control on decorating their apartment because of this.

Why Someone Might Love Them: She's the one who genuinely cares how your day was, if there's anything she can do to help, to make you feel better. She's just a happy person in general, and she likes to make others happy. Sometimes it wears her out, being the one to make everyone feel better, but Ezzy's taught her that it's okay to take a step back and stop being 'the mood fixer' all the time. She's just a nice, caring girl that loves to laugh and smile and her mood is contagious!

Why Someone Might Hate Them: If anyone hates Luna, they deserve to never be happy again. Luna is a precious ray of light in the world, and as Ezzy would say, 'any haters can fuck off'.

How They Change: Again, she showed up with Ezzy a few times, but never really enough for me to think about her in detail. That's why I really loved doing their bios like this! It really helped flesh her character out a bit. The main thing that changed was the fact that she and Ezzy are a couple now, and it feels so right! They complete each other. <3

Why You Love Them: She's a good, kind person and the world needs more kind people. She and Ezzy have a loving relationship and she's got a strong heart full of love for her dad and brother. And I LOVE the antics she gets up to at work with Ezzy and Pan. They're a playful trio that make work fun! And I wish I had a sister like Luna. She's such a sweetheart!

Other OCs Written Bios Here

Other OCs Drawn Bios Here And Here

[connorrenwick]

Where I Work: Beau Oyler of Enlisted Design

This month’s Where I Work heads to Oakland, California, the home of Enlisted Design, a multidisciplinary design studio whose collaborative approach to product and brand design has resulted in lucrative partnerships with many brands, like Ford, Samsung, LG, Amazon, Cisco, Best Buy, Belkin, Netgear, and many more. The design entrepreneur behind the award-winning company is founder Beau Oyler, the CEO and Executive Creative Director who also co-founded Urbio, the vertical garden that got its successful start on Kickstarter. Let’s head inside the offices of Enlisted Design to take a look around and see how Beau and his team make it all happen.

Beau beside the Urbio garden wall

What is your typical work style?

I hate procrastinating. My day is front-loaded with meetings and anything else that needs to be taken care of on the business side of things. That leaves the afternoon and evening for creative work and big picture, strategic thinking.

Main lobby of the studio, includes product wall, “Grand Lake” conference room (green chairs), “Fox” conference room

What’s your studio/work environment like?

The studio space is physically open and bright. The vibe is, too. It’s important to me that the energy is light since we have an intense, fast-paced project culture. You’ll always find designers huddled together, sketching, or heads down with headphones on, jamming on work. Clients are often camped out in Grand Lake (our largest conference room) engaged in workshops with the team and sharing ideas. Our kitchen, located in the center of the studio, is where we eat lunch together at the communal table. It’s a natural gathering spot for conversations throughout the day.

How is your space organized/arranged?

The studio is open plan. As you walk in, you’re immersed in our work displayed on a giant oak wood peg wall. It’s a great introduction to who we are. There are two main, glass-walled conference rooms and a door that leads to the maker space. Getting deeper into the studio, you’ll find the kitchen and two tucked-away meeting rooms. Then it opens up to where the team is working. Designers are loosely grouped by discipline with desks wrapped around the building in an L-shape. The space is lined by large windows that overlook the heart of Uptown Oakland, Broadway and 19th Street.

How long have you been in this space?

We’ve been in this building for ten years. We started in one small office and grew to take over the entire floor. We chose Oakland deliberately. It was underdeveloped, but we saw a glimmer of what it could be. Oakland is scrappy, like us. It’s also artistic and entrepreneurial and cool. Seeing the development and revitalization of the Uptown neighborhood (where we’re located) is particularly rewarding. In addition to fellow tech companies, there’s been roughly 125 bars, restaurants and indie boutiques that’ve opened in the last decade. The city named Uptown the official “Arts and Entertainment District” in 2009. This area is the epicenter of Oakland creative now. We’re so proud to be a part of that.

Urbio garden wall

If you could change something about your workspace, what would it be?

Actually nothing – I already changed it all during our renovation two years ago. I tore the entire second floor down and built a custom space that’s perfect for us.

Kieran Moriarty (Senior Industrial Designer) and his goldendoodle Bowie

Is there an office pet?

We are a decidedly dog-friendly studio. On any given day, you’ll likely meet at least one of the eight pups who regularly hang out. The general purpose of our studio dogs is to sleep, wander around for snacks, and then go back to sleeping.

Enlisted swag

Do you require music in the background? If so, who are some favorites?

We have a shared Sonos. Our studio manager, Shannon, is usually DJing everything from soul to synth-pop. We’re also steps away from Oakland’s Fox Theater – a constant source of inspiration depending on the week’s show lineup. The other day, we ran across the street to the box office and bought tickets to see the buzzy, disco-inspired band, Jungle, for a studio outing early next year.

How do you record ideas?

For years, I used Moleskine notebooks. I transitioned to Evernote on my iPhone a few years ago to keep it all in one place. It’s more convenient, but not quite as romantic.

Luis Velazquez (Industrial Designer) in front of a wall of sketches for our work with Pi Charging — a wireless charging device.

Do you have an inspiration board? What’s on it right now?

We create a vision board for every project, which is larger scale than a typical product mood board. We envision the entire world in which the new device or brand will live. Each is totally unique and specific to the project and client.

The Stance team sketching: Beau Oyler, Ellen O’Reilly (Sr. Designer), Beth Anderson (Sr. Designer), Kieran Moriarty (Sr. Industrial Designer)

Beau with the Stance project team

What is your creative process and/or creative workflow like? Does it change every project or do you keep it the same?

There is a general design roadmap that involves understanding, creating, and delivering. That said, there’s no sacred process here. We’re always looking for new ways to communicate – from mockups and explorations of form to animation and video storytelling. Anything that helps us more effectively and beautifully communicate ideas is fair game. Our team actively shares and tests new methods all the time.

What kind of art/design/objects might you have scattered about the space?

When we renovated the studio, we partnered with artist Annie Tull for a large-scale string installation, consisting of over 50,000 feet of custom color matched, military grade paracord. They start as balls of string displayed in the ground-floor lobby, and lead up to the studio, twisting and turning under concrete beams and above the desks. The magenta, turquoise and dark grey string are a metaphor for the collaborative design process. The colorful strings refract throughout the studio, culminating into one cohesive whole with the Enlisted logo in the background. The strings pass by another focal point of the studio, the “We Create” wall. The phrase is another nod to our uniquely collaborative partnership style, and on the wall are photos of favorite team moments, work, and design awards. The neon “Next Level Shit” sign is the go-to backdrop spot for anyone taking a selfie in the studio.

Beau in front of the “Next Level Shit” neon sign

Are there tools and/or machinery in your space?

We have a maker space that’s always humming. Whether it’s being used for prototype creation or a photo shoot, there’s always someone in there getting their hands dirty. We have two types of 3D printers, a CNC machine, laser cutter, plus every mockup tool you can imagine, like foam core, hand tools, spray paint, and hot glue. The space is also open for anyone in the studio who wants to use it in their spare time for passion projects.

John Nam (Industrial Design Intern) putting up sketches on the whiteboard in Grand Lake Conference room.

What tool(s) do you most enjoy using in the design process?

A dry erase pen and a big, empty dry erase wall. I love sketching with pen and paper, but it’s not until you take those ideas and put them up on a wall to share that things start happening. Ideating together is when the best ideas come.

Maker Space

Let’s talk about how you’re wired. Tell us about your tech arsenal/devices.

At all times, I’ve got my iPhone XS Max, plus a battery charger. I work off of a Macbook Pro 13 inch, which is under TSA’s weight limit, meaning that I can keep it on my lap to work during takeoff and landing. I wear an Apple watch, sleep with Bose Sleepbuds, and drive an Audi Q5 – the most fun, technologically advanced car I’ve ever been in. In my house you’ll find most of the major IoT home products available on the market, especially the ones that Enlisted designed, like Arlo.

What design software do you use, if any, and for what?

I’m regularly in Illustrator, Photoshop, After Effects, KeyShot, and Cinema 4D.

Is there a favorite project/piece you’ve worked on?

My two adventurous children are hands-down my favorite projects.

Arlo camera on the product wall. With it are prototypes of the various design languages over the years.

Do you feel like you’ve “made it”? What has made you feel like you’ve become successful? At what moment/circumstances? Or what will it take to get there?

I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like I made it. I can acknowledge that there have been some big moments. As an entrepreneur, being on Shark Tank was great. We nailed it and that fueled Enlisted’s growth. Our ten-year-long relationship with Arlo is another significant experience. We’ve been NETGEAR’s design partner since the beginning and helped Arlo grow through design to earn nearly 50% market share. They IPO’d this year at a $1.4 billion valuation. A special moment related to that was when Belkin’s Chief Marketing Officer, Kieran Hannon, cold-called Enlisted because he saw Arlo win the Red Dot Product Design Award. Belkin is a dream client, so to be on their radar and get to work with them was huge. That said, I always want us to feel scrappy. We’re not out to prove ourselves, but we want to show that there’s a better way to design and co-create. Until that’s the established way, we haven’t made it. For me personally, as long as I’m still making, it’s all in the present tense.

Beau showing off his Stance socks

Tell us about a current project you’re working on. What was the inspiration behind it?

Stance is an American sock and apparel brand that I would say oozes cool. If the brand were a person, they’d essentially be the coolest kid you’ve ever met. At some point, that cool kid is going to grow up and mature into an adult. That’s what I’m really excited about right now – we’re helping Stance mature to the next level of fidelity, both as a brand and with their in-store shopping experience.

Beau reviewing concepts with Mega Tjhin (Visual Designer), Katie Friedlander (Account Manager), Diana Goldberg (Visual Designer), Miri Chan (Design Director)

What’s on your desk right now?

I don’t have a dedicated desk. I float to wherever I need to be, and whichever space is open. Basically, anywhere I leave my phone, ear buds, and wallet becomes my de facto desk.

Product wall

Do you have anything in your home that you’ve designed/created?

Definitely. Most of the products I’ve designed make their way into my house at some point. What I really like is seeing products I’ve designed in other people’s homes. I don’t point it out. I just want to quietly observe people interacting with the product. Same thing goes for seeing my designs in stores. Right now, we have products and packaging in the Apple Store, Costco, Best Buy, and Whole Foods. Seeing our designs out in the world, knowing that something beautiful and useful is available for anyone to buy, makes me happy. I see the brand or product and the memory of the project comes back to me. It’s like, boom, I love that thing. It’s a cool feeling.

Enlisted team

Photos by Dallis Willard.

via http://design-milk.com/

from WordPress https://connorrenwickblog.wordpress.com/2019/03/19/where-i-work-beau-oyler-of-enlisted-design/