#drawing the normal album with him replacing will

[marmalad3-jar]

im suffering right now ☺️

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 10

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pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

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The studio is silent when you enter, the door clicking softly shut behind you. Neither of its occupants stir, even though Chan had just called out for you to come in when you'd knocked; he's staring at his computer screen now, fingers hovering over a keyboard as he listens. Han is on the other side of the room, fast asleep on the sofa with him mouth hanging half-open. 

A coffee cup sits in the ground next to him and his phone dangles from relaxed fingers, dangerously close to falling. You lean over and grab it just as it starts to slide from his grasp; Han doesn't stir, not even when your shadow falls over his face. You catch a glimpse of his phone screen before your thumb locks it, long lines of lyrics set out in a basic notes app, the top bar lined with notifications; you put it down hurriedly on the armrest of the sofa, not wanting to pry.

When you look up, Chan is watching you, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Hi," you say, turning your back on Han. Your hands are awkward after touching his phone - you fold them in front of you, one hand twisting at the fingers of the other.

"Hi," he replies softly, and smiles - something that's meant to be encouraging, you think, but this is so far out of your normal routine that you don't think there's anything that would let you just relax, rather than standing here awkwardly in the middle of the room with nothing else around to draw his attention.

"There's another chair over there," he says, pointing to the corner behind you. "Come and listen to this."

A clear goal. An easy one to achieve too - the breath rushes from your chest as you drag the chair over to his desk, some of the tension in your limbs draining out with it. You sigh again as you sit down, this time as your tired body presses back into the seat and finally finds relief - you've been engrossed in practise all day, sliding right past lunch and nearly dinner too, barely stopping for a break. Not that you'd meant to, you knew better than that, but when you'd felt like you were actually getting somewhere-

"You look tired," Chan comments as he hands you a set of headphones, one hand idly untangling the wire as it stretches out to you. His voice is decidedly neutral, his tongue lazy as it lets the English syllables slide past one by one. He talks to you in English almost all the time recently, you've noticed; ever since the album released, or maybe a little before. Not that you mind. English is...comfortable, in a way that Korean sometimes isn't. It's always been easier for you to be Australian.

"Practise was good today, though," you reply. "I feel like I might actually be able to dance in the group without sticking out now."

"You've been doing that for a while," Chan says, bemused. "Lee Know didn't have anything to say at all the other day."

You can't help the derisive snort that escapes your mouth, swallowing the acerbic laugh that tries to follow it before you can make even more of a fool of yourself. It's so rude; maybe you are tired. You certainly aren't as careful as you usually are, even though you know that can preclude trouble. "I don't think he's being as hard now that I'm not debuting in two weeks," you blurt out, and then drop your eyes down to the headphones in your hands. 

"That doesn't mean he's lying," Chan insists. His hand pats your knee - just a brush of his fingers, there and there and gone again. "You don't really need all this practise anymore, you know."

A shrug works its way up to your shoulders, though it feels more like a defensive hunch than anything else. "I'd rather practise than waste my time sitting around," you answer, and at least the words are strong, even if your body is not. "Especially when there's still a chance I could end up sitting around in Australia by the end of the year."

Something flashes across Chan's face, twisting at the edges of his mouth for just a moment before disappearing - disappointment, or frustration? It twists at your gut twice as hard, whatever it is, upsetting the delicate balance you'd found for just a moment while sitting here. "Do you want to listen to this song?" he asks, changing the subject before you can say anything to defend yourself. "We recorded it roughly, but I need a real version of it, and I think you'll like it..."

His voice trails off as he turns to the computer, pulling up whatever he's been working on. You take that as a sign to pull the headphones over your ears, offsetting one side slightly so that you can still hear him. Music fills your ears - a slow, roundabout beat and a heavy bass, overstrung by lyrics about bravery and fear and the darkness of being alone. Beautiful, in a way you're not sure how to express, and artistic, winding its way into your chest where you won't easily forget it.

You really like this song, so much that you're almost afraid to admit it; because if you did, you'd have to admit too, how its spiralling beat brushes against that dark spiral of anxiety that always lives in your chest, and the cold memories that the words stir up-

"I like that," is all you say when the music ends, one final downbeat cutting through the instruments abruptly.

"Really?" Chan asks, like it's unexpected, or unbelieveable.

"Of course," you insist, headphones sliding down around your neck. "You really want me to sing that?"

"Well, if you're going to spend all of your time working anyway, you might as well do some of our work for us," he says, the tone of his voice and the way his head tilts to point at Han's sleeping form informing you that he is joking. "Listen to it a couple more times, I'll see if Han has the lyrics written down on his phone, and then we'll try it."

"Why wouldn't you be able to sleep?"

Chan's voice startles you, loud after a long period of silence. You hadn't even seen him turn to look at you, or even stop working to check the messages that are popping up in the group chat, his phone propped loosely between his hand and the table. "What?" you ask, one hand coming up to stifle a yawn as it tugs at your jaw.

Chan glances down at his phone screen as another message pops up, and then back at you. "Earlier, you said you wouldn't be able to sleep if you went home," he says, by way of explanation.

"Oh, right." You'd forgotten about that text. You hadn't really thought about it being something that might raise questions at the time; you'd been more focused on the sudden worry you'd had over him assuming that you were regularly here all day and all night. "My house is just too quiet sometimes, I guess. I'm not really used to living alone."

His head tilts, curiousity flaring in his eyes. "You know, I've never actually asked where you live," he says. "Are you still in the dorms?"

"They gave me an apartment," you answer. "I think we're in the same building, actually. That's what they told me, anyway."

"Really?" His eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise. "And you've never come over for dinner? Changbin hasn't dragged you to the gym? No one's run into you in the hall?"

"Lee Know sat in my living room for like ten minutes once?" you offer weakly, though you know it's not nearly what he's looking for. You've got nothing to offer him - even Minseo hasn't been over in a few weeks, each of you too busy on your own trajectory to cross paths. You'd had lunch in the cafeteria twice, and that was all, far from the silent walls of your empty house and it's too-big rooms.

A smile ghosts across Chan's face, strangled by the constant turn of his thoughts back to the problem he thinks he has identified. "On his way back from the store?" he questions knowingly, and you nod.

"He said no one was home at your place."

"If he went into our house, why did he-" he starts, and then cuts himself off halfway, shaking his head. "You should come over for dinner or something. Watch one of Han's animes. If I'd known you were in the building, I would have invited you ages ago."

Apprehension rises in your chest at the openness of the invitation, the way he's able to simply pick it up and throw it out there without even a moment of hesitation. Not that you should feel dread over something as simple as an invitation to dinner, with a group of people you now see every day anyway...but you've never really seen them outside the studio, and you wouldn't know what to expect even if you sat here and tried to guess. 

And even this, sitting here in the dark talking to Chan, is something you've never done before, the reason why you'd sat here so quiet when you'd first come in; if your body wasn't so tired, if the night wasn't dragging on into morning as you spoke, you don't think you'd have been able to sit so still in this chair at all.

"Maybe," you say, acknowledging the invitation with a dip of your chin. "When there's time. I'm really busy practising for debut right now, and I don't want to miss anything."

You're surprised by the look that passes over his face, the tightening of his mouth and the corners of his eyes. "You spend a lot of time in that studio," he says - and you're not sure what to think about the tone of voice that he uses, switching back and forth between stern and...soft, like he's worried he'll say the wrong thing or something. As if he could do something wrong here, when he is the leader and you are-

Well, nothing. You're nothing. God knows what he sees when he looks at you, other than the trainee he was unwillingly saddled with.

"Yeah," you acknowledge, because there's no use in denying it when you know they know the kind of hours you've been pulling. There being eight of them just means it's impossible to avoid running into one of them at every strange hour of the day. "If these are the last three months I have here, I don't want to waste any of it."

"You said that at the concert," Chan recalls. "You still feel like you're not going to debut?"

The memory sits awkwardly in the air of the room; you shift in your seat, shrugging as lightly as you can pull down the movement of your shoulders, trying to play it off. "Do you still think I'm scared of you too?" you question, trying to play it off easily rather than having the words slide heavy from your tongue.

Amusement dances in his eyes. "Maybe not so much," he answers. "You made a joke earlier."

You frown. "Is that...weird? I make jokes all the time, don't I?"

"Not as often as I'd like," he says, and then his face softens. "It was nice, though. So is this - us, talking."

"Mm," you hum, your mouth closed around several sentences that spring immediately to mind. The instinct to measure everything you say and watch your mouth is burnt into you, caution wrapping its cold little hands around your throat every time you start to relax. And now you don't know what to say, when it feels too pointed to make a joke after he's just pointed it out, and too crass to pull out excuses for why this sort of one-on-one rarely happens - and then silence stretches too thin, and time ticks too far onwards, and you've missed-

"Can I tell you what I think?" Chan says and leans back, his arms reaching towards the ceiling as he stretches.

A breath hitches in your chest, apprehension freezing it still. "Okay," you say, your hands twisting together.

His gaze is steady when it returns to you, his hand still where it comes to lie flat on the surface of his desk. In the background, Han shifts in his sleep, the couch cushions shifting underneath him. "I think you're scared to be one of us," he says, every word carefully measured against some weight you cannot see. "And you're scared to trust us. Maybe just me, specifically."

Your heart leaps into your throat in surprise, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. "I'm not-" you begin, but his hand lifts in the air, stopping you short.

"I don't mean in a bad way," he hurries to add, before you can go on. "I understand why; I wouldn't trust anyone either after what happened to you with Midnight. And I've been there before, you know, so...so I know why, I promise. But...I wish you would let me help you. I really want to help you."

You swallow hard, but the lump in your throat remains, the tears threatening to gather in the corners of your stinging eyes. Your stomach feels like its been turned upside down, your equilibrium shaken and turned around. "I..." you begin, as if you have a response, but nothing follows it, your mind racing to catch up in a conversation you hadn't expected to have and didn't plan for. "I...this is my last chance. If I stop, if I..."

"Hey," Chan says. "I understand, okay? And I'm not going to kick you out, or yell at you, or whatever it is you think a leader does. I like having you around, it's too late for all of that now, okay?"

The joke is light, struggling to lift itself in the oppressive air of the studio, but it makes its way to you anyway, lifting a little of the weight off of your shoulders. "I really like your music," you tell him, and push a deep breath down into the bottom of your lungs. "I want to be one of you, really, and I don't - I don't think you would do that, I swear, I just...I know that it's not always up to you. The company can do what they like, and if they think I don't look like I fit in, or I'm not working as hard as you do, or they just don't like how-"

"You shouldn't worry about that," Chan says over the top of you, his face changing. "That's my job - you leave that to me, and focus on the things your working on."

You look down at your hands, then over at Han - anywhere but his gaze, when you say, "I can't trust them to listen to you. Not until I make it to debut."

Chan falls silent, long enough that your eyes stray back to him, unable to look away for any longer. You find a mess of emotions written across his face, lit by the illumination of his computer screen as he messes with the mouse, his attention far away from the track he's idly playing with. 

"Okay," he says when he's done, forcing his hand to move away from the keyboard. "I meant to talk you out of burning yourself out, but I don't think that's going to work."

"Sorry," you say mutely, and feel your shoulders hunch.

"It's okay," he says, before you can retract into yourself completely. "It's okay to be scared. It is scary. So, let's come to an agreement."

There's an unintended challenge in his voice, a way that his eyes watch you that incentivises you to sit up straighter and swallow down all that cold anxiety that freezes in your veins. "Okay," you say willingly. "Like what?"

You like the silent approval you see in his face, the way his mouth relaxes and starts to untwist from the frown it had turned itself into several minutes ago. "You promise me that you know how to take care of yourself, and you can practise as much as you feel like you need to until debut and we won't stop you," he says, "but after debut, you promise you're going to slow down. And you're going to trust me."

It's funny - you hadn't thought anything but the result at the end of these three months would make you feel better, but somehow, he strings together the exact right words to lift that weight off your chest and shine a light down the tunnel. You hadn't thought anyone would be able to do that. Maybe that's why you'd been locked away in the dance rooms, all alone; maybe he was right that you didn't trust anyone, and that maybe you should start.

"I can do that," you say, nodding in agreement. "And I can take care of myself. I won't debut if I'm injured, or I collapse or something."

"Good," he says, satisfied, and then adds, "And you come over for dinner, whenever we invite you. And you go out with your friends again. One of the girls from Midnight chased me down the other day to ask about you, and honestly I'm kind of scared of ignoring her."

"Minseo," you say and, inexplicably, you smile. "Sorry. She's...an extrovert."

"Two jokes," Chan points out, and then laughs at the look on your face, turning away to shut down his computer. "It was fine. She was cool. You have good taste in friends."

"We've been here together for a long time," you say, your eyes idly tracking the movement of his mouse. You glance at the clock in the corner of his screen just by chance - and then do a double take when you see the number there, squinting as if you've misread it. "Is it four AM?"

"It is, actually," Chan sighs as the screen goes dark, closing the laptop and pushing his chair back towards the couch. "Time to go home, I think. Do you want to walk with us?" 

His hand reaches out to rouse Han, the other reaching for the boy's phone, left abandoned on his desk. His coffee still sits abandoned on the ground, long gone cold since that first conversation in the group chat that had led to all of this. Funny, how that one little thing, left forgotten on the floor, had led to a night you wouldn't soon forget. 

"I'd love to," you reply, and reach for the coffee before anyone can knock it over, throwing it in the trash. 

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids @hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts @puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night @d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk @minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification @starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace @amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002 @hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff @splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit @jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @slutfortits @duhgurl @cheshireshiya @worcesheshestershiresauce @defnotfertilizedtoesw

[reasonsmandy]

Señorita

Warren Rojas x Fem!Reader

✧.* requested by anon — Hi, I hope you're still taking requests. I had one for Warren if that's okay. If you don't take requests, don't worry about it. The reader is Karen's friend, she is very insecure and shy, she doesn't have the best relationships with her family, she thinks everything is her fault and stuff like that, you know. She feels worthless. She is introduced to the band and gets close to Warren. When he finally confesses his feelings, she freaks out because she doesn't think she deserves it. All ending in fluff, though, please. I need a happy ending 😂

✧.* summary — Living with anxiety is never easy, and it never has been for as long as you've known yourself.It was difficult to explain and control all the questions that arose and lived in his head when doing anything. And Warren Rojas was the great game changer in helping you understand your value.

✧.* warnings — anxiety symptoms and description

✧.* word count — 2.2k

✧.* 🥁 — warren's masterlist

✧.* mandy's notes — this was so personal to me as a person with anxiety myself, I hope you guys like it as much as I do. And to everyone wondering, yes, I am still taking request. Just having a slow time with writing. Good reading :)

With every step you took through the corridors, breathing became more difficult, you had no idea that Karen's invitation to participate in the launch of the album 'SevenEightNine' would involve all this crowd around you. You even liked the dress you had chosen with the keyboardist earlier at your house, but after analyzing each one there you found yourself miserable.

You tried to focus on your breathing but everything around you seemed to blend together and become just a bunch of noise and mess. You feel someone approaching, but not just any proximity, but something that only someone who knew you would do.

“Hey sweets, you good?” The drummer's voice is what you notice, Warren watches you with clear concern.

All you can do is deny it, with very discreet movements. He takes your hand and brings it to his chest. “Can you feel my breath? How about breathing with me?”

You shake your head, not knowing if you can actually be here. Hating yourself for ruining the whole event and drawing attention to yourself because you don't know how to deal with your feelings alone. He seems to notice your thoughts wandering to unwanted places, gently pulling you through the crowd.

You see him open one of the sound booths, and you barely notice when he sits you down on the cushions, but little by little the sound that used to be so deafening becomes distant and makes you hear Rojas better. He sits next to you, and like most of the band members he knew very well how to help you when these things happened.

“Here..." He says, placing one of your hands on his curls. “I know you love feeling them, do whatever you want."

You let out a laugh, which calms him down when he sees that you are slowly regaining your breath. You stroke his hair, closing your eyes to focus on the texture of it, and finally his breathing returns to normal and is replaced by a great guilt.

“Fuck, I'm ruining your night Warren.” You say, walking away, and you don't notice him getting upset about it.

“What? Of course not!” He tries to calm you down, looking for your hands, but it wasn't believable to you.

“I'm sorry, I'm really sorry." You felt tears coming to the edge of your eyes.

“Oh Hermosa, it's okay.” He caresses your hands, trying his best to dispel your thoughts. “I'm here for you, everything is gonna work out.”

“I'm ruining Karen's night.” Your speech becomes slurred.

“You're not ruining anything, it's okay. I'll go there and explain what happened and I'll come back here to keep you company.” He was looking right into your eyes,and that woke up the butterflies in your stomach.

“You really don't have to.”

“I know, but I want to.” He smiles, getting up. “And besides, you're a better company anyways. Don't move, I'll be right back.” You try to hold back your smile, trying to decipher as much as possible the feelings that were growing and manifesting within you.

…

When you met Karen Sirko it was assumed that boys would come in the package, and despite not knowing how to deal with them at first you decided to try. It wasn't very easy with your anxiety screaming and wandering through every space of thoughts. You couldn't get the thought that they would hate you out of your head, and it was getting stronger when you pressed the doorbell.

You played with the rings in your hand, avoiding looking at the door while you waited, you heard a curious noise that made you startle. After a while the door opens, you are faced with a pair of dark eyes, a loose smile and messy curls. You don't notice the way your eyes widen and the speed you look away, but he does and he frowns, widening his smile.

“May I help you señorita?” Your legs shake with the change of language, and that's when Warren noticed one of his newest talents: noticing every detail of you.

“Uh- yeah, I…” You stop, take a deep breath trying to compose yourself and hope he doesn't think this is because you're attractive to him like most people assume. “I'm looking for Karen?”

“Oh, of course.” The man whose name you still didn't know makes space between him and the door. “She said you were coming. Hey Karen Karen, your friend is here.”

You come across a not so big but cozy living room, the man with curly hair accompanies you and points you to sit on the sofa, you feel embarrassed for being observed ashamed for being there and hoping that Karen would show up soon to get attention to herself.

“My name is Warren, by the way.” You smile small, avoiding looking into his eyes. "Do you want something to drink? We have water, beer… and maybe milk but I'm not sure.”

You laugh, and he thinks it's adorable, and he's happy to have managed to make you relax.

“I think I'd like some water.” You speak, taking advantage of the bittersweet pain of anxiety slowly easing in you to talk better.

“Your wish is an order!” He salutes you and walks to the kitchen.

“Y/N.” You say, making him turn around halfway, with a curious look. “That's my name, Y/N”

“It's great to meet you Y/N”

…

You knew that if Warren Rojas wasn't so nice all the time, so precious, só caring and of course… so fucking hot! You wouldn't be in the situation in the first place, you have been avoiding him since the fateful day on the porch of the house where he had declared himself to you. And even so, it was no use since he had made a point of welcoming you in the midst of any situation.

A few days ago Karen and consequently the others had invited you to a movie night, you already felt more at home with all of them and your anxiety didn't surface as much unless some trigger happened.

You wake up with your head resting on the blonde's shoulder, blinking a few times to get your bearings. You adjust yourself on the upholstery, noticing the rest of the band sleeping in positions that would clearly give you a stiff neck in the morning, gently and trying not to make noise, you get up and pass between the stretched out bodies, laughing when you think that they actually looked like a crime scene.

Sneaking away, you head to the counter to smoke and try to calm down. Normally you woke up "scared" when you were in a place other than your home, your hands were shaking and your heart was racing in your chest, so you already knew that you would need time to get back to sleep. The indecisive down wind, which was cold but not enough to make you look for a coat, hits your skin when you rest your body on the wood in front of you.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to recover and slowly calm your senses when two faint knocks echo through your ears. You open your eyes, looking back to find Rojas with his eyes clearly indicating that he had recently woken up.

“You good señorita?” He asks, and after making himself noticeable he approaches you slowly.

You nod your head as you yawn, he smiles small and tenderly and you feel your body melt. Recently you felt more than loved around him, he always seemed to be doing everything for your good, to make you feel comfortable everywhere and you never understood why. In fact it was something that haunted you, the feeling that he was going out of his way for someone unnecessary like you.

“Did you lose sleep?" He asks, leaning on the same spot as you while lighting a cigarette.

“Kinda.” You clarify, slowly being flooded with questions in your head. “You don't need to stay, you can go and rest."

“I want to.” That's the simple answer he gives, one that doesn't answer any of the 839 different questions that pop into your head every second.

He notices you are uneasy, and risks thinking that he could have done something bad. You avoid as much as possible looking into the eyes that leave you without ground.

“What happened? Did I do something?" His voice was so calm and sweet that it made you angry. How can he be so kind to someone who never even helped him?

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, and he frowns in question.

“I don't understand what you mean.”

“You're always so kind to me…” You try to explain, but he seems more lost.

“I don't get it, you're mad at me because I'm kind to you?” He scratches his scalp, turning his head to the side.

“I'm mad at you because I don't understand. I don't deserve all this, and you've been amazing from the beginning while I…” You don't finish your sentence, and he comes closer. “I don't know.” You let out with a breath.

“If you knew how incredible you are, you would understand that this is the way you should be treated by everyone." A simple sentence completely deconstructed you, you took a deep breath.

“Not everyone has to deal with my constant anxiety, what you do is…”

“Is caring.” He completes your sentence, holding your hands gently. "I care about you deeply. Because seeing you well makes me feel good, and fuck Y/N! I love seeing you well. If you only knew the impact your smile has on me, oh boy, you'd be speechless.”

“You're confusing me." You're honest, releasing your hands from his.

He gently reaches out with one of his hands to cup your chin, his dark eyes meeting your teary ones. He smiles small, you mimic him without realizing it. Warren caresses your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't notice falling.

“I'll make it clear for you.” He whispers, and you tremble under his touch. “I love you, and I cannot pretend that I don't care about you at all. Because there's not a single second of my day that I'm not thinking about you.”

Your pupils widen, you feel your legs give out, and he doesn't do anything else. The drummer moves away from you, takes one of your hands and kisses gently.

“That's all I need you to know." He says, walking away. He stops at the broken doorway, making you break the spell of the questions. “You can have my room, I sleep in the living room. Don't worry about waking up time, here you know we sleep until necessary." He laughs, making you let out a weak laugh. "Goodnight señorita”

…

Warren had contacted everyone who might be concerned about your absence from the band party, and then picked up a considerable amount of snacks, sweets, and a soda to share with you. He knocks on the glass a few times, making you notice his presence and run to help him with everything he was carrying, unable to contain your laughter.

“I can't believe you've done that”.You say between laughs, putting what he had picked up on the floor so you could sit there and eat.

“You know what they say, if you can't go to the party, bring it to you” He says, running one of his fingers through his mustache as he settles down next to you.

“They say that?" You inquire as you laugh, he joins you with his unique laugh.

He shrugs, eating one of the snacks. “I think so”

“Thank you Rojas.” You say affectionately, and for the first time he notices. You look him in the eyes. “Thank you for worrying about me. For everything you do, I can't actually thank you enough…”

“You don't have to.” He makes sure you know. "I'm just glad you're okay.”

“Was what you said true?” You speak so quietly that he's surprised he heard you.

“Well señorita, I kinda say a lot of things.” He teases, and you can't help but feel your body light, calm next to him.

“That night.” You make yourself clear, and for the first time in your life you see Warren Rojas nervous.

He takes a deep breath. “Yes, but look, I understand if you don't feel the same and I will understand if you need time…”

You know what? Fuck the questions and uncertainties! You hold his face in both hands, kissing the drummer's lips with all the love for him that was growing in you. He is taken by surprise, but soon wraps his hands around your waist and pulls you close, incredulous and happy, he enjoys every second feeling your closeness and kissing you with love and passion.

“Does that mean?” He asks after the kiss, his pretty eyes filled with hope and love.

“I love you too Rojas.” You kiss him once again, sitting on his lap.

“God I love this, but I better warn you that I can't control myself if you do this.” He whispers in joke, kissing your nose.

“I don't care.”

He chuckles, holding your face with both hands. "I know you're trying to ignore the questions and be brave, which by the way I'm so proud of you, but we can't have sex in the studio. Unfortunately.”

You hide your face in shame in his neck, and you know as long as he's close. Safe you will be.

...

Hi, I hope you enjoyed it... If you wanted to ask for something my requests are open, and if you want to ask and don't have any ideas check out my prompt list :) xoxo

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[gerogerigaogaigar]

Madonna - Like A Prayer

After establishing a persona of material excess and precision vapidity Madonna just went ahead and released an emotionally honest personal album. The fact that it not only works but ranks as one of her best albums is a testament to her skills as a performer and songwriter. Funky danceable tracks and slower tender ones mingle side by side without ever resulting in mood whiplash. I think that all of Madonna's 80s output has significant merit, but Like A Prayer is my favorite.

The Rolling Stones - Aftermath

Rolling Stone wants me to listen to the US version of this album. The US version replaces Mother's Little Helper with Paint It Black and cuts several tracks to bring the album's length down. I will not play along. I'm gonna review the UK edition. So anyway this album really hates women. It starts Mother's Little Helper, which berates housewives for having pill addictions and then goes into Stupid Girl, a song that just hates women for existing. Under My Thumb is about dominating a woman until she lacks any autonomy. Just wretched stuff I really love it. Why'd they write these? They're so unnecessarily mean. The Stones were experimenting with some psychedelic sounds in the first half but from Goin' Home onward they really just default back to being a wannabe American blues rock band. Btw I'm being harsh because you probably already know if you really love or really hate this kind of music, but for the record I love it. The mysogyny is so comically extreme that it genuinely makes me laugh. Stupid Girl could be an incel anthem. It should be.

DJ Shadow - Endtroducing.....

This album transcends everything. It exists out of time out of genre. Endtroducing..... stands alone as a human achievement that is only paralleled by the sublime geometry of Islamic art, the elaborate architecture of gothic cathedrals, the surreal beauty of German expressionist film. In case you can't tell already, I'm not gonna be normal about this one. The album comes from the hip hop and turntablist scene of the 90s with the ethos of plunderphonics and an atmosphere that draws equally from funk, soul, and R&B as it does from ambient, tape music and drum & bass. It doesn't sound like anything else I've ever heard. Hypnotic bass grooves will transition into frenetic drum loops and back before picking up a melodic element from three tracks ago and turning it into a new drum solo or bass groove. It moves so smoothly and with such deliberation. Every sound is irreplaceable. I don't have a singular favorite record, but this one has a particular Enigma Of Amigara Fault effect on me. Like this is my album, it was made for me.

Vampire Weekend - Modern Vampires Of The City

I don't mind Vampire Weekend, but they are little more than a generic indie rock band with futile aspirations towards art rock and baroque pop. Many of the songs keep up enough energy to not leave me totally bored, but they never really capture my interest. I'd be much happier if Ezra Koenig focused his efforts where they belong, convincing Netflix to give him another season of Neo Yokio.

The Who - Live At Leeds

There are at least four versions of this album out there. The original only contained six songs out of the 30ish played during the concert and the version I have is the 95 cd release that contains 14 tracks. The expanded version has some tracks from Tommy and a real nice version of B-side Heaven And Hell, but I will focus on the six original tracks, Young Man Blues, Substitute, Summertime Blues, Shakin' All Over, My Generation, and Magic Bus. I love the choice of tracks. Three covers and three older singles. Nothing from their recent album Tommy. And all the songs are performed so much rougher and heavier than their album counterparts. My Generation goes on for 15 minutes and includes interpolations of songs from Tommy and extended guitar solos. It ends on a seven minute version of the objectively lame Magic Bus and they make it kick ass. The who gives a shit energy of this concert is apparent and the fact they released this at all is great, it's one of the best live albums because it actually sounds like a live show.

Prince - Dirty Mind

Prince was so fucking good. This is the horniest album. Every song is about sex, even his breakup songs are really fucking horny. And what the fuck is up with Sister? What maniac would write that? What a legend. This is such a funky danceable album, but it's over so fast. You can basically listen to this and his debut back to back and that would equal a full length album. Unfortunately we don't get to see much of guitar god Prince on this one, but every prince album from the 80s is good so who cares?

Jerry Lee Lewis - All Killer No Filler

Oh fuck off. Jerry Lee Lewis couldn't maintain a rock career after he married his thirteen year old cousin so he became a mediocre country musician because that was the only crowd that would have him. So why the fuck would I want a compilation? He has like three good songs and then most of his career sucks ass. Here's an alternative. An album that definitely isn't on this list but should be. Mustt Mustt by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. Ali Khan was an amazing vocalist who sang Qawwali, which is Sufi devotional music, and Mustt Mustt was his first attempt to develop a Qawwali fusion style. This album is an amazing combination of traditional Qawwali and alternative rock styles. Don't listen to Jerry Lee Lewis, listen to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan!

Coldplay - A Rush Of Blood To The Head

Coldplay are not Radiohead. This is so sad because they really want to be Radiohead. If you like this album then I'm sorry. But also you should listen to OK Computer by Radiohead because that is what they were trying to make here.

[babyfacewrites]

Ruby's fingers were dripping from the ice melting in her hands and removed the towel for a moment, to replace the ice inside of it before placing it back on his hand. "I'm sure you'll survive, though you might want to get it checked by your primary physician, just to make sure there's no broken bones."

"No that's not it," she shook her head, she definitely knew him from somewhere, perhaps not even from the club. Did they share a class together? Did they have a bad date years ago and she'd blocked it from memory? No, she wasn't quite on the mark yet.

"Holy shit, wait," she barked out, eyes lighting up as she finally recognised who he was. Admittedly, she wasn't the most up to date with singers and musicians. Normally, she would just listen to the same stuff she had since she was a teenager but he was incredibly talented and she had even gone out of her way to buy his latest album. Though, she mostly knew his face from her grandmothers tabloid magazines.

"You're Kody Cantrell!"

Ruby-Grace tried to keep her voice as low as possible, since she figured that he didn't want to draw too much attention towards himself, especially not in a place like this. "I don't think i've ever met a famous person in here before. Thanks for stepping in with that guy before, I know that it could have outed you for being here. My lips are sealed, you can enjoy your night. If you want a private room for you and your guests, I can set that up too."

Kody wasn't offended, not at all. Who wouldn't be in a bit of a mood after being grabbed like that? And besides, did she even want this job? Just from these few seconds of talking to her, he got the sense that it probably wasn't her first choice. After all, Kody wasn't even a stripper, only a patron, and he was getting tired of the creeps that kept showing up.

"Nah, it's fine," He chuckled as he waved over the bartender, ordering himself a tequila sunrise before turning to face her once more. "I've been here a couple of times, but y'know, I wouldn't consider myself a regular."

He went to other clubs around L.A., probably more often than anyone should, but he had only been to this one in particular a couple of times. The catch was that he technically shouldn't be in any club at all, given his past of hard partying and generally risky behavior. His management, his parents, and even his sister told him that he needed to slow down, because if he didn't, everything he'd worked for would be gone.

You look so familiar. Those words were a reminder of why he did the things he did. Being recognized reminded him of his position in the public eye and the constant scrutiny he faced just for existing, and that he drank just to forget about it all. And the thing is, it worked. Every single time, it worked. For just a couple hours, he could forget about all the expectations forced on him. He liked that.

"Eh, you may have seen me around," he gave a tense smile, shrugging. "I'm all over the place."

[kookscrescent]

A Needy, Desperate Fuck Up (m) │ pjm

❒ pairing: jimin x female reader ❒ summary: jimin’s desperation leads to a fuck up. ❒ prompt: "Fuck fuck fuck fuck, that's not fucking good!" and "Fuck! I'm not on the pill!" ❒ rating: nc-17, 18+ ❒ genre: smut, pwp ❒ warnings: unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), dirty talk, cursing, accidental creampie, rough sex, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, choking, crying, Jimin is neeedyyyy for that puzz puzz ❒ word count: 3.1k │ unedited ❒ release date: may 8th 2021 ❒ disclaimer: This is all fiction! Nothing mentioned/written are facts and/or real! So please just keep that in mind when reading and enjoy! Thank you ♡

The door to your bedroom barely has a chance to close properly before Jimin has you pressed flat against the wall. The coldness of the exposed brick wall has goosebumps rising on your rapidly heating skin, and you shudder at the contact.

But you don’t care. All you can think about is the way Jimin feels pressed against your body – the hard panels of his toned chest and abdominal muscles, not to mention his hard length growing against your leg.

You can’t help but moan at the feeling. It’s been way too long since you and Jimin have had sex! He’s been extremely busy with recording for the new album, and his schedule is almost jammed packed every day, and on the rare occasion that he has a few hours of free time, you would much rather have him spend it on catching up on some rest.

But something had come over him the minute he opened your front door and stepped inside. Like you normally would, you’d yelled out a hello to him, letting him know you were in the kitchen, with your hands buried in the dirty dish water as you were cleaning the few dishes you had neglected since the day before. You hadn’t heard him call back a hello to you like he normally would, but you thought he might just be tired and didn’t really think anything of it. However, you did hear him entering the kitchen and stopping just behind you. About to ask him if he was hungry and if he wanted you to make him something, you’d dried your hands on the nearest rag, but you didn’t even manage to get a proper look at him before his hands were in your hair and his lips were claiming yours in a hard kiss.

It took your breath away. Literally. The rag fell to the floor without a sound and without pulling away to question his sudden behavior you grabbed his face in your hands, trying to bring him closer. He took the hint and stepped forward, pushing his chest and pelvis against your body. he was hot and cold at the same time. His clothes cold from the slight breeze outside, but his hands and lips warm and hot against your skin.

Things escalated pretty quickly from that point and you honestly can’t really remember the journey from the kitchen to your bedroom. Every breath you each take is rushed and breathy, and all you seem to recall is hands frantically trying to remove pieces of clothing and said clothing landing haphazardly on the floor in a line behind you. Hard and wet kisses to your lips and neck, and your hands desperately trying to undo the string on Jimin’s joggers.

At this point you’ve both managed to get each other undressed, both of you now lying naked on the bed, Jimin hovering above you, your legs caging him in and his hard cock resting between your soaked folds as he slowly grinds himself against you. Your mouths are a hot mess, lips slipping and sliding over each other and your tongues erotically dancing.

It’s like all hell have broken loose and the both of you have just lost it. You have no idea what has spurred on his sudden desperate need to claim you, but you can’t say that you mind one bit. You’re equally as desperate to have him, not having felt him inside of you for almost three weeks!

Throwing your head back, you groan as the tip of his cock nudge your clit. “Shit, that feels so good!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” You find his eyes, hoping to god he won’t stop moving against you.

He leans down for another kiss. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed your sweet pussy!” He rumbles, lifting to his hands so he can watch his cock effortlessly slid between your folds, your slick coating every thick inch of him. “Fuck, I need to taste you baby.”

With a jerk he moves down your body, your legs automatically parting wider to make room for him. Once settles between your legs, Jimin looks up at you from under lust clouded eyes, his pupils so dark and intense that you become slightly nervous. Pressing a kiss to the juncture of your thigh, he gently and ever so slowly runs the tip of his pointer finger down your slit, collecting your juices before sucking his finger clean.

He groans and you almost dissipate on the spot. His finger returns to your heat as another kiss is pressed to the juncture of your thigh. He repeats his previous action – running his finger down your slit, collecting your arousal, but he stops at your entrance, teasingly circling your hole. He pushes in just an inch before retreating and you mumble a frustrated please. You lock eyes, just as a second finger joins the first and he pushes in all the way to his knuckles.

Your head hits the pillows in a sigh of relief. He pushes in and out of you in a slow and tantalizing rhythm. It has your head swimming, and you need more.

“Please Jimin, please! Don’t tease me.”

“Don’t tease you baby?” he repeats and following with a kiss right above your clit. “Why not?”

Arrogant shit, you think!

“It’s been so long…” you mumble, your voice muffled by the pillows when he begins to pick up the pace. “Make me cum!”

“Hmmm,” he places another kiss above your clit, so close to touching but never enough to give you the relief you want. He begins scissoring his fingers inside of you, and the familiar fire starts in your stomach. “Want me to make you cum with my mouth babygirl?”

You nod frantically! “Yes yes yes ye- ahhhh!” You’re abruptly cut off by the feeling of Jimin’s tongue finally making contact with your clit. He gently licks it – long fat swipes with his warm tongue.

The sounds coming out of you is only spurring him on. Two fingers turn to three and he sucks your clit so violently it has your hips rising from the bed. He easily folds one arm across your lower abdomen, holding you down as he continues to suck.

The fire picks up, and your cries grows louder and louder with each suck of his mouth and each thrust of his fingers. You can’t remember a time where you’ve ever wanted, no needed, to cum so desperately. You can almost taste the release on your tongue. So close.

You can feel how eager Jimin is to make you explode on his tongue as well. He pushes the entirety of his face into your soaked pussy. His tongue working you so feverishly, his nose bumping your sensitive clit.

You grasp at his hair, pushing his face deeper into you and he groans in respond. The vibration sending a wave of tingles through your clit and all the way down to your toes, making them curl. You feel like your brain is no longer connected to the rest of your body, your legs and hips having a life of their own – bucking wildly against his face, trying to reach your high.

Slipping his fingers out of you, he reaches up to press your hips to the bed with both of his hands, making you completely immobilized.

You’re about to whine at the loss of his fingers inside of you, but Jimin is quick to replace them with his fat tongue instead.

“Ah…ah Jimin- oh god!” You moan.

He continues his feast. Slurping and sucking every inch of your wet pussy. You’re so close, so fucking close to cumming, every nerve in your body is on high alert, ready to explode in a fit of euphoria.

Jimin moans between your legs. Loving the way your sweet juices cover his face and tongue. If he’s not careful, the mere taste of you on his tongue combined with the way you sound when you’re losing control, he could probably cum.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop!” You plead, digging your fingers deeper into his scalp, yanking at his hair.

He doesn’t stop. Jimin keeps going, your moaning pleas urging him to go even faster, and he throws his fingers back into the equation. Plunging two fingers into your tight hole and working them at the same fast rhythm as his tongue on your clit.

When your grip on his hair becomes almost too painfully tight, he knows your cumming.

“Shit shit shit shit shit! Ohhhhhhh…!!”

He keeps lapping up every inch of you until he’s sure you’ve ridden out every small inch of your orgasm. Only when your hands fall limply to the bad, does he ease up.

You’re panting, trying to catch your breath as Jimin kisses his way back up your body. He seems just as out of breath as you are, but you can tell that he’s no way near finished with you.

And you would be sourly disappointed if he were.

*

“God you’re so hot!” Jimin breaths, lips hovering above yours, barely touching. He thumbs your lower lip, drawing it down before flicking his tongue across it. Locking his eyes on yours, he holds your gaze as he works his hips between your legs.

Supporting himself on one elbow, he lets the other arm travel behind your body to roughly grab onto your ass cheek, squeezing it tightly as he grinds his pelvis against you, letting his pelvis rub against your still sensitive clit as his cock is nestled deep inside of you.

Lifting, you reach for his mouth, your breast pressing against his sweaty chest. You whimper into his mouth as he slowly begins drawing back his hips and pushing his cock back inside with a hard thrust. He repeats this several times. Each time pushing a little deeper and thrusting a little harder.

Nibbling at your bottom lip, he whispers, “I’m gonna make you cum so hard on my cock.”

“Please!”

“Would you like that?”

“Yes! God yes!”

He forces one of your legs over his shoulder as he moves to sit on his knees, trapping your remaining leg between his. This automatically causes you to roll to your side, changing the position and making him go deeper.

Fisting the sheets, you hold on for dear life as Jimin begins fucking into you at an almost violent pace. He kisses your shin as he uses your leg as leverage to push himself faster and deeper inside of you.

It’s a bruising pace – hard, fast and rough.

“I-I… Jimin!” You hoarsely call out his name as heat washes through your body and the knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

“Shit! Are you gonna cum baby?” His eyes zero in on the way your pussy swallows his cock so desperately, your wall tightening and sucking him in. “Fuck you’re getting so tight!” He whines almost painfully.

You cry out, your orgasm crashing through you like a volcano erupting. Your entire body is convulsing and tingling with the sweet feeling of the release you’ve missed so much. And even when you’re spend and don’t think you can take much more, Jimin keeps going. He fucks you through the waves aftershocks till they subside, and you feel a new knot of fire starting to form.

Your pussy spasms around his cock and it feels like he’s splitting you open. “Oh my fucking god!”

“Fuck! How do you keep getting tighter?!” He throws his head to the ceiling with a deep growl, his fingers digging into your flesh and he slows down to let your both catch your breath.

“Kiss me please,” you manage to stammer out the few words, needing to feel him close to you again.

With your leg still over his shoulder, he leans down on his elbows till he’s able to slot his lips over yours in a sweet kiss. You claim his mouth, your hands cupping his cheeks as your tongue licking its way inside. It’s wet and messy, and Jimin switches his rhythm to match the pace of the kiss. Slowly, he grinds his hips against yours as your mouths make love. It’s a complete switch of mood from what it was mere seconds ago. But none the less, the know forming in the pit of your stomach keeps on growing.

Jimin pick up the pace once again. Frantically, desperately snapping his hips against yours – the sound of your skin slapping together and the squelch of your juices as the pumps in and out, filling the room.

“Fuck,” he breaths and finds your neck, licking a fat stripe from your ear to the juncture between your shoulder and neck. He bits down softly and your face contorts in pleasure, hands scratching down his sweaty back.

You don’t know how he’s able to keep going like this, but you’re not about to tell him to slow down or stop. Not when the tingling feeling of another orgasm starts spreading through your body. But before the feeling can take full flight, Jimin stops to sit up on his haunches, and you whine loudly.

“Noooo!”

He laughs, running a hand through his thick wet locks. “Don’t worry babygirl. I’ve got you.”

And he does. He doesn’t waste a beat and immediately pick up where he left. He spreads your legs wide, his eyes focusing on the way he sinks his cock into your sweet heat, the way you drink up every inch of him. The sight nearly makes him cum on the spot and he has to concentrate real hard not to blow his load inside already. He’s not done with you yet!

Having gone so long without being inside of you, he’s not ready for this to be over!

“Jimin- ah ah ahhhhh- hnnng!” Your back arches off the bed as the crown of his cock rubs against your sweet spot. Jimin responds with his hand on your throat, putting just the right amount of pressure. You can feel your eyes tearing up at the intense amount of pleasure running through your body, he’s everywhere! You can feel him everywhere! And you don’t know how much more you’ll be able to take, feeling spend and used after 2 orgasms already.

“Baby please,” you beg him teary eyed. “Need you to cum!”

Jimin shakes his head, his hair falling over his eyes as determination takes over his features. “Gonna make you cum again!” he rasps, throwing his other hand into the mix as well – using his thumb to draw harsh circles on your clit.

Your hips buck against his touch and the fire in your stomach intensifies to the point of pain. “I-I can’t…” you sob, and you desperately try to find something to grab onto, eventually settling on Jimin’s thighs, your nails digging into his skin. You’re sure that will leave a mark in the morning.

“Yes you can!” Jimin growls, teeth biting into his bottom lip and he begins pounding into your so ruthlessly and desperately. He fucks you so hard and fast, that you’re almost positive that the bed will break.

He squeezes your throat a little harder, making the tears stream down your cheeks – wetting the pillow below you.

“Fucking cum! Cum around my cock baby!” he breathes, leaning down to kiss the tears from your cheeks.

The slight change in position, has his cock reaching so deep inside of you. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull, fingers clawing into Jimin’s back – trying to hold on for dear life as he pounds you to your third orgasm for the night.

“Jimi- fuck…ahhhhhh!” you cry hoarsely, as you cum so hard that spots start dancing in front of your eyes and your breath catches in your throat when Jimin tighten his hold on your throat the slights bit – adding fuel to your already too intense pleasure.

“That’s it,” he grunts, continuing his abuse and fucking you through your orgasm, now chasing his own as well.

“Oh my god, please!”

You’re so desperate to feel him fall apart, to feel him lose control as much as you are. Wrapping yourself around him, you pull him as close as possible, your hands grasping his ass, pushing and pulling him towards you and your hips matching him thrust for thrust.

“Yesssss! Fuck ____, just like that. Just like that,” he chants, and you cry out in relief when you feel his muscles tensing up under your fingers and his cock twitching inside of you as he cums in hot spurts.

He continues to swirl his hips slowly as you both come down from your high. He finds your lips, placing small, sweet pecks of love over and over again as you both try to find your breath.

“That was…” you mumble against his lips.

He cracks a smile, “It was.”

Eventually Jimin stops moving completely, just lying on top of you with his arms caging you in and his hands running lovingly through your sweat soaked hair. You really need a shower before you go to bed. But you stay like that for what feels like an eternity. Just kissing and touching each other. You’re pretty sure you won’t be able to move once you have to get out of bed, your legs feeling completely numb. But at this rate, you’re not even sure you want to get out of bed at all – the way Jimin feels on top of you, his weight pressing you down, the way his cock feels inside of you and his warm cum still filling your-

“Did you come inside of me?” you ask him abruptly, your eyes going as big as saucers.

He looks down to where your bodies are connected, confused for a second. “Did I? I guess I did.”

“Jimin!” You begin to panic, your voice going up an octave. “Fuck! I’m not on the pill!”

Jimin’s entire body stiffens upon hearing your words. “What?!” He still asks, not sure he heard you right.

“I’m not on the pill right now!”

“What? Why? You’ve always been on the pill!” He says, sitting up and pulling out of you. You wince at the slight sting he leaves behind from pounding you so thorough and good.

“Yes, but remember last month when I had my doctor’s appointment because I was having really bad cramps? She told me to stop taking them for a while to see how my body would respond! I clearly remember telling you this and that you needed to wear condoms!”

“WHAT?!” he practically screeches in disbelief, watching as his cum slowly leaks out of your abused entrance. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck, that’s not fucking good!”

[holdinbacksecrets]

boyfriend things // you feel like you belong 

namjoon: you’re kind of in love with his family, and the way his sister took your hand to show you your room for the weekend. his mom invited you into the kitchen: her safe space as she called it. his dad said he heard you love to paint, wondered what artists you admire. who inspires you. you nearly said, namjoon. instead, you said, thomas cole. you laughed through dinner and didn’t mind their eyes on you. eyes shining like ones you know so well. being with his family feels like home

jin: the final piece is placed, and you complete the puzzle, giggling over the picture showing a scene from Mama Mia. only jin would get you such a present. you rest your head in his lap, stretching tired limbs, yawning into the back of your hand. “thank you for such a lovely birthday” being with him was all you wanted. “of course, my puzzle connoisseur ...a secret puzzle connoisseur?” “if i was a Puzzle Connoisseur, you best believe i would wear an honorable badge. you would’ve known at our first date. i would hang a plaque too” “a badge? a plaque?! christmas this year will be wonderful. i’ll make a matching hat too”

yoongi: on mornings you wake up earlier than normal, and his schedule doesn’t begin for a good few hours, means homemade. breakfast. you’ll pull on a pair of jeans, brush your teeth, grab your bag and head out. the grocery store is nearly empty. the rising sun shines bright rays through the storefront, highlighting the cereal isle, landing prettily on stacked peaches. coming home to the aroma of brewing coffee, and a boyfriend who’s ready to help. hello kisses and a mumbled you look pretty i missed you against pink lips. “pancakes with blueberries or chocolate chips?” 

hoseok: you feel like you belong. it exists in the way he hands you the phone to talk to his sister because her saturday morning is free, and she knows you love the farmer’s market. you feel like you belong. it exists in the hand that holds yours at the kitchen table. an evening with friends, shared over dinner, and there’s something about the way he says he’s not drinking because he’s driving tonight before topping off your glass of red. you feel like you belong because he kisses your forehead every time he says goodbye. and he greets you the next day in your apartment with a made up melody and quick steps: a waltz that ends in laughter. loving doesn’t have to be hard because you belong here, with him, together 

jimin: it’s so late. you aren’t used to being up when there’s an AM beside the 3 on your home screen. it’s so late, but you don’t plan on leaving behind the blanket beneath you. you don’t plan on moving the hand away from your cheek or drawing your gaze from his and sometimes the starry sky. a light breeze fans cool air across your skin. can we live on the beach? “so this is what i’ve been missing? i should have confessed to you years ago” “did you say years?” “i’m surprised you couldn’t tell” 

taehyung: for the first time in your entire life, you spent the night in the guest room at your parents’ house. it’s secluded in the basement with a gorgeous view of the ocean. if you squint, sometimes you see sandcastles. he’s still asleep beside you, clutching the stuffed little lamb you loved as a child. you take his picture, and smile to yourself as you save it to the album filled with captured moments, perfect for days that call for reminiscing

jungkook: the housewarming party was a success. the balloons have floated to the ceiling. the playing LP has started over again. and now, you’re finally unzipping your dress to change into something more comfortable. he’s humming in the bathroom, asking where new tubes of toothpaste are and what kind of essence you want to use for the diffuser tonight. eucalyptus with citrus wins. a t shirt replaces your dress, tossed into the hamper. barefoot, stepping across bathroom tile to open the drawer beside jungkook’s waist. “one over next time, babe”

check out the masterlist 🤍

[heartbreakgrill]

Love Song; Corbyn Besson

description: yeah just some good ol’ friends to lovers 😋

Your face clenched up as the nurse swabbed your nose. The urge to sneeze came over when she tugged it out, and you quickly pulled up your mask. After a round of watery eyes and the oddest facial expression, the sneeze subsided.

“Thank you,” you told her, a laugh dancing at the edge of you tone.

Her eyes crinkled, showing the smile beneath her mask. “You’re welcome. It’ll just be a minute.”

You stood from the chair, plopping down beside Zach on the couch. He was playing on his phone, but looked up when he noticed your presence.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” He watched your hand rub at your nose over the mask.

“Uh, yeah,” you chuckled.

Zach went back to his phone and you unlocked your own, crossing a leg over the other. Soon, his name was called and he snapped off his mask. Negative.

Daniel replaced Zach in the seat beside you. You bid him hello and he said, “Hey. How are you today?”

“Was doing fine before I had to have a stick in my nose,” you giggled.

Daniel laughed as well. “Yeah, but whatever we have to do to get to celebrate.”

“New normal,” you nodded.

“Y/N!” The other nurse called out from her clipboard.

You flashed your eyebrows at Daniel and stood from the couch. Slipping your phone into your butt pocket, you walked over to the table.

“You are negative, my dear. We’re having everyone who has already been tested to stay in the kitchen.”

You took the packet of your information from the nurse, thanked them again, and joined Zach, Corbyn, and Christian in the kitchen. You slipped the pink mask in your jean jacket pocket as you took the empty bar stool next to Christian.

“Hey, guys,” you greeted.

Corbyn perked up at the sound of your voice, peaking up from his phone. He was directly across from you, leaning his chin against the ball of his palm. You glanced around at the boys, meeting his eyes over the top of his phone.

“Hey, Y/N, when did you get here?��� Christian spoke, drawing your eyes away from Corbyn.

You cleared your throat and folded your hands in your lap. They were clammy now, budding heat throughout your face. His eyes.

“Like ten minutes ago. I said I was here in the group chat,” you reminded Christian.

He shrugged, “I don’t really pay attention.”

“Rip,” you laughed.

Zach and Christian went back to their conversation about the album, the only valid topic of interest for the night ahead.

You glanced back over at Corbyn, who had shifted so he could pretend like he hadn’t blushed at your presence. You sat there for a moment, contemplating saying anything at all. Ultimately you settled on tugging out your phone again.

You leaned on the counter, scrolling through people’s Instagram stories. You swiped past Why Don’t We’s shared page and fell on Corbyn’s. It was a selfie, one he took mere moments before you sat down. You flushed red, eyes gently lifting to take in how he looked right now.

His eyes.

You forced an awkward smile at the awkward eye contact, feeling...awkward.

You looked back down at your phone. It seems everyone of the boy’s friends and family members had posted about the album. Except you. You felt slightly guilty, voicing your concerns to the boys before you. Jonah and Daniel had since joined you guys in the kitchen, talking with Christian and Zach.

“No worries, Y/N. I mean, you’re here,” Jonah shrugged it off.

Zach added, “Yeah, but if you wanna post something go ahead.

“Why don’t we just take a selfie or something?” Daniel suggested, tipping his water bottle towards the phone in your hand.

“Oh, yeah. That’s good. I know it doesn’t matter, but I really want you guys to get number 1 on the charts,” you grinned sheepishly.

Jack appeared beside you, slinging on arm around your shoulder. You noticed Corbyn shift again, gulping and eyeing Jack’s arm.

“Oh, we will, Y/N, we will,” he winked at you.

You laughed loudly at his expression. “I believe in you, Jack Avery.”

He squeezed your shoulder. Everybody moved to stand around you, Corbyn ending up too far away. You tried to see where it was he was standing, just because you felt comfortable being able to see him, seeing you. But you couldn’t.

You were attempting to hold the phone out far enough to get everyone in frame, but your arm wasn’t long enough. Everybody laughed at your struggle. Jonah took the phone from you and angled it at the group. He snapped the photo and everyone dispersed.

Jonah ended up in the seat across from you, Zach next to him where he had been. Daniel, Jack, and Christian decided to start pouring drinks, since it was nearing 11 pm. Corbyn stood there for a minute, contemplating running off the edge of the world.

He settled in the seat beside you which drew your attention from your phone. You had been captioning the Instagram post, struggling to come up with something interesting.

“Hey, Corbyn,” you weakly smiled.

He smiled. “Hey.” His voice made your knees weak.

You flashed the screen at him, pushing down the red blush willing itself to paint your face. “What do you think I should caption it?”

“I don’t know,” he let out a breathy laugh, “uh, maybe a joke. Like, track 4 was written about me.”

You shared a laugh with him, happy nothing felt stuffed of weird energy for even a mere few minutes of conversation.

“That would be really funny, but probably cause some drama. How about, like, ‘dibs on Love Song?’ Because I genuinely feel like that ones gonna be so good.”

Corbyn gulped, “I wrote that one with Daniel.”

“Oh,” you breathed. “Then, I call it.”

Red cheeks all around.

You quickly posted it. Soon, the room was engulfed with music, the 3 singles the boys had released filling the air. There was a single camera on the band, standing around the kitchen island you had once been sitting at.

You stood to the side with Anna and Kay, a glass of champagne in your hand. You had since abandoned your Jean jacket, revealing the flowery, thin strapped corset that left your midrif out in the open. You felt really hot, be it because of the outfit, your sparse interactions with Corbyn, or the alcohol beginning to take hold of your bones.

See, there was something there with Corbyn, something nobody really even knew about. In fact, you didn’t even know if Corbyn himself remembered.

You had been good friends with the entire band since they moved to LA, attending concerts when you weren’t in school and hanging out constantly. Of course, as any pathetic pining story went, you’d been in love with Corbyn since you’d met him, but his heart had always belonged to Christina.

When you discovered they broke up, you felt elated for half a second. Then, he called you in tears.

“I know we’re not expectionally close, but I need somebody. The guys, they just don’t understand.l

Since that moment, you guys had been attached at the hip. Quarantine had been boring at first, terrifying, even. But, then you’d begun to spend every waking moment with Corbyn. You were the one who suggested he dye his hair black, had helped him do it. you’d gone with him when the tattoo shops opened again and helped him pick which one looked best. You’d helped them move into their new house, helped Corbyn decorate his new space. Hell, you’d even suggested a song lyric or two when laying on Corbyn’s bed, listening to him across the room on his guitar.

And then, on your birthday a few months ago, you had gotten exceptionally drunk to drown the sorrows of lusting after your best friend. When the clock struck midnight, Corbyn had already hauled down a taxi from the bar, slung your arm around his neck, cradling your waist as he tried to get you inside.

Out of nowhere, the sky began pouring buckets of rain. You fell against his chest, laughing hysterically at the ironically cliche moment. Corbyn somehow nuzzled his nose into your neck, giggling along with your drunken haze.

You pulled back gently, the closeness emitting a fierce confidence in your gut which enabled you to lean up and kiss him. He kissed you back, but when he remembered how drunk you were, he tugged away.

“I can’t do this,” he urged, but you mistook his respect for consent as rejection.

You mumbled, “But I’m in love with you.”

You didn’t remember for a few days after, what had happened that night. All you knew was you had woken up in Corbyn’s bed, his clothes on you, a headache in your head, and your dress soaking wet over the bathtub.

Then, a few days later, when you were perched on Corbyn’s bed, watching an episode of Big Mouth, he made a joke about how, “in love you are with,” him. Your eyes widened, breath hitched, and a memory pulled itself from your brain. You suddenly stood up, his arm dropping to the comforter since it had been around your shoulders.

You made some excuse about homework, though you both knew you had finished your finals the night prior. Since then, neither of you had really spoken at all.

You clenched the champagne glass between your fingers, turning them white from frustration. You felt a hand on your shoulder, turning towards Anna.

“Everything okay?” She glanced between your eyes, noticing the tears welled up there.

You sniffled and blinked the tears away. One dribbled down your cheek. You quickly wiped it away. Anna’s bottom lip jutted out in a pitiful expression and she pulled you into a hug. You wanted to collapse into her, sobbing your way through the album’s release. But, you squeezed your face shut and grabbed the composure that was running away from you.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you tugged back and set your glass on the table beside you. You quickly strode to the bathroom, shutting it behind you.

You wiped under your eyes with a wet cloth, salvaging your eye makeup. Your eyes were still red, though, red and pupils blown up in a sad countenance.

There was a knock on the door and you tensed up. Daniel’s voice came from the other side of the door, soft and sweet.

“Y/N? Can I come in?”

You already knew he had seen you crying on Anna, and probably watched you storm away as quietly as one could when they were this upset. You were taking him away from his night and that made you feel just horrible.

“Yeah,” your voice was weak.

Daniel gently opened the door. He didn’t try to hug you or tell it was going to be okay. Instead, he cradled your face in his head, pushing the hair back from your cheeks.

“I know. You don’t have to explain or try to push me away. I just know. All I can give is the fact that we wrote these songs about our lives. These songs are personal.”

You met his eyes, swimming in the undemanding answers he was laying in front of you. “What do you mean?”

He gave a warm smile, “Corbyn got really good at songwriting. Just listen.”

You hugged Daniel quickly before shutting off the light. He slung his arm around your shoulders, guiding you back to the kitchen. Everyone counted down for midnight and soon enough, the new songs were blasting through the kitchen.

You anticipated Love Song through the entirety of Be Myself, barely paying any attention to the song that you knew Daniel wrote exclusively by himself. Soon, Daniel’s voice was dancing through the speakers in an upbeat rhythm, singing the literal love song.

Right after, Corbyn’s voice came again.

“You came out of nowhere like a hurricane.”

You perked up, holding yourself together with your arms. Daniel caught your eyes and nodded firmly. Your eyes flickered across the room and met Corbyn‘s. He’d been watching you for a while, you settled. Though his band mates and friends were dancing around the kitchen, he was solemnly drinking his own champagne. His hair was damp from the bottle Jonah had cracked open at midnight.

“Pulled me in and kissed me in the rain. And I fell for you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You found his eyes again, your face bright red. An overwhelming grin came over you. Corbyn smiled in response, a dry chuckle shaking his shoulders. He shook his head, finally relieved.

You set down your glass again, tapping Anna on the shoulder. “I’ll be back, k?”

She squeezed your shoulder again, still feeling sympathetic. You looked to Corbyn and nodded towards the back door.

You slipped outside, taking a seat on one of the pool chairs. It was dark outside, only the light from the kitchen washing through the glass sliding doors.

You heard the doors open and close again, looking up from your shoes. You stood up, breathing in deeply. Corbyn stopped in front of you, fingers squeezing each other.

You nervously smiled up at him. “So...” you ached, “so, um, I guess I really did call track 4.”

Corbyn laughed, his hands coming around to your back. He pushed you into his chest, yours going up around his neck.

“Yeah,” his face drew back, “and it was about you.”

You grinned, pursing your lips to try and push it down. But, you were tired of pushing it all down, so you let your lips widen before landing themselves on Corbyn’s.

“You could be the one, girl you’re driving me crazy.”

[starshipsofstarlord]

Can you do a one-shot where the reader was born in 1996 and she’s the daughter of Nikki Sixx and Brandi Brandt and is the bassist and songwriter of Wallows and is best friends with her bandmates Dylan Minnette, Braeden Lemasters, and Cole Preston and she helps 5sos write songs for the album Calm and starts dating Ashton and the fans go nuts (in the good way) with shipping?

Wallowing

ashton Irwin x wallows!reader / masterlist

warnings; references to sex, swearing, threats

“Come in babe.” You opened the door, inviting your boyfriend Ashton into your flat. He had been having a hard day at the studio, and had asked if it was alright if he came over. Of course it was, but he had got a warning prior to his arrival, that they would not be alone, and that if he wanted to clear his head, it was certainly not the right place.

“Fuck you, you’re supposed to be on my side man!” At the sound of Dylan, yelling at whom you supposed to be Cole, you pinched the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut as you welcomed your partner into your home sweet home. Out of all days, they had to be playing COD in your apartment today.

“Sorry bout that.” A light grimace filled your face, but instead of giving you criticism, Ashton simply laughed, following you through the apartment, as you tried to slowly pass behind your band mates who were occupying your living room.

“Not so fast young Sixx, get your well endowed ass back here.” A sigh fell from your mouth as you rolled your eyes at Braeden, pausing your movements as he turned to lean against the back of your couch to peer over at you. “We need to have a conversation little lady.”

Groaning, you threw your head back, smiling a small apology towards Ash. “We were going to go to my room, I’d rather just you guys play my PS4 without needing to interact with me face to face.”

“Would you rather he FaceTime you whilst you’re getting down and dirty, or stand there like a kid’s doll and allow him to pull at your arm?” Dylan mumbled, as you crossed your arms, Ash greeting your band mates as you moved towards the tv, reaching for the side button and turning it off.

“Y/n what the hell?” Cole half screamed, breaking loose as he was close to finally beating Minette and killing his gamer character. His hands flailed as he expected an answer, raising in the air as he held the remote.

“I could ask you the same thing Preston, so what’s the schtick that’s making you keep me here, in my own apartment?” He gulped as you enquired at him, raising your brow, as you leaned back into your partner who stood awkwardly behind you like a supporting shadow.

“Congrats on the album Irwin, it’s great to see our own band member aiding your band. CALM is sick, and she makes me feel the same, just in a different manner.”

“Stop being a salty little bitch would you?” You asked, smacking him on the upside of the back of his head. He rutted his head back, clasping the behind of his scalp with his palm, firmly turning back to cast an icy glare towards you.

This was the normal behaviour around here, you all enjoyed getting under each other’s skin. It was a sign of true friendship, that whilst sometimes still triggering some real annoyance, that made your bond of being band mates that much deeper.

They were doing the same thing to you now, speaking prolifically showering your boyfriend in compliments, to side swab you with cockblockery. In all honesty, whenever Lydia or another girl was on the premises, you returned the favour, though that did not your pulsating frustration decrease at all.

“I’m going to assume there’s a problem here. Are you sure now is a good time for me to be here?” Ash asked reassuringly, his gentle touch applying a loving presence upon your shoulder, making you smile despite the situation that was running through the discourse of your veins

You craved him, to feel his body atop, or under, or however else against your own. It was infuriating to endure how your band mates dragged their greeting to him out, all you wanted was to discard his and your own clothing, leaving it as a jumble of forgotten material on the floor whilst the pair of you were caught up in mess upon the mattress, limbs inclined to coil around each arch, and breaths long overdue and escaping into the air.

“It’s a good time for you overall pal, considering that your sales are sky high, taller than this one that is practically trying to hump your arm. No problems with your presence, except the fact that it’s turning little Brandi’s baby’s hormones into overdrive.” Braeden spoke, earning a guttural growl out from your throat, as your nostrils flared furiously at his words.

If you didn’t get on with it, then the Red Sea of the month would cause a flood that would stain your underwear. You’d have preferred to take action before that happened. “The work isn’t just on my shoulders loser, if you want a worldwide selling album, put in some elbow grease, instead of playing stupid games.”

“I’m good, and by definition that makes you stupid, because they belong to you.” He remarked, Cole chuckling and offering him a high five.

“I could just kick you out.” You promptly supposed, as Dylan messed around with his phone, surrendering to the game, as he ran his hand to define the ruggedness of his silvery blue locks.

“Band rules say no to that.” Braeden stated. “And Ash, feel free to replace this one, we could do a switch. You’re basically ready to move in together, so we wouldn’t have to go anywhere else to have rapid fire nights.”

“Do I even want to know what that is?” Your boyfriend asked, and you, without any thought or hesitancy, shook your head. He certainly didn’t need to know about that, it was, least to say, a mess.

There would be dares, and drinks, and tattoos put in the most awkward places with that artist set that you kept very far under your bed. It was a shock that Ashton hadn’t seen the word ‘narwhale’ on the heel of your foot, or maybe he did, and decided against saying anything.

“I put up with these idiots.” Dylan sighed, though as you whipped your head around, you saw that he was not speaking directly to any of you, instead, his

“He’s on fucking insta live.” Cole realised, leaving over to get his face in the mirroring of the stream, waving a hand to the fans that spewed hearts onto the corner of the screen.

“Prick.” You called Dylan out, watching as he laughed at your lack of amusement, and poised the self proclaimed camera towards you, also catching the person beside you in the view.

“Calm.” Ashton softly spoke, sending you a small and reassuring smile, which you were defeated to not permit the same in return

“Funny pun Irwin, but shut up.” You laughed, and shook your head, him finally catching onto what he had said.

“Yes that is the incredibly talented 5SOS member Ashton Irwin. I know right, what is he doing with us?” Cole read, watching as Dylan rolled his eyes at his band member’s behaviour, wanting to get his phone back, though his attempts were lacklustre.

“Or more specifically, her?” Braeden asks, walking behind the sofa and grasping him, dragging him closer to where the phone was propped in Cole’s hand, giving the fans a clear image of his face. “Is he joining the band?” He reads from the flood of comments. “I wish, but we don’t draw that much talent.

“Speak for yourself.” You groaned, walking closer, leaning your head over Ash’s hunched shoulder, releasing an awkward smile as he raised it, gently bumping your chin with the slope of his muscle. “Rude.”

“Where are you guys? Well, we’re at y/n’s apartment. She just got back and dragged this old slugger in off the streets. How charitable.” Cole spoke, smiling up at Irwin as he lightly punched his face, already too comfortable with his hovering presence.

“Why is he there? This one makes me laugh, quick shag, ain’t that right buddy?” Braeden thoughtlessly worded, his eyes going wide in an instant as the fans quickly tended to the realisation of what he had meant. “Fuck, oops I guess.”

To say that you were furious was an understatement; you could feel an ache in your hands, wanting to tear the idiot into dismal pieces until there was nothing salvageable left to fix.

“You guess?” Dylan snickers, covering his mouth with his hand whence he saw your murderous expression conquer features. It was vastly more terrifying than any anger you had ever portrayed, and he could feel the couch moving as Braeden turned, and squirmed from the sight.

“Lemasters, imagine your head on a stick. That is going to happen, when I get my hands on you, your gonna turn cold as I strangle the living shit outta-“ Ashton grabbed you, as your arms tried to grasp and throttle your band mate, flopping in the air, intently furious at his revealing slip up.

“I think imma go.” He bolted, and as you struggled out of Ashton’s grip, you ran after him, out your front door and through the modesty of your building.

“She forgot her key.” Ashton noted, coming around and sitting with the remaining pair on the sofa. “How one of you think it’ll take for them to return?”

“As long as it takes for her to kill him.” Dylan grasps his phone back, fluttering his gaze over the comments. “They’re kinda cute together, found my new OTP. Sorry Dylan and Lydia. Oh don’t worry, that’s fine, we gotta take what we get and currently y/n’s not getting any because we have a tendency to cockblock her.”

“It’s our duty as the men of the band.” Cole spoke, a scream reverberating through from the hallway, audible to those online that were watching the two worlds merging.

“I think she got him.” Ash said, smirking lightly, as he heard your voice bellow out in rage against the male. Yep, your band was messy, but his wasn’t much different. He could certainly get used to it.

[writings-of-a-daphodil]

A Gift

Luke x ghost!reader

Summary: It's your birthday and you wish you could spend it with your family. Luke and the band try to cheer you up (super fluffy).

Requested?: Nope

Fandom: Julie and the Phantoms

A/n: This kinda came out of nowhere and once I had the idea I got carried away. I hope y'all like it!!

For you birthdays were a big thing when you were alive. You and your family would always go on a camping trip and have the time of your lives together. It wasn’t just limited to your family either, it was open to your friends too. It was your favorite tradition.

When you had met Luke, you had been looking forward to inviting him and the band, but then the fateful night at the Orpheum had happened. You and the rest of the band had died that night, now it was twenty-twenty and you were ghosts.

It had been great meeting Julie and forming a band with her, but as your birthday rolled around you were feeling immensely sad. Like Luke you had visited their family and you had seen them preparing to go on the camping trip in your honor. While it made you happy to see them keeping up the tradition, it also felt like a stab to the heart that you couldn’t be there with them.

In the days leading up to your birthday you had grown quiet and more reserved, struggling to find the energy to be happy. You couldn’t visit your family anymore, it just made you cry, but knowing that they were camping and you couldn’t be there also made you cry. It was a lose-lose.

So you had spent most of your time at the beach, watching the ocean and letting it calm you. There was something so relaxing about the way the waves moved and the push and pull of the tide. It was also nice to have privacy, just the crashing waves to keep you company.

It was inevitable that the band would notice your mood and absence of course, and notice they did.

You were at the beach, watching the ocean like normal. It was admittedly a beautiful day for your birthday. The sun was just breaking through the marine layer, creating bright orange patterns on the clouds.

Luke poofed in beside you, startling you out of your sad thoughts. The two of you had been dating since you got the band together and he was always there to comfort you.

“Hey,” he said, wrapping an arm around you. You sniffed in return.

“You didn’t think I would forget what today is, did you?” He asked, giving a small smile.

“No,” you answered, smiling a little bit.

“Good,” he stood up in front of you and grabbed your hands. “You are amazing and you are so great and understanding when it comes to me missing my parents, now it’s my turn to help you with your grief.”

You didn’t have time to respond before you felt the cold sand disappear from beneath you. The world shifted to new surroundings, ones that you definitely did not recognize.

“Luke?” You asked, letting go of his hand. You weren’t exactly in the mood for any surprises at the moment.

Luke moved back to standing in front of you. “Trust me on this, okay?”

He took your hand again and led you down a path. You looked around, trying to find anything that would clue you into where you were.

You slowly began to recognize your surroundings and you stopped walking. “What’s wrong?” Luke asked, stopping with you once he realized you weren’t moving.

“Luke, I-I’ve already visited, seeing them just makes me even sadder.”

“That isn’t why we’re here, Y/n/n. I’ve got a completely unrelated surprise for you.”

You hesitantly began to walk and Luke gave you an encouraging smile. “You are going to have a great day today. I promise.”

You gave him a weak and slightly nervous smile as you followed him. You walked over a hill and what you saw made you smile for real.

Julie and her family were setting up a campsite while the rest of the band and Flynn helped. After the whole Caleb fiasco Julie had let her family in on the ghostly little secret.

“Happy Birthday!” Luke exclaimed, gesturing excitedly at everyone.

“Happy Birthday, Y/n!” Everyone called, though Flynn, Carlos, Victoria, and Ray were a little late since they didn’t see your arrival.

You smiled at your found family. “Guys, this is so sweet.”

“Oh, this isn’t everything,” Reggie said excitedly. “Wait till you see what else we have planned.”

For the first time in a while, you forgot your grief and excitement replaced it. “I can’t wait.”

~~~~

After a few incredibly fun activities, you made it back to your campsite. The sun was still up and you had a while before everyone would eat dinner.

Still hyped up you had a lot of energy and you didn’t know if you could just sit around and chat or play cards. Thankfully Carlos suggested a game of Ultimate frisbee and once the words were out of his mouth, Reggie was chanting it to. You were definitely up for a game and from there, teams were formed.

It was you, Julie, and Alex versus Luke, Reggie, Flynn, and Carlos. You may or may not have specifically engineered it to have Alex on your team, him being the tallest gave an advantage.

You took on Luke. He smirked at you as Alex threw the frisbee to Julie and Flynn intercepted. You rolled your eyes and saw Flynn get ready to throw the frisbee at Carlos. Julie was trying to guard her and Alex was on Reggie, so in a split second you ran over to Carlos. You knew you were faster than Luke so you’d be able to get to Carlos and catch the frisbee first and fortunately you were right.

You intercepted and Luke tried to guard you, giving you a pouty face when Alex caught your throw. You smirked at him, running past Alex to the area near your goal. You had barely stopped running when Alex tossed the frisbee back to you. Luke was almost to you and Julie was open. You threw it to her and smiled as she caught it, scoring a point.

“We’ll get it next time,” Luke called running off towards his team's end of the field.

“Sure!” You called back, a bright smile on your face. However, Luke was right, his team scored the next two times and your team scored the last time before dinner, leaving you at a tie.

You all made your way back to the campsite and you ghosts sat down while the ‘lifers’ got their food.

“It was interesting seeing the frisbee get caught in midair.” Ray chuckled as he took his seat, almost sitting in Reggie before Julie warned him.

“Yes, I’m glad you were having fun,” Victoria said, patting Julie. You smiled at the gesture, trying not to feel sad about your own aunts.

Dinner was full of fun chatting and Julie translating for you and the guys. After dinner the guys got their instruments out and began to sing ‘happy birthday’ to you. You sang along so everyone could see you and it turned into an impromptu concert.

As the sun disappeared and the stars came out, you and your found family sang, enjoying the moment. You would definitely treasure these memories for years to come.

After you finished singing Luke came over to you. “Just close your eyes for a second,” he said, grinning at you like an excited puppy. You did what he asked, though rather reluctantly.

“Guys, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“We wanted to,” Alex said.

You heard a lot of shuffling right in front of you and eventually Luke spoke. “Okay, open your eyes.”

In front of you was a small pile of gifts. “Guys-“

Luke cut you off before you could protest any further, “Stop, you deserve all of this and more. And don’t say you feel bad for not doing more for our birthdays, I know how long it takes you to knit those scarves.”

“Fine,” you smiled. “Which one first?”

“Ooo! Open mine!” Reggie begged, pointing at a cleanly wrapped box.” You unwrapped it, careful to make sure none of the trash went anywhere, and gasped at what you were holding. It was an incredibly detailed and beautiful sketch of a horse.

“Reggie, did you draw this?”

He nodded. “And it’s got the first country song we wrote together on it.”

You beamed at him. “We’ll get that country album some day,” you vowed, gently nudging Luke when he rolled his eyes.

“Mine next,” Alex requested, pointing to an even more elaborately wrapped box. You opened it to see Alex had decorated your old guitar strap, painting it with your favorite colors. You had been meaning to do that since you got it and you were grateful he had taken the initiative.

“I love it.”

“Good, I’m not that artistic so I didn’t know what to get you and then I remembered that you had been meaning to decorate your guitar strap since you got it, so I did it,” Alex rambled.

You laughed. “How very thoughtful of you.”

You turned your attention back to the rest of the stack, but Luke was already ready. “Here’s mine.”

“You took the small package from him and opened it. Inside was a little box and in that there was a necklace. The pendant was an old guitar pick branded with the sunset curve logo and with it was a little card in Luke’s messy handwriting: A memento of the band we started all those years ago.

“I think I’m gonna cry.” You put your hand to your mouth and Luke took the necklace from the box, putting it on you.

“I love you so much,” Luke whispered to you.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, kissing his cheek.

After admiring the necklace for a little while longer, you went to open the rest of the pile. Julie got you a gift card so you could shop together(you still only had your clothes from the nineties). Ray gave you a framed photograph of you guys at the garage party singing Edge of Great and Carlos got you a ball of yarn. Even Victoria even got you a little candle that you absolutely adored and Flynn got you a bracelet that matched one that she and Julie were wearing.

“Guys, these are all so great, I can’t thank you enough! You better bet I’ll be stepping it up for your guys’ birthdays.”

“Looking forward to it,” Carlos said, after Julie repeated what you said. He turned to his left and smiled at you and you laughed, you were sitting more to his right.

“Tell him that I can’t wait,” you requested and Julie obliged.

While she did that you got up and hugged everyone you could. “Guys, this could not have been a better day.”

“It’s not over yet. We have one last gift for you!” Reggie said excitedly and you smiled brightly, tears of joy forming in your eyes.

“You guys didn’t have to,” you protested, blushing at the kindness they had been showing you. “You’ve already done so much for me.”

“Yes we did.” Julie sat down next to you and Luke sat on the other side, with an arm around you while Reggie and Alex leaned in behind you. You tilted your head as Julie turned on her phone and went to her camera roll.

You were about to ask what was going on when she played a video. Julie and the guys appeared on screen and you saw that they were standing outside the garage.

“Happy Birthday, Y/n!” They all yelled and you smiled, expecting them to do a little birthday recording of a song for you, but instead of getting their instruments Luke spoke.

“We noticed how sad you were about your parents and we had this idea...” with that the screen shifted.

You were only more confused when you recognized the inside of your parents house. It was easy to tell that the camera was filming from just inside your old kitchen. You watched curiously as Julie and your parents stepped into the frame.

“If you could say one thing to her, what would you say?” Julie asked and you realized she was talking about you.

Your mom sniffed, tears in her eyes. “I’d let her know how much I love her and how proud we are of her. I just wish we could tell her that. She was so talented, I just wish she could have lived her dream.”

Tears welled in your eyes at what your mom said, but they started falling when your dad spoke. “I’d wish her a happy birthday and tell her that I wish she could come camping with us. We kept up our tradition and I just wish she could know how much she meant-means to us. We missed out on so much with her and though we can’t get it back I hope she knows that we love her with all of our hearts.”

The video faded into a slideshow of some pictures of you, and in the background Now or Never was playing.

A good majority of the old pictures were taken during your camping trips and it was interesting to see how you had grown. When you were twelve, guitars began to appear in the pictures and there were quite a few ones of you playing around a campfire. Everyone was laughing in those, and it made you smile to remember when they were taken.

After the pictures of your family, they faded to pictures of you with the guys. There was even one of your first gig, you recalled that your mom had taken it. Your parents had been so excited for you. You had always felt so lucky to have such supportive parents.

From there, there were the newest pictures, ones of you with Julie and even some from your current camping trip that she must have added at the last minute.

After the last picture faded away you immediately grabbed all of your friends into a group hug. You couldn’t believe they had done this for you. You felt so unbelievably honored and touched.

You sniffed. “Guys, how did you do this?”

“Well, Alex, Reggie, and I got most of the pictures, we used some cameras to sneak them,” Luke explained.

“Yeah, it was not easy. I can’t count the number of times your parents almost saw the floating cameras,” Reggie said and you laughed.

You turned to Julie. “It means the world to me that you got my parents to say that. How?”

“I told them that I was trying to get to know the old band that had once practiced in my garage and from there they told me everything.” You hugged the girl tightly.

“I can’t begin to explain how much this means to me.” You opened your mouth to explain more, but nothing came out. “Just...this is...wow, guys. I-I just, thank you? I don’t know, thank you doesn’t sound like enough.”

“You don’t have to explain, Y/n, we’re just glad you liked it,” Alex said.

“After this, I’m gonna make sure you guys have great birthdays too.” Some more tears fell. “I just, wow.”

“So you liked it?” Luke asked and you beamed at him.

“I loved it.”

****

Tada, I hope y'all enjoyed this! Once I started writing it bloomed into this and I'm happy with what it came out to be. It's also been a while since I played frisbee, so sorry if the rules are wrong. Anyways, I loved writing this and I hope y'all have a fantastically safe and wonderful day/night!

Also if you want me to do more gender neutral fics just let me know, I only do she/her because that's what I’m most comfortable with, but please let me know if you want they/them on more stuff. I want to make this blog inclusive.

P.S. I am open to requests, but I won't get to them until after Halloween :) Please check my blog for the pinned post before requesting.

P.P.S. if you want to be on my taglist for all things Julie and the Phantoms, feel free to ask. I hope it works and please message me if it doesn’t.

[killjoyhistoryarchive]

Mike Milligram: The Lost Killjoy

Edit: On July 21st 2020, a Mike Milligram comic by Gerard Way and Shaun Simon was officially announced. However, I’ll leave this post as it is for future reference.

—

In 2009, while My Chemical Romance fans were eagerly awaiting news on their upcoming album, Gerard Way had another surprise in store: the announcement of a new comic series called “Killjoys.”

Co-written by Shaun Simon and illustrated by Becky Cloonan, Gerard told CBR that the series would “deal with much more mature and controversial themes, such as hate crimes and homophobia, the homogenization of American culture and American life.” Unlike “The Umbrella Academy,” which was set in a fantasy world, “Killjoys” was set in modern-day America.

But what nobody realized was that even after an album, two music videos, and a six-issue comic series, Gerard’s original conception would never see the light of day.

In 2008, Gerard Way and Shaun Simon developed the Killjoys universe in a frenzy of inspiration. Gerard’s original sketch features Mike Milligram on the left–named after Gerard’s brother Mikey Way–with a host of other characters that accompanied Mike on his journey. The comic was announced a year later at San Diego Comic Con, with a release planned in 2010.

With My Chemical Romance wrapping up their fourth album, Gerard and Shaun were ready to start writing. Becky Cloonan drew concept art for Mike Milligram, as well as promotional artwork that they planned to use at the Comic Con announcement. However, the Mike Milligram art was scrapped and replaced with a simple image of the Killjoy spider–a move that could later be seen as prophetic.

In 2009, “Killjoys” was an entirely different concept. There was no Party Poison, no Dr. Death Defying, no Battery City, no girl with special powers. The original comic involved a surreal road trip through America that reunited offbeat characters and confronted harsh realities along the way. In 2013, Shaun Simon offered this description in the introduction to the special hardcover edition of the comics:

The old version of the story focused on Mike Milligram, a late-twenty-something living in a desert trailer park and working a crappy job at a supermarket. Mike’s teenage years were a blur. He couldn’t tell if the things he remembered had actually happened or not. Part of him believed he was part of a gang called the Killjoys who fought fictional things in the real world. The other part of him believed it was all just a dream. Music was the only thing that kept Mike going, so when the music was erased from his Ramones tape, it sent him over the edge. He went out and got his old teenage gang, who were now living normal lives, back together because, yes, it was all real. Other members of his gang included Ani-Max, now a high school history teacher; Code Blue, a rabble-rouser who was a working girl in Vegas; Monster, a new young member they met on the road; and Kyle 100%, who was a B-list actor now. They all had strange powers based on objects. Halloween masks and costume accessories, puffy jackets, toy ray guns. It was a story about a group of old friends getting together and discovering what America really was. Reaching deep inside its pretty facade and pulling out the ugly guts. (It was semiautobiographical. I toured with Gerard and his band for a couple of years before realizing I needed to find my own path.) The gang would have found out that another former gang had now become the largest health care corporation in the country and were hell bent on making the world a safe and clean place by removing all that was dirty, like the Ramones. It would have been a great story, and I’m sure parts will end up in Gerard’s and my’s future work.

Of course, we all know what happened after that announcement. After Gerard took a fateful week-long trip to the desert, MCR decided to scrap “Conventional Weapons” and fueled their energy into writing “Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys.” But even as Gerard delved into this new post-apocalyptic version of the Killjoy universe, the comics remained the same. As late as 2011, Gerard claimed in an interview with Artrocker that the comics hadn’t changed at all:

No, none of the characters, even our characters, are in it. It is a completely separate thing, even almost a separate setting. It shares all the ideals behind the record and the theories and the commentary but it is nothing like the videos you have seen. I think the car is probably the only thing that’s the same!

But as the band took on more responsibilities–filming music videos, promoting the album, going on tour–the comics kept getting pushed back. First the release planned for 2010; then it was pushed back to 2011. And while the era had kicked off without a hitch, MCR eventually hit one of the first of many roadblocks: they didn’t have enough money to film the third video. So as Shaun Simon told CBR, the original story featuring Mike Milligram was scrapped, and replaced with the story of the girl and the Ultra Vs:

[A]fter the record, Gerard had built this whole world around the Killjoys. When it came time for the comic, Gerard called me up and said, “We ran out of money. We wanted to make the third video, but we don’t have the money. So do you want to make the idea for that video into a comic?” We started talking about ideas, and we had so many that it turned into this whole series.

In an interview with Paste (2013), Gerard went into more detail about the process:

The deal is that I had written three videos (“Na Na Na,” “Sing,” and “The Only Hope For Me Is You”), and the third video had never gotten made. By the time we had completed the second video, we just ran out of budget money. At the time, somebody was managing us and not keeping an eye on this stuff. Long story short, there was no budget. So I wrote a video, and of course it ends up being the most expensive one, as the last part would usually be. But we couldn’t make it! Killjoys started its life as a very different comic. It was heavily-rooted in nineties Vertigo post-modernism. There’s a lot of very cool, abstract ideas in it; I wouldn’t even call it a superhero book. That (comic) was a visual and thematic inspiration on what would become the album Danger Days. It was pretty loose, though. This was going to be my interpretation of the story, so there’s way more science fiction involved. And what I need to say to the world needed to be a little more direct, so I boiled it down to something that’s still very smart and challenging, but I thought was definitely easier to understand through song or visual. Then (Killjoys artist) Becky Cloonan drew a 7-inch for “The Only Hope For Me Is You,” which was going to be the last video single. I realized I was out of budget, so I said ‘just make this the girl from the first and second video at 15. And have her shave her head or chop her hair off like in The Legend of Billie Jean, because that’s how the video was supposed to start.’ So (Cloonan) sends this drawing over and I’m on tour with Blink 182 in a hotel on an off day. I get this drawing and I’m so immediately blown away by it. I call Shaun, my co-writer and co-creator, and I say ‘open your email, I’m going to send you something.’ I ask him ‘how does this image make you feel?’ We talked for two hours. By the end of the conversation we both realized that that image was the comic, and the third video was basically the comic. So we figured how we were going to make this interesting and exciting for six issues and complete the story. And that was the final direction. It was pretty obvious to us.

In a way, Mike Milligram’s spirit lived on, as fans noticed the similarities between Mike Milligram and Party Poison. But it’s inaccurate to say that Mike Milligram became Party Poison, though “Party Poison’s real name is Mike Milligram” became a persistent rumor in the fandom. Mike’s story was not Poison’s; he wasn’t a post-apocalyptic rebel, but a teenager searching for his identity in modern America.

Will Mike Milligram’s story ever be told? At this point, it’s not likely. But his tale offers a glimpse into the creative minds of Gerard Way and Shaun Simon, and makes us ponder the fact that with a few changes–the comics being released earlier, for instance, or MCR having the money to fund the third video–the comics could have been entirely different.

[rayveewrites]

Ray Hijacks the Team ZIT Ghostbuster AU Again

So @shadeswift99 made a few posts a while ago about a Team ZIT(S) ghostbuster AU, And then I may or may not have hijacked the post to add in ideas for most of the other hermits because why not.

Now, back then I was spitballing ideas and making them up on the spot, which is admittedly my usual writing process, but hey.

That said, I've had more time to think about it, and then last night I blacked out for a few hours and came to with a Google Doc filled with short bios for all of the hermits and a handful of hermit-adjacents. Now, this rapidly turned into an urban fantasy AU in my hands, but hey. It's fun.

This is in alphabetical order, with alternate personas (EX, Helsknight, Beetlejhost) beneath their original counterparts when applicable:

Bdubs

Lives in an old mansion in the woods alongside Doc for reasons known only to them. Bdubs works as an interior designer, with a side gig as a freelance hairdresser. His eyes are unnaturally large, similar to Keralis’, and he is at least partially a plant. Completely feral and frequently gets in trouble for having knives on him at all times. He and Cleo have a thing called Knife Club which makes everyone else nervous. Nobody messes with Knife Club. It’s not worth it. Sunbathes frequently.

Beef

Is a perfectly normal human being. He works as a butcher with a side gig as a graphic designer specializing in album covers and spends his free time playing pokemon and dragging Etho along to social events. He was the first person to spot the cryptid, and the first person who Etho approached of his own accord.

Biffa

Is a ghost possessing a robotic shell. Biffa is from the future. While initially his main goal was to get back home to his own time, Biffa has since made friends and settled down into a new life running a cafe specializing in a wide range of teas. He’s quite content with this, and has actually found himself far happier than he was in his own time. While his nature means he can see, hear and touch ghosts, his body was built specifically for a disembodied soul to be in the driver’s seat, and he doesn’t want to risk another taking control. Also, he has more important things to do than have fistfights with ghosts.

Cleo

Is a ghost possessing her own dead corpse. Her nature allows her to see, hear and touch ghosts. Can and will fistfight spirits. She works as a teacher, so she’s usually busy, but occasionally in really nasty situations the Beetlejhost will drag her in to break a ghost’s legs. Does sculpture in her free time, and is actually really good. The only one who can wrangle Beetle to any real capacity, and she’s learned to keep him on a fairly short leash. Housemates with Joe, and Keralis also pops in pretty frequently. Has Knife Club with Bdubs. Has an enchanted flower crown that prevents her from decaying further; a gift from Beetle. Recently started learning magic in the form of necromancy and illusions. Has an ongoing ‘feud’ with Zloy, in which she temporarily traps his soul in random inanimate objects every now and then.

Cub

A bit of a ‘mad scientist’ archetype, Cub’s experiments are not exactly the most ethical, though they’re at least more professional than Doc’s. Responsible for the creation of Jevin. Cub gets possessed stupidly easily- sometimes willingly- and can usually handle it himself but sometimes has to call for help. Has a magical method of communication with Scar for exactly this reason. Has a day job as co-owner of a business called ConCorp, which he started with Scar. Has probably broken the Geneva Convention.

Doc

Was presumably human at one point. Now an abomination. Repeated experiments on himself have resulted in a massively changed facial and foot structure, a body covered in mottled green scales, claws, and goat horns. He lost half his face in one of his experiments, and constructed a new cybernetic one. He lost his right arm fighting God. Killed said god and would do it again. Lives in a mansion in the woods with Bdubs, though nobody’s really sure why. Owns a casino because of course he does. Also a living crime against fashion, because the man refuses to wear anything other than his tattered lab coat, torn jeans, and crocs.

Ely

Runs the local radio station. Nobody’s ever seen him in person, and nobody knows where he gets people’s voice clips for his remixes. Probably a cryptid. Maybe a ghost. Seems pretty chill, despite the blatant invasions of privacy.

Etho

Is a cryptid. Lives out in the woods in an abomination that can barely be called a house. Has never been seen in anything other than full Kakashi cosplay. Tends to keep to himself, but occasionally lets Beef drag him along to social events, often with Doc and Bdubs. Nobody really knows what his deal is. Probably not human. Probably.

False

Used to be part of an illegal underground cage fighting ring, until she earned enough to buy her way out. Having grown up in said ring, she struggles to adjust to normal life, but living in a town where the barista is a robot and the local tailor has wings makes it easier. She now has a job as security at Doc’s casino, alongside Iskall.

Grian

Is either an angel or a demigod, but nobody knows which. Has wings. Is both a tailor and an architect. A complete gremlin who has elaborate masks of various birds and will wear them to commit crimes. Eats seeds. Messes with everyone else’s plants. Lives in Jungle Wood Flats. Volunteers at the local theatre.

Hypno

Has three eyes, but hides the third one under a bandanna at all times. Can see ghosts with it. Had problems with sections of plumbing randomly getting clogged and also making very weird noises, and eventually called Team ZIT when the plumbers couldn’t find the source. Was prepared for ghosts, but wound up with a slime creature instead. Works in a $2 store for some reason.

Impulse

Is fully human. The most sensible member of Team ZIT (which admittedly isn’t saying much), Impulse has a day job as a freelancer building custom PCs and fixing broken tech. Agreed to the whole ghostbusting deal because he was bored, mostly. Was the first one to meet Skizz face-to-face, and is the one to own that particular place outright. Gets possessed every now and then, usually by larger spirits. Used to run solely on caffeine and chronic anxiety until Zedaph started getting on his case about his sleep schedule. Now he runs on less caffeine, more sleep, and the same amount of chronic anxiety.

Iskall

Was part of a cloning experiment to create the ultimate hitman, and was the only known one to both survive and escape before the whole thing was shut down by the authorities. Their eye and arm were replaced with cybernetics in order to increase their already enhanced abilities, and they were chased by said authorities, eventually winding up on Mumbo’s doorstep and becoming Mumbo’s problem. Now works as security at Doc’s casino, alongside False. Lives at Jungle Wood flats. Occasionally volunteers at the local theatre. Does bonsai as a hobby.

Jevin

Is the slime creature in the pipes. Hypno lets him live with him under the condition he stops blocking the plumbing and making weird noises at 3 AM (Jevin still blocks the plumbing and makes weird noises at 3 AM, just not as much as he was). Has taught himself to take a humanoid shape, and likes having fingers. Sleeps in the bathtub because he can. Was created from a vat of chemicals in a secret lab underneath the house, which used to be owned by Cub. Doesn’t really talk to the man in question that much, but will occasionally refer to Cub as his father for the sole reason of watching him go through eight existential crises in three minutes. Has a glock.

Joe

Head librarian at the local public library, and has read a lot of books on Supernatural Things. Is a veritable fountain of exposition if you can figure out what he’s saying or have Cleo along with you to threaten the integrity of his shins. Has never been seen in the same place as the Beetlejhost. Are they the same person? Are they entirely separate beings? Is there a Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde-type situation going on? Who knows!

Beetlejhost

Literally nobody really knows what his deal is. Nobody. Team ZIT ran into him on a call that they expected to be a false alarm and then he decided to follow them home. Spends most of his time being a minor nuisance in the most bizarre ways possible. Is implied to be responsible for the Ever Given getting lodged in the Suez Canal, but never confirmed. When he’s not bothering Team ZIT or getting them out of tight spots, he’s usually pestering Cleo, the only one who can keep him in line. It’s not really known if he and Cleo have a history or if they’re just Like That.

Keralis

Is a ghost haunting an architecture firm, and is mostly bound to the building, though he can travel to other buildings the firm has built, which is, uh, most of them. Initially only able to do small things- mostly writing notes or drawing diagrams- he eventually meets the Beetlejhost when the latter follows Mumbo to work one day for shits and giggles (he wanted to see how long he could mess with Mumbo before the man noticed. As it turned out, about a week, and by the end it was Iskall who noticed). After a couple of days in which Beetle teaches Keralis Ghost Things™, he scares half the office when he finally manifests for the first time. Has unnaturally large eyes and nicknames for most of the workers. Has no idea how he died or what his unfinished business might be. Very knowledgeable about architecture, and his input is usually very much appreciated.

Mumbo

Is a perfectly normal human being who does IT at Keralis’ architecture firm. Lives at Jungle Wood flats and spends most of his free time tinkering with tech and trying to keep Grian and Iskall out of trouble, which is a losing battle. Has a large, beating golden heart in his flat. He’s not really sure what its deal is, but if he feeds it apples it produces enough power for the entire building. Oh, and if he forgets to feed it for an extended period of time it starts draining his bank account. It’s really weird.

Pixlriffs

Was a perfectly normal human being until he died protecting a certain Russian zombie and became a perfectly normal ghost. Was a reporter in life and is a reporter in death. Runs a blog alongside Zloy about the local goings-on, supernatural or not. The blog’s the type where unless you live in/near the town you most likely won’t stumble across it, but they do have a small following of outsiders who assume the blog’s just a work of fiction. His unfinished business is to prevent Zloy from doing anything particularly stupid, a constant battle. Is able to go more places than Zloy due to being incorporeal, but respects people’s privacy. He’s bound to Zloy to a certain degree, not being able to go beyond a certain range of his friend. The range is pretty big, though, and he has plenty freedom of movement.

Python

Had a run-in with the fae as a kid, in which he accidentally pissed one off. In retribution, the faerie challenged him to answer a riddle or he’d be turned into a snake. Python’s answer was partially correct, so the faerie only transformed him partially. Python is fairly chill, though he strongly dislikes the cold and starts hissing if anyone disturbs him during Sun Time™. Sometimes Bdubs, being partially flora, joins Python for Sun Time™. He’s not venomous, because, you know...python. Also, he has a mildly disturbing habit of strangling rats and mice and then eating them whole, but he can’t help it and just tries not to do so when he has company.

Ren

Is a werewolf. He’s pretty chill regardless of form, though it’s only been recently he’s been comfortable enough leaving his ears and tail visible. He works as a lumberjack. One time Pixl introduced him to Monty Python’s Lumberjack Song and it quickly became his favourite thing. He spends most of his free time volunteering at the local theatre because Ren is absolutely a theatre kid and nobody can convince me otherwise. Gets possessed every now and then. Lives in Jungle Wood flats.

Scar

Works as a landscape developer. Gets possessed absurdly easily, though not quite as frequently as Cub. Has a magical method of communication with him. Technically co-owns ConCorp, but isn’t as involved. His cat, Jellie, is very obviously an eldritch abomination in feline form and he is comedically unaware of this. Lives in Jungle Wood Flats with Grian, Iskall, Mumbo, Stress, and Ren.

Skizz

Is the ghost haunting Team ZIT’s office. He was murdered by someone he’d thought was a friend who was trying to use his place to hide from the cops, and he’s stuck around, haunting the building. His unfinished business is to make sure nobody else uses the building for anyone shady, but the ghost rumours tended to chase most people off. Eventually he gets used to having Team ZIT around, and when Tango admits he doesn’t really have anywhere to go one day, Skizz eventually makes the decision to finally unlock the still-furnished upper floor for him. He’s bound to the building, but Impulse learns that carrying Skizz’s old vest with them allows him to leave. After that, Skizz sometimes accompanies them on missions and occasionally just hanging out. He’s usually more helpful than the Beetlejhost is.

Stress

Is a witch. Stress lives in Jungle Wood Flats and works as a doctor who specializes in supernaturally caused injuries- Team ZIT are some of her best customers. She also sells magic potions of various kinds, and has a side gig as a florist. She’s 90% of the Jungle inhabitants’ impulse control. Also has cryokinesis.

Tango

The Team ZIT member with a car. He gets possessed with frankly ridiculous frequency, but claims not to believe in ghosts for a long time (and keeps up the bit for even longer). Has developed various signals to indicate when he’s being possessed again. The strongest one, a rather nasty demon Cleo and the Beetlejhost had to team up on, left him with his glowing red eyes. He didn’t really have anywhere to go before Impulse bought the office, and tended to sleep on the couch or in his car until Skizz decided to let him into the upper floor, where he now lives alongside Zedaph and Impulse.

TFC

A now-retired ghostbuster, TFC calls in Team ZIT one night when he finds himself in over his head against a ghost with a grudge. He winds up becoming a bit of a mentor figure to the trio, usually coaching them over the phone if they’re not sure how to deal with one of the stranger spirits. Lost his leg years ago in a fight with a poltergeist that could have gone better, and now has a robotic prosthetic made by Doc.

Wels

While Team ZIT was out investigating some rumour or another in the woods, they came across a large stone box. Following video game logic, I guess, they then decided opening this large stone box sounded like a fun idea. Well, Tango and Zedaph did. Impulse was a bit more hesitant. The box actually held a medieval knight who’d been put in an enchanted sleep for centuries by his demonic doppelgänger, and was very much not prepared for modern life. Team ZIT took him to Xisuma, who happened to live closest, and Wels is currently helping out on the farm and trying to adjust to life in the 21st century. He can understand and speak modern English just fine because magic. Volunteers at the local theatre quite a lot.

Hels

Is Wels’ doppelgänger. Technically a minor demon. Won a fight with Wels and sealed him away for centuries as a result. A recurring problem. His real motivation is that he really desperately doesn’t want to go back to Hell, but he’s too proud to admit it. Lives in the woods with EX, who’s basically his only friend, though the weirdo with the brown cardigan keeps pestering him about his backstory and feelings for some reason. Has minor pyrokinesis.

XB

Like Biffa, XB is also a ghost from the future, though it seems to be a different timeline than Biffa’s. His unfinished business is preventing the apocalypse, but he has no idea how to do that, no idea if he’s in the right timeline, and is pretty sure he’s gone back a lot farther than he probably should’ve. Also, there’s the whole paradox issue, where if he prevents the apocalypse he never has a reason to go back and prevent the apocalypse, so he doesn’t prevent the apocalypse, so he has to go back and- he tries not to think about it too much. He mostly just hangs out in an abandoned house on the edge of town and vibes.

Xisuma

Is a beekeeper. Nobody’s ever seen his face; when he’s not in his beekeeping outfit, he’s either wearing a helmet, or (more recently) an extremely lifelike and detailed animal mask (is it a mask?). Actually a shapeshifting alien, he crashed down to Earth after a scuffle with his evil clone and was stranded because Earth doesn’t have the right tools or resources to repair a spaceship. These days he’s actually found he’s happier tending to his bees, selling honey, and helping his friends out, and probably wouldn’t leave Earth even if he could. It’s a simpler life, but a pleasant one. He bonds with Biffa over a shared love of tea and being stranded in a technologically inferior world and finding a home.

Evil Xisuma

Is Xisuma’s clone. Feels that if everyone’s going to call him ‘Evil’ he may as well own it. Shot his original’s spaceship down in a scuffle but wound up being brought down with him. Currently hides in the woods. Generally more of a minor nuisance than an actual danger. Used to spend his free time bothering X but has gotten put off by Wels, who has a problem when it comes to evil clones. His friends consist of Hels, who is a terrible role model, and Zedaph, who’s trying to help him work through his problems behind everyone’s backs. Can summon lightning because he deserves it.

Zedaph

Is the reason Team ZIT is ghostbusting in the first place. He’s a sheep shearer by trade, but that’s a fairly seasonal thing and ghostbusting is more fun anyway. Has somehow never been possessed, and claims it’s because he’s always standing next to Tango. He makes sure the other two gets enough sleep Because we all know they can’t be trusted to do it. Probably has some sort of really bizarre and situational magical powers he is thoroughly unaware of. Qualified to be a licensed therapist. Made friends with Evil X at one point, somehow.

Zloy

Like Cleo, he’s a ghost possessing a corpse. Unlike Cleo, there’s a good chance it’s not his corpse. Eh, it’s not like anyone else was using it. Runs a blog with Pixl, because why not. Was already a zombie when he met Pixl, who was still alive at the time. His body is a bit more decayed than Cleo’s, but it’s fine. His goggles are enchanted with the same preservation spell; it’s not really ever explained where he got them from. Has no regard for privacy but is fortunately unable to turn invisible or phase through walls due to inhabiting a physical body. Both can theoretically physically fight ghosts and has enough time to physically fight ghosts, meaning he would be a valuable ally if he could be bothered. Lives in a graveyard. Has an ongoing ‘feud’ with Cleo, in which he puts jabs at her on the blog. Once spent a week as a (very sarcastic) floating potato.

Hermiton

Is the name of the place they all live in/near. Located in an ambiguous location in an ambiguous country, Hermiton is technically large enough to be considered a city but has Town VibesTM. Supernatural going-ons are a fairly normal part of life, and a good number of inhabitants aren’t humans. Despite this, the wider world seems mostly ignorant of the existence of ghosts, magic, etc. I’m not too sure about geography, but it’s surrounded by forest in most directions and in a warm enough climate to not have snow in the winter (so Python doesn’t, you know, freeze to death). Most people don’t tend to bat an eyelid at strange-looking people walking down the street or serving them at the store; they’re used to it by now. There are several theories as to why Hermiton specifically has so much going on when it comes to the supernatural- ley lines, secretly the resting place of some long-forgotten god, et cetera- but it’s actually more of a case of ‘people who have supernatural traits hear rumours of a place where a lot of people have supernatural traits and go there in search of answers/a place to belong’. This doesn’t exactly explain where all the ghosts came from, but hey. Nothing’s perfect.

[hiscyarika]

Some Things You Just Can’t Speak About

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Summary: Reader and Javier work through the emotional baggage that comes with their jobs in Colombia. (Unofficial Prequel to When It’s Finally Over)

Warning(s): Heavy Angst, Hopelessness, Grieving, Mentions of Death, Blood, Mentions of Violence/Terrorism

A/N: So like a lot of people, I’ve fallen in love with Taylor Swift’s new album folklore. And when I heard the song “epiphany” (which I highly recommend you listen to while you read. I would link it but I’m afraid the post wouldn’t show up in the tags. The hellsite has been weird about that lately), it immediately sparked the idea for this oneshot. I just hope that this hasn’t been done yet, because I’ve already seen that a couple of authors have used songs on the album as inspiration. I really hope you guys enjoy this. It’s taken a couple of days to get it just the way that I want it. And a special thanks to @bestintheparsec​ for beta reading this for me! I love you Lauren! ❤️

Masterlist

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Gif by @pascvl​, originally from this post. Please let me know if you’d rather me not use the gif! I’ll take it down immediately with no questions asked.

The thing about Colombia is that even after the smoke clears, the blood remains. It’s a crimson river that runs through the streets of Bogotá, then dries as a deep, lingering stain. The blood of men, women, and children. Guilty and innocent alike. And so long as Pablo Escobar lives, the stain will never wash away.

Even the sky burns scarlet with the dying sunset when you finally step out of the hospital. Ambulance sirens glow bright as paramedics attempt to bring more people into the already overwhelmed building.

Early in the afternoon, over two hundred pounds of C4 had been detonated outside of a crowded shopping center. Dozens were killed on impact and the death toll has continued to rise throughout the day. For hours, you haven’t stopped moving, trying desperately to save those who’d survived long enough to get to the hospital to be treated. Fortunately, recovery will be possible for some, but what weighs more heavily on your shoulders are the countless others that you could do nothing for.

Even now that you stand outside with a chance to breathe, your lungs can’t draw in enough air. The sharp stench of antiseptic still burns your nose, turning your stomach in violent knots. Every muscle is sore with a bone deep ache as you force one foot in front of the other in the direction of your car. But none of it compares to the stabbing pain in your soul, the helplessness and defeat that throbs more fiercely with every passing second.

You climb into your car, meeting your own eyes in the rearview mirror. You tear the nursing badge from your scrub shirt and toss it onto the passenger seat, not caring when it slides off the vinyl and onto the floor. Immediately, you have to close your eyes at the sight of the bloodstains on your clothes, a gruesome token of a day spent battling death.

All your years of schooling never prepared you to fight this war. You know how to read vitals. You know how to staunch bleeding and stitch wounds. You know how to intubate someone, to breathe for them. These are all things that can be taught. And you’ve learned them well.

But watching a woman die on the table, one close to your own age, is something entirely its own. You never get used to the shrill cry of the heart rate monitor as it flatlines. Nothing can prepare you for standing in front of an elderly woman, telling her that she’s outlived her daughter. They can’t teach you how to crouch down in front of a six-year-old boy and explain to him that he’ll never see his mother again. There’s no way to gently shatter someone’s world. As their reality crumbles, it takes a piece of you with it, and you only have so much of yourself to give.

The drive back to the apartment passes in a blurred haze, your mind on autopilot as you navigate your way in the growing darkness. You repress every emotion that threatens to bubble to the surface of your consciousness. Forcing numbness is far easier than letting your humanity tear you apart.

The last of the light dies from the sky as you pull into the parking lot, right next to Javier’s Jeep. You find your only solace in the fact that he’s home. In what little news you’d been able to hear, you’d learned that the DEA had been called to the scene. Escobar had never claimed responsibility for the attack, but a confession wasn’t necessary to know the truth, so you knew Javier would be part of the investigation.

Sucking in a deep breath, you try to prepare yourself for whatever state of mind he might be in. Javier brings work home in the form of endless files and a guilty conscience. Both he processes with whiskey and sleep deprivation. But you understand. You’re fighting with him on the front lines of this war. Losses are shared just the same as victories. Even the hard ones.

You drag yourself from the driver’s seat, locking the car up once the door is closed. The stairs to the apartment seem so much steeper as you stare at them now, and it takes what little remains of your perseverance to make it up.

The usual squeal of the front door grates on your nerves as you enter the apartment, more so than it normally does, anyway. You stop for a moment in the doorway, toeing off your shoes and listening carefully for any sign of Javier. From where you stand, you can see the soft yellow glow of the lamp in the living room and after a moment you realize that the voice you hear is coming from the television.

Padding quietly into the room, you feel your heart clench when you see what’s playing on the screen. It’s one of the local news stations, replaying footage from earlier in the day. You’re too tired to mentally translate the quick Spanish that the news anchor speaks, but when the numbers appear next to her to note the casualties, it’s not something that you can ignore. There are more than you thought.

You lose yourself in that news report, your mind running back through all of the trauma that you’ve seen. The shouting and screaming and crying becomes the soundtrack of your thoughts, all blended together in a somehow deafening cacophony despite the fact that it’s all in your head. You see that little boy again, the confused look he had given his grandmother as he asked her when his mother was going to come back from heaven. Oh, how her tear-filled eyes had pleaded with you to give some kind of an answer. And you’d tried. You really had.

You’re pulled from the violent reverie when the news report is replaced by a commercial. You pay it no mind, instead looking around the room for any sign of Javier. It doesn’t take you long to find him.

He’s passed out on the couch, sitting up with a glass of whiskey still in his hand. Even in sleep, his brow is furrowed, and worry lines cut deep into his forehead. Upon further inspection, you find the liquor bottle and a messy array of manila folders on the wooden coffee table in front of him, just as you expected.

You shake your head slightly, though he can’t see the action. The ache in your heart grows stronger as you watch him, his lips parted slightly as he breathes deeply and evenly. You suppose it’s the one thing that you have to be grateful for. As closely involved as he is with the hunt for Escobar, every night he comes home is a blessing. And for him to be sound asleep despite the day’s tragedies is truly invaluable.

You decide to leave him. Better for him to rest uninterrupted than to wake him. And though you know it’s better to work through the horrors you’ve been subjected to before you sleep, you don’t have the energy to face any of it right now. So you step closer to Javi, carefully prying the glass from his hand. Against your better judgement, you finish it off. You wince at the way it burns down your throat as you place the empty glass on the coffee table, but the warmth in your chest that follows is a welcome relief.

You scan the room then. It takes you a minute, but eventually you find the remote on the floor by his feet, probably dropped after he’d fallen asleep. You don’t hesitate to press the power button on the TV, and it brings you a bit of peace to watch the screen go black. Silence falls over the room, interrupted only by a soft snore from Javi.

You turn back to the coffee table, making sure that there’s a paperclip in each file to mark where he’d been. All the while, you try to avoid reading over any classified information, not that your brain could truly process a word of it in your current state of exhaustion. You then close the folders and stack them neatly on top of each other, letting out a heavy breath as you push yourself to stand upright again.

Your face falls in sympathy as you look at Javi once more. Even in sleep he looks exhausted. Your own emotional turmoil aside, it pains you to see the way that Colombia has worn him down. Every day he grows more desperate to find the man responsible for so much suffering, and with each day that passes, you know it only seems like he’s getting further and further away. You wish there was something more you could do to ease his mind.

After another moment, you take the blanket that’s draped over the back of the loveseat, unfolding it and gently covering Javi with it. Your movements are slow and cautious in an attempt to keep from waking him. Once you have the blanket situated, you cradle his cheek lightly in one hand, leaning down to press a tender kiss to his forehead.

You close your eyes at the contact, the first and only gentle interaction of your day. As your eyes flutter shut, you feel your chest begin to swell, and emotion wraps around your throat like barbed wire. Your lips linger for a few seconds longer than necessary as the dam inside you cracks, threatening to give way to a flood at a moment’s notice.

But as you pull away, you feel the feather light brush of eyelashes against your cheeks. You open your eyes, finding soft, tired brown eyes staring back at you. You’re frozen in place as he takes a moment to rouse himself, and once he’s more alert, his eyes trail down your body, catching sight of the blood on your scrubs. When he looks at you again, there’s a knowing glint in his eyes. You don’t have to tell him what you’ve seen, because he already knows. He’s seen it too.

Javier places his hands on your hips, gripping them gently as he tries to pull you closer to him. You brace yourself against his shoulders, resisting him while you’re still wearing your scrubs. Your chin falls to your chest in defeat. It only takes a moment to understand, and he carefully pulls the shirt up and over your head, making sure to keep the bloody fabric away from your face. Once it’s off, he tosses it carelessly to the floor.

You collapse into him as the dam breaks, and he takes it in stride, cradling the back of your head as you bury your face in his shoulder. Your knees land on either side of him, and with his free hand he guides you into a more comfortable position against him. In any other context, this arrangement with you straddling his lap would be carnal and passionate, but all Javier can feel now is the same pain that you force from your body with each gut-wrenching sob.

There are no words he can give you that will ease your pain. It’s something he knows from experience, repeated experience that he wishes you didn’t share with him. He knows what this constant fight against death and injustice can do to a person. He’s not blind to the ways that he’s changed in the years since he came to Colombia. Javier would do anything to make sure that you don’t suffer the same fate. You’re too good to have your gentle soul torn to shreds.

But he knows that all he can do for now is hold you. He can let you cry and mourn and release every emotion you’ve had to keep caged since you first stepped into the hospital this afternoon. And as you wrap your fists around the fabric of his shirt, he only holds you closer, clutching you tightly as his own pain begins to bubble back up into his chest. He’d tried so hard to drown it in booze and escape it in sleep, but Escobar had taken it too far this time. The saving grace is that the rest of the country agrees.

Javier cries silently with you, and though the manifestation of his grief is much quieter than yours, it’s by no means trivial in comparison. This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. And break he does, in the safest place that he possibly can. He knows that there’s no judgement here, and that there never will be. So he closes his eyes and presses himself closer to you, your proximity being the only thing that could possibly soothe him.

Time is rendered tangential as you mourn together, though eventually you both fall quiet again with no more tears left to shed. Only when you stir against him does Javier lift his head and open his eyes. He manages a halfhearted smile as you meet his gaze, gently wiping away the remnants of your tears with the pads of his thumbs. In turn, you do the same for him, and he turns his head just in time to press a kiss to the underside of your wrist before you pull away again.

He watches you intently, and for just a moment you seem to hesitate, but then you capture his lips with yours. Javier lets out a soft breath in surprise, but soon melts into your touch. You are the salve to his very being, soothing his soul in a way that no one and nothing else can. At the end of the day, when the smoke has cleared and it’s time to count the dead, he thanks whatever god looks down on him, because he has you. Never will he march into battle alone. And he’s grateful, because he knows that he would never survive the war without you by his side.

You pull away again, and the look in your eyes says far more than words ever could. Because in your eyes is the same reverence for him that he holds for you. It’s night like this where you question why you chose the life you did, why you endure more anguish than any one person ever should have to. But then you look at Javier, and you know that you’re fighting the good fight. You know that with him, you can keep going until you reach the end of it all.

Javier presses a quick, soft kiss to your forehead, then shifts again to turn out the lamp light. In the dark, he carefully maneuvers you with him to lie down on the couch. You’re both still in work clothes and the couch is far less comfortable than your shared bed, but that’s not important now. What matters is the feeling of his heartbeat under your cheek as your head rests on his sternum. In just a few hours, the sun will rise again and you’ll both be forced to return to the battlefield, but for now you can find just a glimpse of relief in each other’s embrace.

-

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[ineloqueent]

Starstruck: Part 16

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 16 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 15 / Part 17

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.  

Warnings: swearing, drinking, sentiments of worthlessness

Historical Inaccuracies:

no idea what happened on the first night of tour; yay fictionalisation!

Word Count: 4.1k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You’d never seen anything like it.

People had gone as far as to camp out in front the venue the night before, sharing blankets and passing around coffee and various types of alcohol to keep warm, cheering as the tour bus had pulled into the carpark, running to shake hands with the roadies as they began to unload equipment.

Then there’d been the next wave of show-goers, the second-most dedicated bunch. They’d arrived hours and hours before the gig, had clamoured for a spot in line closest to the front of the door.

And, from backstage, you could hear people laughing and shouting happily as they entered the theatre, overjoyed even just to be there, in a place where Queen would perform.

The enthusiasm was contagious, and it washed over you in waves, every cry as friends reunited to see their favourite band play live, every hiss of excitement when the stage curtains rustled or a roadie happened to pass through the main room of the theatre. Everywhere you looked, people were dressed in t-shirts with Queen’s logo on it, t-shirts that looked like they’d been worn and loved since the beginning of time, and waved banners made with old sheets and acrylic paint. The dedication alone was flooring.

Freddie seemed to think so too.

“Can you hear them, out there?” he was saying.

The crowd was chanting, and the poor supporting band had never stood a chance; the people were shouting for what they wanted, and the shouts rang out loud and clear— we want Queen! We want Queen! We want Queen!

“Yeah,” Roger nodded, a grin spreading across his face. He was already tapping his drumsticks, on the edge of a table, and alongside the rhythm, your heartbeat increased, the anticipation in the room building with each moment you lingered there.

“I wish Veronica were here,” Deacy sighed, and you turned to him in sympathy. Through everything, she was always the person on his mind, the person he wanted to share a moment with. You couldn’t imagine a purer form of love.

Roger said, “For god’s sake, John, it’s been barely a day,” but he too sounded sorry.

Brian wasn’t participating in the conversation, even as Freddie gushed on about the pre-show thrill, and as Roger resolved to take a Polaroid of Deacy each night before a concert, so that the latter could show Veronica and Robert how he’d continued to think of them while he was gone.

You approached Brian, who was doing his make-up in the mirror Freddie had recently vacated, drawing on black eyeliner with a heavy hand. He glanced over his shoulder as your neared, and his lips curved upward, but his expression was tight.

“You okay?” you asked, touching his shoulder lightly.

He straightened up from where he’d leaned to reach the mirror, and as you dropped your hand, you noticed the tremble in his.

“Hey,” you frowned, taking the eyeliner from him and replacing it on the counter. “Are you— are you nervous?”

Brian bit his lip and glanced away in something like shame.

He looked so vulnerable in that moment, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched, curls floating down to hide his eyes.

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” he murmured, punctuating the remark with laughter that was probably meant to be light but did not come off that way at all.

You took his hand. “No, it’s not.”

Without looking at you, he exhaled slowly. Then, to your vehement surprise, he pulled on your hand and brought you close to him, gathering you up in his arms and clutching you to his chest.

You let out a soft oh, wrapping your arms around his slim torso as he drew a quivering breath. You could hear his heartbeat, fast and heavy, and you tightened your hold around him.

“It’s okay,” you smoothed your hands over his back, trying to steady his breathing. “You’ll be brilliant.”

You felt him nod.

“But why are you nervous now? You’ve done this hundreds of times.”

Brian sighed. “I’m always nervous,” he said.

“And what do you normally do about it?”

“Nothing. Shove it down. Try not to think about it.”

“Excellent coping mechanism,” you muttered. “Well, I’ll be here to give you your daily hug.”

Brian laughed, mirth returning to the sound.

“Thank you,” he said. He gave you another squeeze before letting go.

“Anytime,” you responded, dropping your arms to your sides.

But he shook his head. “Really, love. Thank you.”

You smiled, and his eyes glowed with warmth.

“Brian?” said Roger, and Brian spun toward his bandmates.

“It’s time,” Freddie breathed, and beyond the dressing room, beyond the hallways and the empty rooms and the walls plastered with signatures of performers past, the audience breathed with him.

They were him. He was them. Freddie Mercury breathed life, and life honoured him in its existence.

A flurry of smiles were exchanged, and soon you were following four of the most brilliant people you’d ever met toward the stage where thousands of other lucky souls would delight in their talent.

A group formed quickly, Freddie with Roger at one shoulder and Mary at the other, Heather close behind, followed by Crystal and Deacy and Roadie John, and Peter Hince and you with Brian, Ian bringing up the rear.

Your thoughts raced, but everything around you moved as though soaked in treacle, as though delayed, your mind compensating for the adrenaline in your veins by slowing everything down.

Then Freddie was being handed his sheared-off microphone stand, and Roger was tousling his hair in a last-minute fix, and Deacy was slinging on his bass while Brian lifted his guitar.

It was all so surreal, the chatter and laughter amongst the group, the occasional eyebrow raise or wink exchanged in anticipation of what was about to begin, the hush that fell over the crowd before Queen were announced and finally, finally, took the stage, cheers from the audience rattling the walls of the theatre, the ground, as though it all was no more than rice paper.

“Go House Lights.”

You clasped your hands to your chest, unable to keep the smile from your face as the lights went up and Queen were illuminated in all their shiny satin splendour, as the first chord rang from Brian’s guitar, and Roger’s drumsticks met with the drums in an earthquake of noise, and Deacy strummed his bass until the floors hummed with the sound, and Freddie launched into song.

Heather leaned against your shoulder, and when you looked over at her, she extended her hand to you. Mary held Heather’s other hand, smiling at the view of the stage with tears in her eyes. She nodded to you in silent solidarity, and you took Heather’s outstretched hand.

Such a feeling of belonging washed over you, and the intensity of the sensation brought tears to your eyes as well.

You didn’t want to run. You wanted to be where you were.

You’d never felt that before.

Not before now.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

The first gig had been electric.

Queen had opened and closed to a rager of an audience, and had held them enraptured, wound around their pinkies throughout, a spell cast over everyone within the room. You’d felt it too— when they harmonised, when Roger’s drumming ran with John’s bass and the sound of it replaced your thoughts, when Freddie rushed past you for a costume change, when Brian leaned into one of his guitar solos.

The ‘Son & Daughter’ solo had sent shivers down your spine.

You’d felt like you were back in the pub on that first night, watching Brian’s eyes catch on yours. Indeed, he seemed to remember it too. He’d looked to you in the wings, smiled upon singing the very same line he’d sung to you all those months ago. Shivers.

Now, a few hours later, Freddie was keeping the energy going with his first-night-of-tour party.

And you were wearing Zandra’s top, the one she’d made for you.

You’d all but forgotten about the top over the summer, despite having brought it with you after Zandra had dropped it off at your house.

But you’d seen the garment as soon as you’d unpacked back on Camden High Street, and in its glittering grandeur, it was begging to be worn. So you’d packed it again, this time to take with you on tour.

And when on this night you’d finally donned the sparkly top, you’d felt invincible.

The party was an extravagant event. Queen hadn’t even released the album yet and they were already spending fantastical amounts of money. But given that Deacy would be attending Freddie’s party of his own free will, you supposed that the event must have been cleared by budgeting. Still, you didn’t want to know how much Freddie had spent on decorations, his own outfit, the food.

The party was at the hotel where you all were staying, but for tonight’s occasion, Freddie had also booked the dance hall which lay on the seventh floor, and several surrounding suites— “In case people get frisky, darling.”

You were met at the door of the dance hall by none other than Freddie himself, who was personally greeting and directing people as he oversaw the admittance of the guestlist.

When he saw you he opened his arms widely, and you hugged him.

“Hello Freddie,” you said.

He kissed the top of your head enthusiastically. “Y/N, I’m so happy you’re here!” It was apparent he’d already had a couple of drinks. Tipsy, not yet drunk. Still coherent, at least. “And that top is stunning!” he picked at the sleeve of your sparkly black blouse. “One of Zandra’s?”

“Yeah, she actually made it for me,” you responded with an amused smile, remembering Zandra’s spontaneous visit to your place back in June.

Freddie raised his eyebrows. “My goodness, she must have liked you a lot. Go on inside,” he patted your shoulder.“I’ll join you all in a few minutes.”

“Okay. See you in a bit.” You smiled, but the expression was uneasy, because you’d just remembered how it was you felt about parties. All that mingling with people you barely knew, and hovering awkwardly by the bar because you were avoiding people you’d spoken to earlier and didn’t want to speak to again.

“Oh and, darling!” Freddie called, just as you were going.

“Yeah?”

His lips curled into a smile, and his eyes looked villainous in their winged eyeliner.

“Brian’s looking for you,” he winked.

A shiver ran through you.

“Oh— okay,” you murmured, feeling your cheeks begin to burn.

The flush spread through your body as you entered the dimly lit room, as anticipation and nervousness shook your hands where they hung by your sides.

Would you be able to spot anyone you knew? Quickly? You didn’t much want to repeat the experiences of your teenage years.

Would Brian be there, waiting? And if he was, what would he think of what you were wearing? Your blouse was loose and low-cut, your trousers were silky and tight. The thought of his eyes running over you tickled goosebumps into your skin.

The music in the hall was already loud, and you wondered how many complaints Freddie would receive from the other hotel guests before the night was through.

Walking deeper into the hall, you remembered why the music was so loud.

The hall had a record player in a corner and boasted impressively sized speakers, courtesy of Deacy, who had, in a conversation with Freddie that you’d only heard bits and pieces of, insisted music was so much a part of creating an atmosphere. He’d also insisted on overseeing the rig himself, with Queen’s own sound crew running the whole thing.

The low lighting was purple, blue, and black in tone, and a disco ball strung from the ceiling reflected the colours around the room. Streamers and balloons and at least a hundred people dancing and mingling completed the look of the hall and energised the place, similar to the feeling evoked by the Speak at Oxford Circus upon initial entry.

Coincidentally, the first party-goer you recognised was Deacy, and when he saw you, he grinned and made his way over to you, a colourful cocktail in hand.

Relief left you in a sigh.

“Hello Y/N!”

“Hi, Deacy!” You wrapped John in a hug, though you’d seen him just hours ago. His presence was comforting in the sea of strangers that surrounded you.

“So,” Deacy gestured to your sparkly blouse, “dressed to impress, are we?”

“Not at all,” you shouted over the disco blaring from the speaker rig.

“Not even a certain Brian May?”

Just then, someone called your name, and you whirled, heart thudding. But where you had expected to find Brian, you instead spotted Roger, waving at you cheerily.

You waved back, then said to Deacy with a slight laugh, “No. Don’t think he’d want me to.”

John raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

“Deacy,” you implored, “he called me his best friend.”

“Y/N! How many times—” Deacy gave a heavy sigh. “That’s what I said to my girlfriend before I married her.”

You pursed your lips. “I think you two are the exception, not the rule.”

John rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, whatever, but he already can’t take his eyes off of you, so if you made a move, I daresay he wouldn’t mind.”

“What—” you started, but Deacy had disappeared into the crowd.

“Y/N,” said a familiar voice, and you turned toward the sound.

Brian.

Wide-eyed, soft-lipped. Even the dim lighting could not shroud his beauty in shadow.

“You look…” he shook his head slowly. “Like the night sky.”

And here he was complimenting you.

“Is that a good thing?” you asked, knowing full well what his answer would be, but wanting to hear him say it.

His gaze ran all over you, beginning where your toes peeked out of your high heels, skimming up your legs and over your torso and finally fixing upon your eyes. The look felt suddenly more intimate to you than any touch had ever been.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured. He held his hand out to you. “Dance with me?”

You had no qualms about taking his hand.

Until of course Led Zeppelin’s ‘Whole Lotta Love’ ended and someone replaced the record, setting the needle to the third track.

You knew that it was the third track, because Heather had once made you memorise the tracklist of this record.

Heather. How you missed Heather. You barely saw her anymore.

Heather had once been your closest friend, and she’d very much shaped the person you were today.

When you’d first become friends, she had taken you shopping and taught you how to dress to accentuate what you wanted to accentuate, how to dress to make you feel like fashion was your friend, and not your enemy, as it had often been, in terms of poor self-image. And in terms of music, she had introduced you to so many artists, most notably Mott the Hoople.

A Mott the Hoople record was now on the deck, and that was why, when across the room the needle was placed down on the new record, you were washed away in a wave of nostalgia.

But you weren’t the only one.

Brian’s lips were gently agape, and eyes were soft with emotion, so much sadness in his eyes that you wondered if he’d ever really been happy, all those times he’d smiled.

He still held out his hand, but now he did so almost shyly. The askance was still there, though, and he was asking you to dance with him.

Slowly, you took his hand, and he drew you close, one palm against the small of your back, his other hand remaining in yours.

He exhaled in a tense manner as you laid your head against his chest.

Then he began to talk.

“Last year, we were abroad, opening for Mott the Hoople every night on their tour.”

You’d never thought about the fact that the band you were friends with had worked with the band you’d so revered in your teenage years. It was a riveting, if slightly bizarre, thought. But you kept this musing to yourself; Brian rarely talked unprompted in this way, and you wanted to hear what he had to say.

“They played this song every night,” he said as he swayed with you, “and it was a right rager. Everyone loved it, sang it like it had been written for them, like it belonged to them. And in a way, it did. It wasn’t written for them, but it became theirs, the disaffected youth, the lost, the ones who couldn’t be themselves for the existence of others, the hopeless dreamers.”

You looked up at him, to see how his words had changed the expression on his face.

His gaze was unfixed, staring past you with sleepy eyes in a face of grim sentimentality.

“I stood backstage, in my dark makeup and sweeping sleeves, with Freddie smoking beside me, Roger jumping up and down and twirling his drumsticks, Deacy tuning his unplugged bass up and down. And I thought to myself,” he gave a short laugh, “what the hell am I doing here? All these people... they’re behaving like they belong on stage, like we belong on stage, like I’m not some awkward astrophysics student still unsure of his life choices, walking around in garb that makes David Bowie’s fashion look about as flamboyant as plaid pyjamas.”

You smiled a little at this last remark, given its intention of humour, but everything Brian was saying carried with it such a weight that sadness remained your prevailing emotion.

“Even though I loved performing, there were times when I felt I was not me, not in my body, only watching all these things happen, from very far away.” He exhaled slowly, and the sound was so pitiful that you wanted to draw him even closer. “I was tall and shy and awkward, and you know, nothing’s changed.”

“It was only a year ago,” you said gently. But Brian shook his head.

“So much can change in the course of a year,” he murmured, and you thought his palm pressed more warmly against your back. He met your eyes. “But I haven’t changed. I haven’t changed at all.”

“I would never want you to change.”

He echoed that sad smile you’d smiled earlier. He looked down, and a curl fell over his face. Your heart ached at the sight of him. You contemplated reaching up and winding the curl around your forefinger, to bring him nearer to you, to let him know that you meant what you had said.

Then his smile disappeared entirely.

“What if my dad’s right, Y/N?” his voice was plaintive. “What if I’ve made the wrong decision, pulling out of uni? What if Queen go nowhere? What if we fade away, or fall apart? What if I’m only losing time?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he wasn’t finished.

“What if I’m not good enough?”

You stopped dancing, letting go of him only to reach up and touch his cheek.

“Brian, look at me.”

He looked at you.

“Define wrong,” you said. “Would you call three, four albums, with chart-topping numbers nowhere? Would you call travelling the world to play music for hundreds of thousands of people who adore you nowhere? Do you think hundreds of thousands of people will just let you fade away? Would you let the four of you fall apart? And would you ever give up the time you’ve spent with Fred and Rog and Deacy, with Zandra bloody Rhodes, through all this wonderful madness?”

You cupped his face, staring into his eyes and willing him, willing him, to believe you. “You’re good enough for all that, Brian. And whatever happens, you’ll always be good enough for me.”

He was speechless, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, motionless though his skin was rosy and his pulse was skipped madly beneath your fingers.

“You’re too good for me,” he whispered. “You always will be.”

He was no longer dancing, and nor were you, because your leg was pressed against his, and his eyes were warmer than sunlight, and you were holding his hand and felt his pulse thrum against your own, and his mouth hovered over yours.

You were so close to him that you could see the little freckle on his lower lip.

Your breath left you in a gasp, and then he was kissing you.

Heat spilled through your veins, dizzying you, and the world felt enchanted.

Brian’s hands were pressed to either side your face, and the gentleness with which he kissed almost hurt. All that you had longed for, held at a distance, brushed away for fear of unrequitedness, was here in this moment, and it was yours.

Yours.

How long had you waited to call this yours? To feel deserving of something like this, someone like this. Still, he was wrong; he was the one who was too good for you. Yet you could not make yourself pull away from him.

You were melting beneath his touch, breathless, pressing closer to him though you were already in his arms, and you were starlight. Floating, ethereal. He made you feel ethereal.

His lips slipped from yours and you opened your eyes to find his gaze on you, his chest rising and falling quickly, and you felt your cheeks flush at his attentiveness.

With his dark curls tumbling about his face, Brian was looking a bit pink himself, much like his summer sunburn, except that his skin was now still lightly tanned from the summer, and this pink only touched his cheeks in a subtle way that enhanced his prettiness by a ridiculous amount.

And then he smiled.

Oh.

It nearly knocked the air from your lungs again.

“Brian,” you breathed, laying your hand over the hand that still rested against your face.

He dipped his forehead and whispered the words across your lips. “Yes, love?”

You couldn’t help it. You ran a finger beneath his jaw, and he shivered.

This time, you kissed him.

His parted lips tasted of chocolate, his hair smelled of flowers, and it was all you could do to not collapse on the spot.

A little whimper escaped you, and you pulled back shyly.

You had suddenly remembered your surroundings, and blushed at the thought of anyone seeing how you’d swooned into Brian’s arms.

“People are staring,” you said.

Brian gave another little shake of his head. “No one’s looking at you,” he murmured, brushing a piece of your hair behind your ear. “Well, that’s not strictly true, because I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

You allowed yourself a smirk. “So I’ve been told.”

Brian looked amused. “Am I that obvious?”

“Not to me, at least.”

“Really?” he raised his eyebrows. “I’ll try to be more obvious in the future.”

Your insides tumbled at the mention of a supposed future.

But then someone gave a cry of alarm, and though Brian still held you tightly, your thoughts scattered like the people around you.

A glass had been shattered.

Purposely.

It’d been thrown. Hurled to the ground in a furious rage.

Somewhere, the music ground to a halt.

“How could you?!”

You recognised the shrill voice as Mary’s. It appeared that Brian did too, because his eyes widened.

“Mary, darling, let’s just—”

“No, Freddie, let us not anything. There is no us. You’ve made that very clear.”

Mary came into view as she ran past you in perilously high platforms, wiping away black tears on the sleeves of her white blouse.

“Mary, wait!”

Freddie hurried after her, and everyone stood gaping in his wake. But when he reached the door that Mary had disappeared beyond, his shoulders slumped, as though the fight had gone out of him. He made a turn down the adjacent hallway instead.

“Jesus Christ,” Brian murmured, eyes trailing after the spectacle that had just taken place. Then he let go of you and followed Freddie.

“Has anyone seen a broom?” someone said to the silence of the room.

You swayed where you stood, alone in the middle of it all, still trying to process the multitude of things that had happened in the past two minutes.

“Y/N!” Brian called to you from the door to the hallway Freddie had taken. “Find Mary, would you?”

You nodded absently, pressing your fingers to your lips where Brian’s soft mouth had pressed just moments before. The blood still rushed in your ears, your heart still hammered in your chest.

You opened the door to the stairwell and followed after Mary.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: i’m smiling smugly right now and you can’t stop me

taglist: @melting-obelisks​ @retropetalss​ @hgmercury39​  @topsecretdeacon @joemazzmatazz​ @perriwiinkle​ @brianmays-hair​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @ilikebigstucks​ @doing-albri​ @killer-queen-87​ @n0-self-c0ntro1​ @archaicmusings​ @cloudyyspace​ @annina-96​ @themarchoftherainbowqueen​ @annajolras​ 

Masterpost / Part 15 / Part 17

[birdiepi]

after midnight (m)

~pairing: changkyun x reader 

~genre: smut 

~word count: 1k

~warnings: 18+, it’s smut lol, mild spanking, dirty talk, dom!changkyun, fluff, just both parties desperate for each other haha 

~summary: changkyun likes it better after midnight and you are more than happy to indulge him

~a/n: hi! I was listening to the new wayV album and their song After Midnight really gave me changkyun vibes~ enjoy!

He only comes to you after midnight.

He only needs you after midnight.

He only loves you after midnight.

You only call Changkyun for one reason: to know what time he’ll be coming over. Most of the time, he will say a normal point in the day or that he’ll be working for so long that if he tried to see you, he’d only make it to your front door before he has to turn around again.

However.

There are times when he breathes slowly down the phone and composes himself enough to say, ‘Be ready for me after midnight.’  

The man never gives you a chance to answer. You’re not complaining. In fact, you can’t wait. You always surprise him by wearing your skimpiest sets of nighties and lingerie sets but this time, you’re not going to wear anything. At all.

You can’t decide whether it took midnight rolled around faster or slower than you thought. Waiting seemed like torture but as soon as your phone flashed all the zeros at you, all the time spent anticipating dissipated because you were still unprepared.

Now, he could turn up at any moment.

You wrap a blanket around yourself and try to sit still, you might have a while to–

A knock echoed from the door.

You don’t breathe as you run down to hall.

He slowly turns as you open your home to him, raising an eyebrow when he sees your bare shoulders and a desperate hand clutching at the edges of the blanket.

Stepping to the side, you let him in. Changkyun closes the door for you, taking his time to lock it before his eyes land on you. His bag slides to the floor and he leaves his shoes by the entryway before he begins to approach you.

He hooks a finger into the top of the blanket, looking at you through his fringe when he says, ‘drop it.'

Your hand relaxes on its own. The blanket is no more, dropping in a muffled heap onto the ground behind him to reveal exactly what he was hoping for. You, completely naked underneath.

A low growl resonates deep in his throat as he steps back for a heartbeat.

‘Baby, there’s really no one else like you,’ he says. He’s close now, kissing beneath your ear. He takes your hand, pressing against his dick. ‘Do you see? Do you see what you do to me?’ You hold your breath to save yourself from moaning right into his ear.

Without question, he slides his fingers across your dripping hole, just to prove that he knows what he’s doing to you as well.

‘I–mm, I–’

‘You what, babygirl?’ he slips one finger inside, making you squeeze your thighs together. A heavy slap to your ass jolts you to fling your arms around his neck. ‘Let me in,’ he says.

‘I need you, ah–I can’t stand waiting anymore, please,’ you say.

‘Is that what you really want?’

‘Yes,’ you manage to choke out, his fingers travelling deeper.

‘Yes…?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Say it clearly for me, baby. Say that you want my thick, hard cock to destroy you tonight.’

‘Sir, I want y-your thick, uh, hard cock to–mphf–destroy me tonight.’

‘Good girl,’ he whispers, pulling your head back to send his lips crashing into yours for the first time tonight. He grabs the backs of your thighs to swing your legs around his waist, carrying you to your bedroom.

Throwing you onto the bed, it takes the same amount of time for your eyes to adjust to the darkness as it does for him to strip. A low moan gets lost in the darkness as he crawls over you.

‘Your skin is on fire,’ he says, pressing a kiss to your collarbone then licking a thick stripe up your neck.

You run your hands over his shoulders and up the sides of his torso, making him shiver.

‘I missed you,’ you say, almost too quietly.

He heard you.

He stops moving for moment before he lifts his hand to cup your cheek. Changkyun kisses you so gently you could barely feel it. he continues to the tip of your nose and then to your eyelids.

‘I missed you more,’ he says.

There’s no room for an argument when he turns up the heat in his kisses and holds your face hostage as he swallows all the little sounds you have for him.

His hands go down to lift your legs up, exposing your pussy to his impatient length.

It’s almost like you’re breathing him in.

‘Are you ready, baby?’

You nod, wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck.

He pushes the tip in and your breathing falters.

‘Fuck…’  

But he doesn’t stop there, he only gives you a moment to ready yourself before pushing the rest in without mercy.

I believe destroy was the word used before.

This is it.

Your hips buck to meet his thrusts and you find yourselves in a steady rhythm together. You had been on edge all day, you’re not sure if you can hold out for much longer. Your other hand grips Changkyun around his back, fingers falling into the dip of his spine.

‘Ahh, please, Sir, I need to come–’

‘Not yet, sweetheart, wait just a little longer.’ His voice is strained because, ‘shit, you’re so tight.’ He groans as his thrusts become ruthless and you have nothing left but to let the tears run from sheer pleasure.

You beg and plead but not until his thrusts become irregular, does he pull out and replace it with three of his digits.

Your back arches from the sensation, his fingers spreading inside you. His hand goes wild, leaving nothing behind but a whimpering mess.

The two of you lie together as you calm down.

‘When do you have to leave again?’ you say.

He gathers you up in his arms, drawing you into his chest. ‘I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. I’m all yours, if you’ll have me.’

You’re sure he could feel you smile against his skin.

[mentalhealthandgames]

‘OMORI’ analysis:

OMORI’ is an Indie psychological horror RPG that was released December 2020, 6 years after its Kickstarter became fully funded in 2014. It was developed by OMOCAT, LLC and published by OMOCAT, LLC and Playism. It is a long game, the average play time of the main story is calculated to be 21 hours and 9 minutes by ‘HowLongToBeat’ (HowLongToBeat, 2021), a website which polls players with different play styles to calculate the average lengths of games. It personally took me 49 hours to complete. This is to say that, as a long and complex story based game, Omori’s plot will be difficult to summarise in a neat and short format but I will try.

The game has two main routes and multiple endings. I played the normal route and got the good ending so that will be the story I summarise, which also seems to be the one most players also got during their first playthrough. 

The game starts with a short cutscene and then text appears on screen stating: “welcome to White Space. You have been living here for as long as you can remember.” The game then properly starts, revealing the main character in a large white space with a room in the centre. The room contains a laptop, a sketchbook and tissues. Around the room are a cat, a black lightbulb and a white door. If the player goes to the door it says: “a white door casts a faint shadow. What would you like to do?” The only choice is to do nothing. The sketchbook is filled with sinister drawings in red, white and black. The cat says “meow (waiting for something to happen?)”. The laptop allows you to either stare at the screen, look at the journal or log off. The journal (titled ‘Omori’s journal’) is filled with entries for days that are all listed as: “day ???” rather than with a date and each entry either consists of: “today, I spent time in White Space. Everything was okay” or “today I visited my friends. Everything was okay.” The tissue box is stated as “for wiping your sorrows away”. There is a sound and shake and then a text box appears telling the player “something fell nearby”. The player can then find a “shiny knife” by wandering around white space. After discovering the knife, if the player approaches the door they are now given the option to open it.

Once the door is opened it takes the player to Neighbor’s Room, a bright colourful room in sharp contrast to White Space. Neighbor’s Room is a part of a large area called Headspace which is only accessible through the white door in White Space. Most of the game takes place in Headspace, although not all of it, so assume the areas I discuss are in Headspace unless I tell you they are otherwise (White Space is not a part of Headspace). In Neighbor’s Room three of Omori’s friends are playing cards. They are Aubrey, Kel and Kel’s brother Hero. They are happy to see Omori, and after some bickering between Kel and Aubrey, decide to visit their friends Mari and Basil who have invited them for a picnic at the Playground. Saying yes to the invitation causes the friends to join the party and follow Omori. They leave Neighbor’s Room through a tree stump. There are four areas branching from the tree stump. One is blocked off by spiderwebs which Omori refuses to pass because he is scared of spiders, one is blocked of by the sea which Omori refuses to go into because he is scared of drowning and one is blocked off by a ladder which Omori refuses to climb because he is scared of heights. The only other option is to go to the Playground where they meet Basil and Mari who are waiting on a picnic blanket with Mari’s basket and some food. Mari’s picnic blanket, her basket and the food pop up throughout the game with the basket as a save point, the food as a way to replenish health or juice (which is basically mana, it powers skills and can be drained during fights) and the picnic blanket often allowing Omori and friends to have a picnic and take a break from whichever adventure they are on. During their friendly reunion and discussion, Basil shows them his photo album which is filled with pictures documenting their friendship. They then decide to visit Basil’s house except for Mari who opts to stay behind.

Before going to Basil’s house Omori and friends play hide and seek with other characters in the Playground where Omori finds everyone except Basil. Basil has been kidnapped by a character named Boss who is a childish character upset at being banned from the playground by the others who had deemed him too violent. After a fun short battle with Boss they then make their way to Basil’s house. I mentioned the fight with Boss as although it has no relevance to the plot it seemed to set the tone of exploring ‘Headspace’ for me. Colourful fun battles with Omori’s friends against characters who ultimately weren’t bad people. It felt hopeful and exciting even though I knew it couldn’t be the full story because Omori is a psychological horror game. Although I knew something would probably go wrong at some point, it still lulled me into a false sense of security. When Omori and his friends arrive at Basil’s house, Kel and Aubrey have another fight before they go inside which leads to them knocking over Basil and the photos falling out of his photo album. They go inside for Omori to put the photos back in place. After that seems done a photo falls out of the album and Basil picks it up. Basil seems not to recognise the photo, looking scared. A twisting shadow appears beneath him and then he says “n-no.. that can’t be… Mari” his eyes turning red. Then there is a flash of a greyscale photo and Omori is back in White Space, except this time the white door is missing. There is some new dialogue with Mewo the cat and a new drawing in the journal of a strange shape with one eye. However, without the door, the player is stuck, until they open the pocket menu. The pocket menu is where the player can access the party’s inventory, their skills and charms and the options menu. Previously there was a space only listed as ??? but at that moment it is replaced by red text saying “Stab”. Clicking on Stab it gives you the option to stab a member of the party, which, in White Space only consists of Omori himself. The player has no other way of progressing the game and has to click that option, which makes Omori to stab himself. This sudden dark turn shocked me. Although I had expected the game to turn dark eventually I didn’t think it would happen so early on and it felt wrong to have him stab himself.

After Omori has stabbed himself there is another short cutscene and then the player is shown a boy sleeping in his room and asked to choose his name. His default name is Sunny, so that is how I will refer to him. He looks almost exactly like Omori except he is in colour. He is the real version of Omori who lives in the real world and it turns out that Headspace and White Space are all in his head, a world he escapes to avoid a traumatic event in his past. Although they are the same person I will continue to refer to them as Omori and Sunny to separate when Sunny is in Headspace (or White Space) as Omori and when he is in the real world as Sunny. It turns out that in the real world Sunny is home alone as his mother is in the city, preparing their new home for them to move into in three days. It is also revealed that Omori’s friends in Headspace all exist in the real world as well. In the real world you can explore the top level of the house where Sunny’s bedroom is located, but if the player tries to go downstairs to the rest of the house Sunny will shake his head and not allow it. The only choice is to go back to bed where Sunny goes to sleep but then wakes up again hungry. A red light shines through the window making the area more sinister. This time trying to go down the stairs is allowed but the stairs seem to be infinitely long and some hands climb up the sides while others surround him and one photorealistic one chases him. When it catches up, the player is taken to a fight with a monstrous creature referred to as Something. The fight seems hopeless, Sunny’s attacks doing nothing to Something until a mysterious voice speaks to Sunny saying: “take a deep breath… don’t be afraid. It’s not as scary as you think.” The textbox then states: “you steady yourself… and remember how to Calm Down. Calm Down is then available as a skill (fights are won by using attacks and skills). Using the Calm Down skill shows an animation of Sunny breathing in and out and ends the fight, depositing Sunny at the bottom of the stairs. The player can then explore the rest of the house, two areas Sunny still refusing to go to, a room and an area outside, presumably the garden. The player can then take Sunny to the kitchen to pick up the Steak Knife and heat up and eat a steak. Then Sunny seems sick, the rooms wobbling as he walks around. After he goes to the upstairs bathroom and throws up, the rooms stop wobbling. Then there is a knock at the door and when Sunny approaches the door it shows Mari on the other side, still in the bright purple colours of Headspace. She tells Sunny she forgot her keys and asks him to open the door. If the player chooses to open the door there is a quick jumpscare of a ghost. If the player visits the bathroom to look in the mirror they will see the ghost behind Sunny. There is nothing else to do but to make Sunny go to bed and go to sleep. This time when he wakes up there is another cutscene saying “welcome to White Space. You have been living here for as long as you can remember” and Sunny is once again Omori, back in White Space. This time the white door is back but will not open and the Stab option is once again not available. Going to the laptop will open the Hangman menu which shows a list of computer keyboard keys along with vague descriptions of where to find them (they are all somewhere in Headspace). Out of all 26 keys there are 12 keys that are necessary to collected to unlock later parts of the game. It is impossible to collect all 26 in the normal route of the game. To be able to open the door the player has to find the map to Headspace in White Space, then it will allow the door to open when interacted with, once again taking Omori to Neighbor’s Room. Aubrey, Kel and Hero are relieved to see Omori and reveal that Basil is missing. Around this time Mari is also revealed to be Omori’s (and therefore also Sunny’s) sister. The main objective is to find Basil and this drives most of the story that takes part in Headspace. This involves a lot of exploring different areas of Headspace including an area accessed via the ladder that Sunny had previously been too afraid to use. Omori is encouraged by his friends to go up the ladder as they believe it may lead to Basil and this is clearly linked to Sunny defeating the Something on the stairs in the real world. This area is called Otherworld. After going on quests in the hopes that they will lead to Basil and fighting in a battle against the first proper boss, Space Boyfriend, some bloody footsteps will lead to a shadowy figure of Basil. Following shadow Basil takes Omori to a dark sinister space with some hints about Sunny’s dark past and his reason for creating and escaping to Headspace. He is chased by the version of Something the player will see the most, a version already depicted in Omori’s sketchbook in White Space, a strange shape with one eye. When caught by Something Omori wakes up once again in White Space where he once again has to stab himself to wake up in the Real World. This is the End of the Prologue and the start of the first chapter: Three Days Left. Each chapter counts down the days until Sunny is supposed to move out.

Every time Omori turns up at White Space and the white door is not present, the player has to make him stab himself in order to wake up as Sunny in the real world. That is the only way to access the real world. During each real world segments there is a battle with a different creature called Something related to each of Sunny’s fears. First heights, then spiders and finally drowning. Defeating these creatures in the real world always gives Sunny a new skill (these are: Calm Down, then Focus, then Persist) and allows Omori to later overcome, after his friends offer him support, the related fear in Headspace, allowing him to explore new areas that were previously blocked off (Otherworld, then Pyrefly Forest and finally Last Resort and Underwater Highway are only accessible by Omori and Mari swimming across the beach). I found this very interesting as it showed that Omori’s fears were limiting him and that he was able to overcome them, both for his friend (Basil) and with the support of his other friends (Aubrey, Kel and Hero). It implies that you should reach for help or support if you can and it reminded me a lot of my own anxiety which has limited me a lot in my past by making me scared to go to social events for example. Friendship is an important theme throughout Omori (in fact it is an important theme in all three games I chose to assess).

The first chapter opens in the real world with someone claiming to be Kel knocks on the door and the player has to choose whether to open it or not. This choice determines which route of the game the player goes down. The normal route starts when the player chooses to open the door. It is revealed to actually be Kel and not a jumpscare like Mari was and he wants to spend time with Sunny before he moves out. When Sunny explores the town with Kel he finds out that Aubrey has changed a lot, having dyed her hair pink and become the leader of what appears to be a group of bullies who often bully Basil, who is even more timid and scared than the version of him the player saw in Headspace (before he disappeared of course). Sunny and Kel rescue Basil by fighting against Aubrey who Sunny wins against by slashing her with his Steak Knife. Kel is shocked that Omori used a knife against Aubrey and takes it from him. This part made me realise how real the real world is meant to be and how Sunny had become incredibly detached from it by spending all his time in Headspace as Omori and becoming used to having to fight creatures and bosses with his Shiny Knife. Kel and Sunny then decide to retrieve Basil’s photo album which he says Aubrey stole from him. They find her in a church where she reveals to the player that Mari died four years prior, which is presumably the traumatic event that caused Sunny to retreat into Headspace, and is the reason the friend group drifted apart. Kel and Sunny then fight Aubrey again, drawing attention to Aubrey from the other churchgoers who criticise her, causing her to flee. Kel and Sunny then spot her throwing the photo album into the trash and take it to bring back to Basil. This photo album contains different pictures to the one in Headspace but is still filled with pictures showing their friendship, although all pictures containing Mari are missing, presumably taken by Aubrey. When they take the photo album back to Basil, who lives with his caretaker Polly they are invited to have dinner with them. Over dinner Kel mentions that Sunny is moving away and Basil runs to the bathroom. Following him to the bathroom shows him also seeing Something, which he says is behind Sunny. He clearly is also traumatised, his trauma most likely linked to Sunny’s trauma. Basil seems genuinely scared to be left alone but the only option for Sunny is to leave him alone. Then when Sunny goes home he faces the spider Something and goes to bed waking up in White Space.

I will not go into detail into the areas of Headspace that the party explore while looking for Basil as that would take a long time and doesn’t need to be discussed to explain the plot. The reason I went into so much detail for the Prologue is that it sets up the game. Most of the story in Headspace involves the friends looking for Basil, discovering new areas, skills, items and Bosses and always ending in Omori seeing bloody footprints leading to shadow Basil which usually leads to White Space, Omori stabbing himself and waking in the real world.

In the second chapter, Sunny starts off in the real world again. To briefly summarise, he and Kel find Basil being bullied by Aubrey and her current friends ending up with Aubrey accidentally pushing Basil into the water. Sunny has to face his fear of drowning to save Basil and faces up against another Something. Sunny and Basil are then saved by Hero who has returned from college for a short visit. They go to Kel and Hero’s house and look through the photo album and then Kel and Hero ask their parents if they can go to Sunny’s house for a sleepover. In the house Hero goes to the piano room – the room Sunny previously refused to enter. Sunny and Kel then join him there where the player finds out Mari used to play piano, and that her death was a suicide. The player knows from the photo album by now that Sunny also used to play the violin and that he and Mari were meant to play a concert together before she died. Kel, Hero and Sunny then set up a fort in Sunny’s room.

Then Omori wakes up completely alone in Neighbor’s Room in Headspace. Leaving Neighbor’s Room all the paths are blocked off by fog except for the one to the Playground. The Playground is entirely empty but if the player interacts with the mirror they can play hide and seek alone. This is a clear tonal shift as usually Headspace is very cheerful and full of life but with only Omori it becomes eerie. Then the path to the beach is accessible. At the end of the dock stands Mari. She encourages Omori to swim cross the ocean and get past his fear of drowning by promising to stay with him and saying, “steady your heartbeat… don’t be afraid. It’s not as scary as you think.” Crossing the ocean with Mari takes them across to some wooden dock paths. When they reach the end of the long wooden paths there are some curtains floating atop them. Mari turns to face Omori and says: “… Omori… it seems you have forgotten something important. Are you okay with that? I’m not too sure… you’ve seen this curtain once before. The last time we went to the lake. This is my stop though. I know I shouldn’t have come… It just gets a little lonely without everyone. It’s not my place to say anymore, but… I hope you’re still there… Sunny… I really miss you” Mari then says “goodbye, little brother.” Then Sunny enters a new area of Headspace which leads to a hotel called the Last Resort where he has to collect Kel, Aubrey and Hero who were all trapped in contracts to a boss named Mr Jawsum who they have to battle against. This is more like the previous areas of Headspace with lots of puns and colourful new characters. Then the friends travel down the Underwater Highway eventually following a recurring side character Sweetheart to an area of Headspace called The Abyss, during which they start to forget what Basil looks like. In The Abyss there are a lot of hints towards Sunny’s past and trauma. Eventually the friends end up meeting a whale called Humphrey who invites them to enter into his stomach. He is both a new area to explore and, after this exploration, a boss who threatens to actually eat them. Then, once Humphrey is defeated the friends go to find the last of the 12 keys which spells out “Welcome to Black Space” and then shows them Basils house. On the way to Basil’s house the trees and plants look dead. Entering the house there is a pit and entering the pit leads to a dark place which eventually leads to a black door which Omori opens. This introduces the player to Black Space, essentially the inverse of White Space which is surrounded by black doors.

If White Space is where Sunny locks himself away to forget all of his trauma, Black Space seems to be where he hides all of his repressed memories, fears and mental health problems. There is a key in the centre of the room. The key will open whichever of the doors the player chooses to enter first. Each room behind a black door is disturbing and broken looking, with bloody footprints leading to a key and then a red hand appearing and taking Omori back to Black Space. One Black Space room is a small room with a Butler who has the face of a cat while the cat Mewo (who the player knows by now was Mari’s cat) is strapped down to a table with knives next to her. Once Omori has entered the room, the door he used to enter disappears. When Omori interacts with the Butler he says “Mewo has been very, very bad” and then gives Omori a key. As there is no door to use the key on it seems the only choice is to approach Mewo. When Omori interacts with Mewo the text box asks: “do you want to cut open Mewo?” with the options yes and no. As there seemed to be no other option I reluctantly clicked yes, not wanting to see Mewo cut open even though I had become a bit used to the violence of the game after seeing Basil die in several of the other Black Space rooms. However, when the I clicked yes it lead to more text. “Mewo stares at you. She tilts her head out of curiosity.” And then the game asks again: “Do you want to cut open Mewo?” I clicked yes again. More text. “Mewo stares at you. Her eyes widen. She wants to go now.” And then, “do you want to cut open Mewo?” I clicked yes again, feeling more and more uncomfortable. “Mewo stares at you. She struggles to break free.” Again the choice, “do you want to cut open Mewo?” And once again I clicked yes. “Mewo stares at you. Her  eyes are filled with desperation.” I was asked again, “Do you want to cut open Mewo?” I clicked yes. “Mewo stares at you. She tries to scream, but there is no sound.” And again, “do you want to cut open Mewo?” I clicked yes again hoping it would eventually give me a different option but knowing it probably wouldn’t. “Mewo stares at you. She does not know what is happening.” Again the question, “do you want to cut open Mewo?” And finally she was dead, her red blood bright in the dark room and the text box “you cut open Mewo.” I thought finally, the red hand would appear and take Omori back to Black Space, but it didn’t. I waited a couple more seconds and then walked Omori around the small room. Nothing happened. I went to the Butler to see if he would help me leave after having committed such a terrible act but all he said was, “waiting for something to happen?” and I realised with growing dread that there had been no reason for cutting open Mewo. It had done nothing to help Omori leave the room. I opened the pocket menu and saw that the Stab option was back. I selected it and Omori stabbed himself and returned to Black Space. That was the moment for me where the game felt like an actual psychological horror. It had set out rules for Black Space. Open the door to a room, find the key for the next room and then the red hand would take Omori back to Black Space. I didn’t like the rules and the rooms unsettled me with how they took elements of the game I had grown accustomed to or invested in and then twisted them (like Watermelons hiding items, or Basil needing to be rescued) but I knew I had to follow them to progress. Except in that case, the rules weren’t the same and trying to follow them killed Mewo making me feel like a horrible person. When I watched a video titled “OMORI and Dissociative Amnesia”, part of a series of videos titled “Psych of Play” on YouTube by ‘Daryl Talks Games’ I saw the other side of that scenario. Daryl mentions how he “checked everything I could think to check to find a way not to kill this cat. Until I stumbled upon my menu and realised the Stab option was there and in that moment I was relieved. Finally something other than playing what feels like an actual nightmare I thought. And after I stabbed Omori and respawned in Black Space it sort of hit me like a truck that this game had just made killing myself seem like the best option. It seriously made me think that suicide was the easiest thing to do… given my circumstances. It took that unnatural feeling I had experienced so early in the game, and made me welcome it. Which I think paints a shockingly real picture of how suicide may seem to someone who is dealing with these astonishingly dark and sinister levels of anxiety” (Daryl Talks Games, 2021, 27:19). He had a moment where he felt that the game really revealed what it was like to be in Sunny’s shoes and made him emphasise with what Sunny’s suicidal thoughts probably felt like. And Sunny does seem to be suicidal as a result of his trauma and guilt. The bad ending leads to him killing himself by jumping off a building. This implies that part of the purpose of the game may be to show people who do not have mental health conditions what it is like to experience them. I think this would make sense since, as the disclaimer included in the game warns, ‘OMORI’ should not be played by people who are too close to the themes depicted and will find the game triggering. Much of the online community around Omori however talk about how it resonated with them or was important to them because of its mental health themes. The game has seemed to help a lot of people feel less alone with its exploration of mental health, although much of the community also emphasise that you have to be in a good state of mind when playing the game and recommend not playing it on bad days. I myself made sure I only played it on days I felt comfortable playing it and would alternate between playing the game for hours and then taking days off to decompress.

After finally escaping Black Space by killing Basil one more time (a lot of the Black Space rooms involve killing Basil by accident, but this last time seems to be on purpose) Sunny wakes up hearing music. Following the music takes the player to the piano room where Mari is sat playing the theme tune of the game. Mari talks about playing the piano and how she felt maybe she pushed Sunny to hard. She says: “We never did get to play at that last recital. Did you want to play it with me now?” Before Sunny can respond Hero bursts into the room. He tells Sunny to go back to sleep.

In the last part of the game the truth is revealed. Before their recital Sunny had thrown his violin down the stairs where it broke and had an argument with Mari, presumably over the pressure he felt to play the violin perfectly. He pushed her and she fell down the stairs and died. Basil found him and the two of them disguise her death as a suicide.

After this is revealed the player has the option to visit Basil who is convinced Sunny is possessed by Something and will start a fight between Sunny and Basil. Both Sunny and Basil will faint at the end of the fight. Sunny then finds his broken violin and is taken through memories that were shown in Basil’s photo album. After each new memory the violin will start to fix itself until it is complete. Then Sunny will appear at the recital where he is encouraged by his friends. He will put up his sheet music, start to play and then break down sobbing. Then Omori appears and the final battle is between Omori and Sunny. During this battle Omori speaks to Sunny telling him all the reasons he is a bad person and should be guilty. The phrases he used struck home and I become incredibly invested in the battle and trying to win as what he said sounded a lot like what the voices in my episodes of psychosis had told me. However Omori will ‘not succumb’ and eventually Sunny will be defeated and a game over page appears. It gave me the opportunity to continue so I took it. This time Sunny has the option to play. Choosing it will make Sunny take out his violin and he and Mari play their duet they practiced for their recital. This cutscene made me incredible emotional as it showed how much Sunny and Mari loved each other. The whole fight really showcases how Sunny felt, as Omori the representation of all his guilt and repressed memories, that his friends would be better off without him, but playing the violin gave him hope again and defeats Omori. They then hug in White Space and a white door appears. Going through it causes Sunny to wake up in the hospital with a bandage over one eye, injured in his fight against Basil. Leaving the hospital room will show shadow Basil and following him takes Sunny to Basil’s hospital room where Kel, Aubrey and Hero sit around Basil. Entering the room starts the Good Ending cutscene where Sunny decides to tell them about killing Mari, but the game cuts off before the player can see his friends reactions.

I know I have gone into a lot of depth explaining the plot and it might not have all been entirely necessary, the mental health aspects are central to the plot and discussing them felt like it would make no sense unless I described the plot first.

The game has a disclaimer both at the beginning of the game as well as on the game’s Steam page warning players that the game “contains depictions of depression, anxiety and suicide” which I think is very important and needed in the case of this game. The game is a (psychological) horror game, and horror games are quite well known in mental health gaming communities as misrepresenting mental health, mostly as portraying people with mental health conditions as violent and out of control, and mental health institutions as creepy and places to be feared and avoided. However, although the game uses Sunny’s mental health as a basis for the horror aspects it is not done in a way that belittles his struggles but rather just emphasises how difficult it is for him to cope with them. Although the cause of Sunny and Basil’s trauma is revealed to be a situation that players will most likely be unable to relate to, the way their depression and Sunny’s anxiety are portrayed still resonate with a lot of players as is evidenced in many Steam reviews. Omori and Basil are both quite sympathetic characters. They both seem to have depression but it is expressed in different ways – Omori completely withdrew into an imaginary world to avoid his trauma whereas Basil tried to put on a cheery façade but was actually deeply affected.

OMOCAT, the creator of Omori seems to be quite private and has not revealed much about the process or inspiration behind Omori and has not done any interviews, unlike the creators of the other games I have discussed, so it is difficult to tell whether she did any research on mental health when making the game or whether she experiences mental health conditions herself that may have assisted in making an accurate representation of mental health. However she did state in a blog post from the time of the Kickstarter that: “OMORI started out as a very personal project. He was a character that I created to help me cope with my problems during a confusing part of my life” (OMOCAT, 2014).

One of its main themes, one which features strongly in all three games, is the importance of friendship. I think this is an important message to have, for friends to support each other. Early on in the game if you buy good advice from the wise rock in the Vast Forest it tells Omori: “pain doesn’t last forever.” This is a major theme of the game and I think it is an important one. Although the Good Ending is ambiguous as the player will not know how Sunny’s friends will react, it gives hope that Sunny is no longer trapped by his trauma and he can finally try to move forward from it, and by telling them it seems he is also freeing Basil from his guilt as well. Overall I think it was a game that told a story that, although the ending reveal made Sunny’s actual situation less relatable and the game leaned to stereotypes at times, his experience of mental health still felt very real and resonated with a lot of players.

References:

OMOCAT (2014) OMORI Kickstarter Update. Available at:

https://www.omocat-blog.com/post/85490697570/from-illustration-to-video-game-omori-kickstarter (accessed at: 23 February 2021)

https://youtu.be/rUDGlEWa4sE (accessed at: 11 April 2021)