#two edits in a row with the same song

[mycaptainjones]

They’ve come a long way.

[denizenhardwick]

me: i want to get back to editing 😔

my brain: futa... salamander edit?

[wordsbyrian]

Divine - Kelley O'Hara x Reader

Summary: Request was along the lines of Kelley x Reader where R is like divinely attractive. like the sun always hits her perfectly and everybody is in love with her. maybe she catches her teammates watching edits of her?

A/N: it was a request and then it was on the poll from ages ago and then i told @wosobullshit that i would write it so yeah. ta-da!

No one on the team is really sure how you do it.

It seemed like no matter what was going on around you, you managed to look perfect at all times, at least in your girlfriend’s opinion.

Doesn’t matter if you just finished running the beep test, or played a full 90 in a torrential downpour, or had just rolled out of bed for one reason or another. You always looked like you just stepped out of the pages of a sports magazine, even when you were forced to wear the hideous Portland jerseys.

The thing is, your girlfriend, Kelley, can’t even explain it but she’s more than willing to stand and stare and enjoy the view.

Currently, she and the rest of the team are watching as you help some of the trainers set up the cones for a drill and for some reason it seems as though no matter how you turned, you seemed to catch the light perfectly.

“Christ,” Sonny says, whistling lowly, “the fans might be right about Y/N.”

Kelley’s quick to reach out and swat at her young friend, “Hands off Sonnett.”

“I’m just looking.”

“No looking either!”

Unfortunately for Kelley (and the rest of the team) her voice travels just enough to be heard by the coaching staff, who are quick to rush them onto the field to get practice started.

Throughout practice, you do feel more eyes on you then normal but you brush it off as the training staff wanting to keep an extra close eye on you since you were still bouncing back from an injury. Of course, you noticed Kelley staring but that isn’t really anything new as you catch her staring at all hours of the day.

There’s also the cameras that feel like they're constantly on you. Which is weird to you but you push through and get on with the drills.

That afternoon when everyone has been loaded back onto the bus and you’re on your way back to the hotel, you notice the eyes on you again and you’re also pretty sure you hear someone whispering about the vein popping out on your forehead but you’re too busy arguing with Crystal to care.

“No, Y/N/N, there’s no way that you’re trying to tell me that ‘Hit Em Up’ is a better diss track than ‘No Vaseline,’” Crystal says, “‘No Vaseline’ is the diss track.”

A very important topic of conversation.

You shake your head fiercely before speaking, “Pac started the song by saying and I quote ‘that’s why i fucked your bitch you fat motherfucker’ then ended it by making fun of Prodigy for having Sickle Cell. Cube didn’t say anything that brutal.”

“Cube also didn’t need 3 of his friends to back him up in his beef,” Crys shoots back.

“He was beefing with the dudes that helped make him famous! HE DIDN'T HAVE ANY FRIENDS LEFT TO BACK HIM UP!”

The two of you have been having this argument on and off for weeks. Always over the same two songs and there is no doubt in your mind that your teammates are sick of hearing it. Especially the ones that have to put with you in POrtland and with the national team.

“Helped make him famous?!”

“Yes!”

“Seriously?!”

“Yes!”

The two of you are both leaning across the aisle, glaring at each other at this point, faces so close together that anyone else would’ve found it uncomfortable but the two of you had grown up together and as such were unfazed by it.

Out of the corner of your eye, before you or Crystal could continue, you noticed Kelley and Sonnett sitting in the back row glancing at a phone, then back at you, then back to the phone before giggling.

“I’ll get back to you in a second, Dunny, this isn’t over,” you say before getting up and heading towards your girlfriend.

It's not that hard for her to spot you coming, being in a confined space and all. The whole tall and tattooed thing you have going isn’t really beneficial to sneaking up on people either. BUt your height is currently working in your favor because it means you can easily see the way both Kelley and Emily scramble to hide the phone (and its screen) from your view.

“Hi, baby,” Kelley says when you reach them and drop into the seat across from them.

“Yeah, ‘hi baby’” Sonny mimics, earning an elbow to the gut from her fellow Georgian.

“That’s not suspicious at all,” you mumble under your breath. “Anyway, I was wondering if the two of you troublemakers made any plans for tomorrow or if I’ll actually be able to hang out with my girlfriend at some point this camp.”

“You can have her, Y/N/N, I’ve been trying to get rid of her days,” Emily jokes.

Laughing at the offended look on Kelley’s face, you press a kiss to the side of her head before heading back to argue with Crystal.

The next day, you and Kelley are basically attached at the hip, or more accurately, the hand with the way she’s been dragging you from place to place the entire time.

And now after much convincing (read: whining) from you, you’ve finally got her to agree that a nap is a good use of your afternoon.

There’s only one issue…

“Babe, the key to a successful nap is having your eyes closed.”

“My eyes are closed.”

“They aren’t,” you say.

“How do you know my eyes aren’t closed? You’d have to have your eyes open to tell.”

“I can tell,” you say, still not opening your eyes, “because I can always tell when you’re looking at me. Even in the world’s most crowded room, the feeling of your eyes on me is unlike any other. So close them so I can sleep.”

A soft kiss is placed on the underside of your chin and there’s a bit of shuffling as Kelley tries to get comfortable. You let her squirm for about 30 seconds before you tug her firmly against you.

“Yea that’s enough of that,” you say. “And for love of God, stop staring at me.”

“You say the sweetest things to me when you’re tired.”

“Mhmm, love you too. It’s time to go night-night now.”

“That’s the tone you use with Charlie,” Kelley’s voice is indignant.

“Shhh, it’s time to go night-night.”

There’s some grumbling from the older woman but you ignore her in favor of going to sleep.

When you wake up from your nap, Kelley is nowhere to be found which isn’t very surprising. Luckily you know exactly where to find her or so you thought.

The walk to Sonny and lIndsey’s room is a quick one but you get turned away at the door by LIndsey who tells you that neither Frat Daddy is inside. She tells you that they said something about the social media team but you instantly decide you want nothing to do with that.

So instead you head off to find your best friend.

Marcel.

But to find him you need to find his mother, an easy task especially when all you have to do is follow the music. Which leads you down the hallway to the room where the PTs are set up.

Walking in, you’re not surprised to see Crystal on one of the tables getting a massage, while Lynn plays with Marcel on the ground. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Uncle sitting on the other table getting her hands looked at, but you don’t pay any attention to that. Instead you walk in and pick your little homie up.

“Hey,” Lynn calls out.

“Sorry Lynnie,” you say, “Marcel and I have some very important business to discuss.”

“He’s one!”

“Gracie’s corner is incredibly serious stuff, Williams. Crys, I’ll come find you when he needs a diaper change.”

You hear small chuckles from Lyss and the trainers but you’re mostly focused on the way Crystal grumbles her breath while shoo-ing you out of the room.

As you leave you can just mak e out the voice of one of the trainers saying, "It's like she doesn't even know she's doing it."

Whatever that means.

You spend the next 30 or so minutes wandering around the hotel, alternating between letting the toddler run ahead of you and carrying him while he mushes his fingers against your face, babbling on about whatever 1 year olds like. You make sure to respond when he pauses, wow-ing or asking him simple questions to encourage him to continue.

Eventually, the two of you make your way down to the conference room that’s been converted to a common area for the team.

The amount of heads that immediately turn to face you makes you slightly nervous and the nerves only worsen when you see Kelley and Sonnett once again shoving their phones behind their backs.

Rolling your eyes, you go and ploop yourself and Marcel down next to Charlie, finding the company of the two toddlers more entertaining than that of your teammates. 

Unnoticed by you though, both of the kids' mothers as well as a member of the social media team taking photos of the three of you. There’s also a few unheard comments directed at Kelley that may or may not have something to do with baby fever.

Life at camp continues in the same manner for the next few days with you going about your business while your girlfriend, her goofball friend, and the social media team continue to act strangely.

It all comes to a head one day after training.

The media manages to corner you before you get on the bus and they ask you to react to a few tiktoks that fans have made about you.

It takes you all of 3 seconds before you realize what you’re watching.

“Are all of these thirst edits of me,” you gasp, not removing your gaze from the screen. “This one is captioned: I’d let Y/N Y/L/N tie me. NEVERMIND!”

You manage to get through the next 5 minutes.

You stutter and blush and sweat your way through all 5 but you manage to make it through.

Not all the videos are as sexual as the first one, some feature clips of you with Marcel and Charlie but it still makes you very very uncomfy.

When you get on the bus, you’re greeted by the sight of most of the team grinning at you like maniacs, clearly already knowing what just happened.

“Who’s idea was that,” you ask, still standing up front.

No one speaks, so you groan before beginning to trudge your way to your normal seat across from Crystal.

On your way you notice the way both Kelley and Sonny can’t seem to hold back their giggles, so you pass your normal seat and go and sit with them instead.

“The two of you aren’t nearly as funny as you seem to think you are,” you say, dropping into Kelley’s lap.

“But we really are,” Sonnet laughs while poking you in the back.

“Yea it’s not our fault that the entire internet thinks you’re divine. I’m not going to be the one who argues with them.” Kelley leans up to press a kiss to your cheek but pouts when you lean away then stand up. “I love you,” she tries.

“Love you too.”

[gibsongirled]

i’m obsessed with girl dad!schlatt 🤭 can we have a fic where they’re high school sweethearts (reader with a normal job out of the spotlight) and she joins the podcast for the first time and schlatt introduces her to everyone as his wife as she’s never been in a video/mentioned before

would love their daughter making an appearance—maybe either hearing her on the baby monitor or smth and schlatt goes to take care of her

love your writing 🫶 i can’t wait to read anything new you post

ANYONE ELSE BUT YOU !!

description: some say that high school sweethearts don't last, you and Schlatt proved them wrong.

a/n: this was such a cute req !! (the title's the same as the song by the moldy peaches :3)

People have said that high school sweethearts would not make it past high school, and some of them were right. But you and Schlatt were the exception. Hah, suck on that, other ex high school sweethearts.

The two of you met during your sophomore year, having shared the same History class. Schlatt sat in the row behind you and occasionally, the two of you would exchange glances and go on with your day, because high schoolers are awkward like that. You started seeing him more when one of your friends started dating one of his friends, causing you to get to know him through mutual friends.

And eventually, the two of you got closer. A lot closer. You sat on the bleachers at his baseball games, stayed up late with him while he edited his videos, and was his date to prom. That night under the poorly decorated stars in the gym while the DJ played the weirdest tracks you’ve ever heard was one of your core memories. And then the two of you started dating and no one was surprised. You two made it way too obvious how much you liked each other.

When Schlatt started doing Youtube full time, you said that you wanted to be kept out of the spotlight and he agreed with you. He kept his real life and online life separate- only letting the closest friends know that he was dating someone. Of course, those same close friends were invited to the small ‘friends and family only’ wedding you two had a few years later. Another core memory that he has framed and placed on his setup that’s out of view from the camera.

Schlatt went on hiatus when you were pregnant with your daughter. He had scheduled his already made videos to upload at a certain time and was completely offline from the internet after that, being by your side 24/7. The hiatus continued on for a few months after your daughter was born and then the internet started speculating where he disappeared to, because this was far from his usual sparse uploads.

Your late night talks had delved into how to continue streaming without revealing you and the baby. And you decided to fill his viewers in on your existence. He was definitely shocked, but ultimately it’s your decision and that was final.

“Schlatt, who’s with you today?” Ted asked on the latest Chuckle Sandwich episode, waving at you through the camera. “Audio listeners - love you to death - Schlatt has a woman with him.” Of course, Ted knew who you were- having been invited to your small wedding years prior. He was just playing it up for the camera.

You waved back at Ted, smiling as Schlatt grabbed his mic and talked into it. “My wife.”

“Your wife?” Tucker asked incredulously and Schlatt nodded, smiling widely as he pulled you into his side. “My wife! Say hi, toots.”

“Hi, Ted, Tucker.” You beamed, feeling anxiety and excitement mix into one intense feeling. You heard the baby monitor suddenly crackle to life with a loud cry, and you sighed softly, removing your headphones and began to get up when Schlatt stopped you, getting up himself. “I’ll get her. You sit tight, babe.” He whispered to you and made a hand motion to the camera to continue the session without him. You slid the headphones back on, keeping one ear open to listen to what was happening on the monitor.

The three of you continued on making random conversations about all sorts of stuff until Schlatt came back. He kissed you on the top of your head and sat back down beside you.

“How is she?” You asked, looking at him.

“She’s good, just needed a bottle.”

“Ah, okay.”

That small conversation between the two of you was left unedited and Twitter was on fire when the episode came out, because not only was he married, he also had a baby! The two of you were trending for a good while, and you are well loved by his viewers.

You were so glad the two of you gave it a chance back in high school, and you couldn’t think of anyone else to share this life with. Schlatt was your soulmate and you were his.

[joojdraws]

Two years... today has been two years in a row I love Rarold and my love never stopped ever since I've read BKMN for the first time on August 15, 2022... here's a drawing I wanted to make for our special day... I LOVE HIM!! 🌽♥️ (More under the cut!! ✂️)

My love for the corn man very is serious... I have my walls covered in pictures of him, my oc x canon ship with Mousey, some selfship art, itabags and so on... 🌽❤️

Tom's waits album "Real Gone" by Tom Waits!! (Gifted by my friend Sarah) the "Don't go into that barn" song is there... :3 1st and 2nd edition of BKMN... (I need the third!!) 2 Rarold plushies I tried to sew myself when I tried sewing for the 1st time... & my itabags!!! 🌽❤️

Framed pictures!!! A drawing traditionally drawn by the BKMN author themselves (I love it so much ❤️), a Rarold drawn by Omar from Team Egg I've got in a commission stream &&& Rarold and Kevin from the comic itself because I thought that was sweet to have that framed too!! 🌽❤️

My laptop is covered with corn stickers (two of them aren't corn cause that laptop is 5 years old and it already was here lol), Rarold keychains I designed myself, a cute corn keychain &&& a corn bookmark (Gifted by my friend Madeline) So many others corn items as well!!! The potato and corn plushies represent my comfort oc x canon ship with Rarold and Mousey... The both of them mean so much to me and I love to show my love to Rarold though my lovely oc Mousey 🌽🥔❤️💚 Rarold rug (handmade by my friend Madeline) and Rarold shirt with that one meme "do it for him" (I'm wearing it today for our two years anniversary as we speak 🤣🌽❤️)

And my very special item... My Rarold body pillow!! (Designed by my friend Rocky) 🌽❤️

Well, that is all... for now!! 3 plushies (2 big ones and a mini one) are currently being made by a friend of mine... The 2 big plushies will be Rarold and Mousey and the mini one will be my bkmnsona, a mini me!!! And I'll also get a Rarold figure by cadavercrafts! Exciting 🌽❤️

Thanks to everyone who always supported me with my love for the corn farmer... You, my friends, my mutuals, my followers and anyone else are the best... Excited to be next year for our three years anniversary... That just will be a-maize-ing!! See you next year, same day!! 🌽❤️

And of course... I LOVE YOU RAROLD!!! Thanks for making me feel special and loved for 2 entire days in a row. And Inspiring me so much. 731 days in a row (thanks February 29 this year) life is beautiful... I will always love you... You and your corn shenanigans!! 🌽❤️

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

"Mightier than Estë is Nienna, sister of the Fëanturi; she dwells alone. She is acquainted with grief, and mourns for every wound that Arda has suffered in the marring of Melkor. So great was her sorrow, as the Music unfolded, that her song turned to lamentation long before its end, and the sound of mourning was woven into the themes of the World before it began. But she does not weep for herself; and those who hearken to her learn pity, and endurance in hope." - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, "Valaquenta"

@ainurweek day 8 ⇢ NIENNA

[ID: an edit comprised of two posters mainly in desaturated shades of dark blue and brown.

1: Aweng Ade-Chuol, a young south sudanese-australian model with dark skin and short hair. She wears a white and blue dress over a tightly fitted black shirt and gloves. The dress extends into a scarf that drapes over her head, and her gaze is faraway. Her hands are folded in her lap, and she wears several jewelled rings and a large bangle. White text in the center of the image reads "nienna" in all caps, and underneath, in cursive "lady of mercy" / 2: An extremely ornate arched ceiling decorated with different patterns, statues of winged figures, and many cutouts and rows of columns, as well as a large cylindrical chandelier. Same text as Image 1 //End ID]

[bunny-lily]

Lift a Pen and Rewrite the Ending

Fluff for our broken fluffed-out hearts Dedicated to @bunny584 because ow. I promised fluff, so I’m delivering fluff

Pairing: Satoru x piano teacher!fem!reader

CW: just some fluff, man. We all need some happy, sappy moments in our lives with our beloved dumbass boy. 

You taught piano. Plain, simple, easy. At least, you thought so, before meeting an enigmatic man as your newest student. He played a little too well for a beginner, and seemed a little too familiar.

AN: I chose to post this on my side acc since this one was technically made for the exact purpose of writing JJK fics (same with the Ao3 acc (milk_bunny/chimeric-dreams for that one)). So, cheers to the first fic on this blog!

This was honestly scribbled down in a single sitting between 1-5 am. Please don’t judge any mistakes too harshly, I wanted to post it ASAP and not subject it to my endless course of corrections and re-writing.

This is also very short (lmao 6.7k words) for how my work is normally. Again, I just wanted to get it out as fast as I could ;w;

smol update: this has been (minorly) edited! nothing big, I mostly just went in and fixed up a couple mistakes + summoned my dearly beloved thesaurus. Otherwise, it's basically 98% the same as before!

Music sheets laid scattered around you, annotated in messy scribbles in various colors, fonts, and sizes. A scratched out row of bars here, corrected or adjusted notes there, mindless rambles stuffed into the margins as you tried desperately to figure out which key to put your song into so that it matched the exact tone you were going for.

Not like you were some well renowned artist whose career rode on their sole ability to create magical orchestrations. No, you had barely any presence at all. The videos of your songs you posted on YouTube hardly scratched a couple hundred viewers at most, with the occasional comment from a bot or scammer getting your hopes up, only for them to go crashing back down. 

You weren’t some notable figure in the music industry, you were just a white-collar worker that taught piano from your tiny home part-time.

It suited you, you supposed, as bitter as you could feel at times. You were just a normie, a casual passerby who liked having your fingers spring and jump across the keys of your instrument. It was one you inherited from your grandmother. She was the one that taught you how to play when you were little, while your parents were busy working and couldn’t sit and entertain you all day like she could.

She taught you some essentials, too, like how to tune the spinet – ‘It’ll save you big bucks, bunny,’ she insisted – and how to detect even the slightest issue it might have. She was correct about it saving you big bucks.

As shabby as the thing looked, with peeling white paint and floral designs chipping off the sides, the cover scraped to hell and back, and the brassy pedals having long lost their glossy sheen, it was in perfect shape.

In your expert opinion, anyway. You were biased, so what? You had every right to be.

Granny had left the world a while ago, her ashes situated on the short mantel of your tiny fireplace. You lit the candles every day, rested two softly smoking incense sticks on the shallow bowl to catch their cinders, and gave her a swift good-morning before you raced out your door, inevitably arriving at work with only minutes to spare.

In the evenings, you’d teach, then ramble to her about your day, wish her a loving goodnight, and go pass the fuck out. Rinse and repeat, except weekends, where you were teaching all day.

It was tiring, working two jobs like this, especially when some of the kids you taught were insufferable, but music was your passion. At the end of the day, you viewed it as worth every minute spent doing something you loved.

You liked to think she would have been proud of you.

A light tapping sound, a knuckle rapping against the wood of your open front door, caught your attention. It was a warm day, one that was too good to spend with the doors and windows closed. Natural light flooded in, casting the figure standing at the entrance in a brilliant glow that hid their features from you.

You glanced at the clock on the wall to your left, then leapt up from the floor in front of your coffee table, hurriedly and messily stuffing your music sheets into a folder. “Oh, shoot, sorry! I didn’t see the time, I’m so sorry about that. Are you the two o’clock?”

Today was a surprisingly free day for you. You only had one appointment, with a new student, if you remembered correctly. You must have gotten so ingrained in your rapid-fire notations that you lost track of time.

While you weren’t expecting an adult, since the email sounded like it was from a teenager, it wasn’t uncommon. You had students of all varying ages, anyways. It was a nice change, too; you found that adults tended to listen better than children.

A smooth laugh greeted your ears, the sound impossibly pleasant to your ears. “It’s fine,” the man said as he stepped into your home, breaking from the prison of light holding him. His stark-white hair caught you off guard first, followed by his height, and then the round shades resting low on the bridge of his nose. “That’s me.”

Eyes as blue as the most vivid summer sky peered straight through yours and into your soul, his hues almost appearing to shine in the tranquil environment of your living room, without the help of the overhead lamp you had turned off. His lips curled into a sparkling grin, giving him this sort of youthful luminance that had your heart skipping beats.

You swallowed and looked away before his gleaming smile blinded you, striding over to your upright eighty-eight, using it as an excuse to busy yourself and avoid eye contact with him before he made you stop breathing just by fluttering his lashes.

“Come on in,” you responded stiffly, clearing your throat to ease off the tenseness in your muscles. Why were you getting so worked up over him? Sure, he was pretty, but you’d barely spoken two sentences to him. How had he managed to get you in such a tizzy so easily, where your tongue felt tied and your pulse raced in your wrists? “How much do you know about piano?”

“Uhh,” he set down his briefcase against the wall beside your door, slipped off his shoes, and met you next to the instrument. “I know a bit.”

“Alright,” you nodded and patted the bench, then paused to think if it would be too low for him. What intensely long legs. “Do you need me to get a different stool?”

He shook his head, sliding into the seat like it was second nature to him. “Nope, this is just fine.”

“Great,” you smiled at him and tucked your skirt under your hands as you sat down on the other end. “Let’s get started, then! Are you familiar with the different notes?”

His hands took place over the ivories and he slowly pressed each one down as he labeled them. “C, D, E, F, G, A, B, C.”

“Excellent, that’s awesome! You’re already a few steps ahead of other beginners,” you nodded approvingly and retrieved the thin booklet you had laid on top of the upper panel. You opened it and sifted through a few of the jingle options, picking out something a bit more intermediate for him.

It was still simple, but definitely more advanced than nursery rhymes. You found teens and adults had a more enjoyable time learning when they didn’t feel like they were being patronized. Teens especially, fickle little creatures, those ones.

“Let’s start with this one, then,” you said as you set it against the music rack in front of him. “It’s pretty easy, I think you’ll pick it up quickly.”

The piece consisted of quarter-note half steps that ignored the sharp and flat keys for now. You had placed a piece of tape over the tempo indicator, finding that it put your students under too much pressure and made them stumble in their rush to follow the pacing they thought was right when they didn’t know what tempo was to begin with.

The man took a few seconds to study the sheet, then placed his fingers on the corresponding keys and began playing. 

He was a bit slow, holding some notes too long and others not long enough, but you were correct in thinking he’d get the hang of it fast. After a few runs, he was playing it decently well, and confidently, too.

“Perfect! I knew you’d get it like that,” you snapped your fingers, then picked up the booklet again, flipping the pages in search of something a little more challenging. You probably wouldn’t find it in a kiddie book like this one, so you placed it down and got up, grabbing a more advanced one from the side table nearby. “What got you wanting to learn how to play?”

“Ah,” he scratched the back of his head. “My dad always wanted me to learn as a kid. I finally caved in, if only to make him stop yapping in my ear during family dinners. I’m just twenty years late to the party.”

You burst into giggles as you returned to your place on the bench, placing the new song you had chosen out for him where the previous one had been. “Not the first time I’ve heard that. You’d be surprised how many later bloomers there are.”

He chuckled along with you. “Well, that’s a relief. Had me fearing I was the only fully grown student you’d see in your life.”

“Far from it,” you shook your head. “I teach a grandfather that wants to play for his grandson at his graduation next year. It’s never too late to learn.”

When you looked up at him, you found him already peering at you with those intensely cerulean irises, his sunglasses folded neatly into the collar of his shirt. You twitched, startled by his stare. He had you locked in his gaze, captivated as he observed you and you observed him.

You noticed with wonder and fascination that his lashes were as milky white as the tresses on his head.

He really was beautiful. Those same lashes were long and soft, brushing his high cheeks whenever he blinked. His lips were plush and pink, seemingly always curled up into a permanent smile regardless of size. Life and boyish playfulness darted in those mesmerizing oases that refused to shake their hold on you, and you wouldn’t wish them to.

They were the breath of fresh air you never knew you were deprived of, the nectar of life that was water to your parched throat, the flickering mirage that came to life before your very being.

You felt drawn to him, inexplicably. There was something so… familiar about him, though you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. Like you’d seen him before, across the metro platform, or walking into the store you were just leaving, or someone walking the opposite direction as you on the crosswalk.

Where have I seen you before?

You blinked yourself out of the illusion, your lips parting, closing, then parting again before you finally managed to find your voice. “I-I’m sorry. I forgot your name, could…could you remind me?”

“Ah,” he shook his head, forgiving your forgetfulness. “Just call me Satoru.”

Just Satoru? Is that really okay?

It doesn’t sound like a name I’ve heard before.

“Alright,” you agreed regardless. “Satoru it is. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you murmured your own name in return, dipping your head down in a mini bow. You returned your attention to the music sheet, lightly tapping the back of his hand with your pointer finger. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

You noted how much bigger his hands were compared to yours. It was hard not to see it, your index finger would likely barely reach the topmost joint of his if you pressed your palms together.

Your hands tingled at the thought. You quickly shoved it aside, focusing on being a good instructor. 

Satoru continued to surprise and impress you as he mastered the tunes you chose for him after trying them out a few times. Each time he made a mistake, he listened attentively as you corrected it, laying your hands over his as you adjusted the positioning of his fingers.

“Your hands are so much bigger than mine,” you snickered. “I’m a bit jealous. It’s hard for me to reach those far keys sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah,” he grinned cockily, flashing you a sultry glance between chords. “They can reach a lot of things very easily.”

Heat rose to your cheeks and you stuttered, whipping your head away and acting as if he hadn’t completely flustered you.

Truthfully, the session was only supposed to last an hour and a half, but when you looked up at the clock, you were shocked to see you were nearing an hour longer than expected. It didn’t feel like much time had passed at all, maybe thirty minutes at maximum. Had it really been that long?

You pushed yourself up, stretching your legs as you felt pins and needles spark up in them. “Seems I got distracted twice today. I’ve kept you for an hour longer than I intended, I’m sorry,” you laughed meekly. “Don’t worry, I won’t charge extra for that, that’s on me.”

“It’s no worry,” Satoru reassured you as he got to his feet as well, delicately closing the fallboard with a careful hand. “Are you sure, though? I don’t mind paying for it, I did take up your time.”

He made something warm form in your chest.

“It’s fine, I love teaching. It’s not my main job, anyway, don’t stress,” you brushed away his concern. “You’re a prodigy, y’know,” you told him as you walked him to the still open door. “It’s no wonder your dad wanted you to learn how to play. I’m sure he’s proud.”

He let out a chuckle that sounded maybe a little forced. “Yeah, hope so,” he responded as he eased his shoes back on and bent down to grab his briefcase. “You’re a great teacher.”

“Thank you,” you brushed your hair behind your ear, blushing. “Ah– when would you want to see me again? I-If you do, I mean.”

The odd firmness he had a moment ago melted away, once more replaced by that handsome smirk of his. “Same time next week? Ah, hang on, why don’t I get your number, just in case? I have a bit of an unpredictable schedule.”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” you assented, taking his phone after he unlocked it and passed it to you. “You don’t like using email?”

He shook his head, watching you punch in your number into a new contact, add your name, then hand it back. “Nah, texting is easier for me. I’ll message you later tonight, yeah?”

“Alright,” you acquiesced.

“Oh, right, how much do I owe you?”

You blinked a few times before recalling that it was technically a paid session, though it didn’t feel like that to you. You murmured out the cost, and he gave you an odd look for a brief second. He pulled out his wallet, counted out a few bills, and folded them in half neatly before passing them off to you.

“Thanks for the lesson,” he grinned and waved goodbye, promising to text you later as he headed down your walkway, turned the corner, and vanished from sight.

You closed the door with a quiet poompf, staring blankly at your piano as you tried to remember how to function again. You glanced down at the bundle of money in your hand when you thought it felt a little too thick, brow furrowing as you unfolded it and counted and holy shit that’s way too fucking much–

You rushed out of your house, down the pathway to the sidewalk, and looked for him, though you knew it was futile. He was already gone.

You tried to think of how you were going to slip the excess money back into his pocket next time you saw him, but as soon as you were inside, you raced to the folder you left on your coffee table, practically ripping it apart as you pulled out all the papers, aggressively uncapped a pen, and got to writing at light speed.

That man, whoever he was, infected you with a painful shot of inspiration that you needed to get off your chest right then and there. Your hand flew across the pages, revising entire sections you had been stuck on for weeks in the blink of an eye. Messy verses were refined, the missing notes floated into place, and by the time the moon had risen high and the timid breeze had turned cold, you had finished your song.

You looked it over one last time, a disbelieving giggle escaping you. You finished it. You finished it. This damned piece had been giving you restless nights, a broken loop in your brain that kept skipping over the unwritten parts, but one session with Satoru had seemingly given you the one push you were missing all along.

Your phone buzzed.

You opened it and tapped on the messages icon to find a text from an unknown number.

Unknown, 9:17 PM Hey! Sorry for texting so late. It’s Satoru. Does next week still work for you, same time?

What divine timing on his end. Right as he entered your thoughts, he slid into your DMs. 

Your fingers practically trembled with giddy excitement as you texted back instantly to confirm the time, uncaring of what kind of impression that was making on him. You were elated, feeling like you could exhale in peace at last. You gave a little victory cheer as you went about closing and locking all the windows and doors, pulling the curtains shut with so much energy, you questioned if you’d be able to sleep.

The answer was yes. After you had gotten all ready, having pampered yourself as a small reward for yourself, you fell onto your bed and passed out mere minutes later. For once, everything seemed to be going right.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

“How’d you learn how to play?” He asked one day as he sipped at the tea you prepared for him. He was right about his schedule being hectic at times, but he somehow managed to fit himself into having lessons with you a few times a week, rather than just the standard one.

It surprised you, but pleasantly so. He was eager to learn and improve, and you were more than happy to teach him. He made for fantastic company, too, and you found you enjoyed spending time chatting lazily with him just as much as you did instructing him.

“My grandma taught me,” you told him with a smile. “She passed away a while ago, but I like to think I’m keeping her legacy alive like this, by teaching others, and keeping that old lil’ thing alive.”

Satoru nodded in understanding. “You’re amazing at playing,” he complimented sweetly. “She did a great job.”

“Thank you,” you answered bashfully, hiding your blush behind your own mug of tea.

“What was she like, if you don’t mind me asking?”

His smile felt like the sun kissing the apples of your cheeks on a perfect spring day. Him wanting to know more about you had your heartbeat picking up in speed, chirping a new, happy melody like a canary.

You deliberated before replying. “She was a very shrewd woman, stern in her teaching, but very gentle at the same time. She was the kind of granny that snuck me pieces of candy when my parents weren’t looking. She let me stay up late playing music whenever I was staying at her place. I probably bugged my parents to let me stay there every weekend, just so I could play it and learn from her.”

“So you got into music young?”

You bobbed your head. “I fell in love the first time I heard her playing when I was a toddler. I had woken up from a nap one day, somehow escaped my crib, and crawled to the living room to watch her play for…man, I don’t even know how long. I was just…hypnotized.”

“She sounds like she was a maestro,” he snickered airily, though you knew he meant it.

You grinned widely, resting your chin on the curved cup of your palm. “She really was. I can show you some videos of her playing sometime, if you’d like to see,” you offered.

“I’d love to.”

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Satoru had been your student for a while now. 

He zoomed through the intermediate pieces into the advanced-amateur category easily, though seemed to plateau around there. Despite this, he was a wonderful student, always trying to improve himself and his skill. You knew he had it in him, he was only missing a little something he needed to tip him to the next level.

At one point, you had joked that he must have been purposefully holding himself back just so he could keep studying under you.

He laughed, and said nothing more.

By now, he reached a point where he would come in with a pep in his step, claiming he had perfected a lullaby he wanted to play for you before you started the session. You’d find yourself (politely) seated on your couch nearby, and would watch with a fond expression you didn’t know was there as he treated your piano with a touch more tender than even your own.

And you’d listen. He’d choose some of the prettiest, albeit not complicated, arrangements to play for you, and you’d find yourself slipping into a state of blissful peace. All your thoughts would drift away, and you’d absorb yourself in the music he played. 

A few sessions had been spent just like that, with him as your personal musician, and you couldn’t figure out why you felt so…happy.

You liked the emotion a lot, though, and found yourself looking forward to his every visit, anticipating the full body chills you’d get whenever he lulled you into that state of delighted serenity. You didn’t remember when you stopped charging him, and when you let him come in without knocking anymore. 

You also didn’t remember when having tea after each session became tradition, but you were grateful for the joy he brought you with his presence alone.

In fact, you decided to get him a small gift as thanks. For what exactly? His company? Patience? Entertainment? Whatever it was didn’t matter. It wasn’t anything big, either. It was a record you stumbled across while visiting a thrift shop recently.

You picked it up for two reasons. First, he divulged he had a hobby of collecting old vinyls. Second, he mentioned he had been searching for that specific record for a few years with no luck, saying it was the last one he needed to complete his collection from that particular brand. The moment you spotted it, you grabbed it and practically bolted to the cashier, uncaring of the price.

There was no way you were leaving it there for someone else to nab it before he could. It was the most reasonable option.

Which was why you were extra giddy to see him again.

You opened the door in the middle of him reaching for the handle, stunning him for a second. That bewilderment was quickly wiped away by an excited grin that surely matched your own.

“If I knew you’d be this enthusiastic to see me, I would have worn something better,” he quipped.

You snorted and waved your hand, stepping back so he could come in. “Am I not allowed to be happy to see my favorite student? You look good no matter what you’re wearing, anyway.”

“Favorite, eh?” He teased as he closed the door behind him, leaning down to give you a quick hug. “Now I really feel like I should have worn something fancy.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that big of a deal,” you giggled, leading him to the usual spot.

“I dunno,” he hummed, a sly expression crossing his face. “Pretty big deal to hear that from my favorite teacher,” You rolled your eyes, smacking his chest weakly, to which he laughed openly. “Ready to get started, teach?”

What a gorgeous sound his laughter was.

“Actually,” you said, “I got something for you. Wait here a moment, lemme go grab it.”

He raised a brow but didn’t raise any objections as he sat down and tugged his tie to loosen it a few inches, saying that he’d be right there.

You had to resist the urge to skip to your room to locate the record and retrieve it from the drawer you had safely stored it in. It was your sock drawer, actually. You wanted to keep it somewhere protected while it tarried for its new owner. You sang the melody of your newest single quietly as you picked it up, inspecting the album cover for any indication that it had been touched since you last put it in there.

Pristine. Obviously aged, but in flawless condition otherwise.

Sounds from your living room brought pause to your actions right as you closed the drawer after dumping all your socks back into it.

…Was that music?

Frowning, you picked up the record and crept towards the source of the noise. You recognized it instantly – it was the most notable piece written by the notorious Gojo Saichi. It was considered the most difficult composition created within the last century or so. You’d listened to it on repeat occasionally, attempted it dozens of times, though you always fell short before the second movement started, which came early on.

Was Satoru watching a video? No, the melody was too clear and full to sound like it was coming out of a phone speaker.

Then…

You froze in the entrance to the hallway, stuck in place as you watched Satoru play the oeuvre flawlessly. From where you were standing, at an angle, you could see his precise actions and motions. Every note came to him as naturally as air, each shift in tempo as easy as blinking, down to the fragile, silk-like contrast that made the instrument sound as if it was a weeping widow, sitting on a window sill as she descanted to the moon, alone. 

His digits knew exactly where to go, when, how deeply to press, how to shift between fierce and floaty as if he was born to do exactly this.

As your eyes flickered from his hands to his face, you saw that his eyes were closed. He was doing what some musicians could only ever dream of achieving in their careers; he was uniting with the music, playing as one, letting it fill his heart, then pour out with every throb like the very blood in his veins.

The most complicated, difficult, astronomical concerto known to man in the modern age, and he was playing it like it was nothing.

Satoru must have sensed your burning gaping as his hues flickered open and his hands stilled over the claviature. He looked over towards you, his mien morphing into something resembling embarrassment.

You staggered closer. “That…that’s…that piece was…written by Gojo Saichi…” You mumbled, barely able to get the words out. You set down the record onto the coffee table, already having forgotten about it.

You were flabbergasted, rattled as you came to a stop at the side of the piano. He…how could he have played that so well? Wasn’t he barely in the advanced category? That was…that was professional, grade A, genius level music he played.

“Yeah,” he grinned, and you would have believed his show of being sheepish if the gleam in his eyes didn’t give him away. “He’s my dad.”

You sluggishly dropped onto your spot on the bench, peering at the keys but seeing nothing as you unpacked the bombardment of information you witnessed.

“That’s…the– that’s the hardest piece…even I can’t…”

“I know,” he rubbed his nape. “He basically forced me to stay up day and night playing it until I got it right.”

“But…how?” You tilted your head, peering up at him from the corner of your eye.

Satoru shrugged like he hadn’t just dropped a fucking bombshell on you. “I asked him to teach me when I was a teen,” You heard him say. “I’m sorry for deceiving you,” he apologized, not sounding very sorry at all.

“I…” You labored to find the right words. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly?” He asked. You nodded, and he let out a heavy sigh. 

Instead of answering immediately, he stood up and pulled you to your feet as well, pulling you into the kitchen, where he filled your kettle with water and put it to heat up.

You desperately wanted to know what exactly was going on, but couldn’t find it in yourself to rush him. He went about methodically picking out both your mugs from your cupboard, tossing a bag of tea into both, grabbing the bowl of sugar on the counter, and setting it all down on the table while he waited for the kettle to whistle. He seemed lost in thought, while you had many and none at all at the same time.

You could only observe him as he picked his words carefully.

He finally began when the shrill noise of boiling water filled the room. “I don’t know if you remember – probably not, since you didn’t recognize me – but we actually did meet a while ago. I was a lot different back then,” he said as he poured the water into both mugs, afterwards placing it back on the stove and holding his hand sideways at roughly chest level. “Maybe this high, scrawny, kind of a douchebag,” he admitted with a chuckle.

You were still in shock over the whole situation. All you could do was silently urge him to continue by leaning closer, accepting the cup when he passed it to you. Heat spread through your fingertips, easing away the frosty feeling you didn’t notice set in.

“You were playing the piano in the music room at the school we went to together. It was…honestly, beautiful. I grew up with a famous pianist for a dad, but even he can’t make music sound as alluring and gentle as you can,” he continued, awkwardly holding his own mug. “So, when I saw you again a few months ago, I couldn’t believe it was you. I always wanted to ask you to play something for me when we were younger, but could never get the nerve to.”

As he spoke, the memories were beginning to filter in through the thick haze in your brain. 

You were so focused on writing music and learning to be a great musician like your grandmother that you never really paid attention to your surroundings or the people around you if they weren’t your granny, parents, direct friends, or music teacher.

From what you did remember, Satoru was always a confident, cocky boy, shameless and loud. To hear he was…shy about asking you to play for him was hard to believe.

“So, I finally let my dad start teaching me,” he rambled on when you didn’t respond. “I’ve tried so many times to replicate the song you played, but I could never get it right. I know it’s probably a long shot, but you don’t happen to remember what song that was, do you?”

You thought back, scraping the dust off your highschool recollections. There was one piece you had hyperfocused on perfecting during the last year there, determined to play it exactly as your grandmother had.

You never did manage to master it.

You set down the tea you had only sipped at twice and walked past him into the living room, heading to your piano in a sort of trance. You slid onto the bench, and set your fingers on the keys. Muscle memory took over, the gentle tune coming to life in…how long had it been since you last played this?

You let the music flow through you, gave it access to your heart, allowed it to peer into the deepest parts of your soul, and simply followed the path it created.

“Was it this one?” You asked quietly.

When you looked up at him, his eyes were wide, lips parted as he stared at you with nothing less than amazement. “That– that’s the one. Which– what’s it called?”

“It’s a piece my grandma wrote for my parent’s wedding,” you answered. “She didn’t tell me what it’s called. I’m not sure if it has a name to begin with. She played it for me once, and I,” you huffed out a short, choked chuckle, “I became obsessed. I spent every day as a senior trying to get it right, to play it like she did, but…”

Your fingers slowed into a stop as you looked at them blankly, recalling your attempts, and the disappointment that followed each failure. You memorized it after playing it just twice, but it didn’t help you reach your goal in the end.

You startled when his hand rested lightly atop of yours, his body partially leaned over your shoulder so he could look you directly in the eye. This close, you felt his light breaths as they brushed your cheek. You could see the exact shade and hue of the teal composing his striking irises, match the exact pace of his heartbeat to a sonata, hear him swallow nervously.

“Keep playing,” he rasped, sounding almost desperate. “Please.”

You obliged. How could you say no to him when he looked at you like that? When he requested it so feebly in a trembling voice that was close to cracking? How could you say no when you saw and felt firsthand how his body relaxed when you filled the room with the lilting melody once again?

The music hopped and glided, playful in some parts, somber and tranquil in others. He stayed right where he was, the heat of his stomach resting against your upper back, thawing the tension in your shoulders as his hands held them gently, thumbs rubbing circles into your tight trapezius.

In every way, the ballad reminded you of your grandma, of your parents, of your childhood spent trying to reach a point where you were truly happy with how you played each note.

But, if that was the case…

How come you saw Satoru’s eyes when you closed yours and listened to your own hands dance across the keys? 

Why did his smile, his laugh, his touch, his voice, his everything, come to mind when you picked apart every stanza and bar? If you put together all the notes a specific way and decoded them, you swore they’d spell his name.

Your hands drifted and halted as you reached the end of the lilt.

Or, rather, the end as you knew it.

There was a brief pause, then he mumbled, barely above a hum, “is that it?”

“Grandma never showed me how it ended,” you told him morosely. “She said she’d tell me ‘when the time is right’, but…she died before she could.”

He sat beside you and took your right hand into his. His fingers massaged meaningless shapes into the creases of your palm and the smooth plane of the dorsum. Neither of you dared break the silence, mulling in your own worlds.

Satoru was the one to cautiously cross the line of quiet, doing his best to not disturb it. He wrapped his left arm around your back, pulling you into his side while continuing to toy with your dainty digits.

“We’ll find it together,” he whispered.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Truth be told, you never imagined you’d find yourself in this kind of place before – especially not in this position. 

Your hand hovered over your brow, shading your eyes from the brilliant sun as it shined low in the sky, kissing the horizon. Though it was setting, the approaching night was warm as ever. A pleasant breeze ruffled the fabric of your dress and caught the strands of your hair that managed to slip loose from the style your mother put them in. 

Stars were already beginning to dot the expanse above, glittering and so, so crystalline when you were this far outside the city. You never thought you’d get to see them so clearly, enough to point out individual constellations, and even identify Jupiter and Venus. 

You never had a reason to leave the bounds of the city before, so all this was a distant dream you might have had once when you were a teenager. 

But here you were, outside a lovely villa, surrounded by friends, family, and loved ones, miles away from where light pollution would dare to touch. The buzzing, lively chatter of dozens of guests filled the air; the clinks of glasses, the clacks of forks and knives on plates, all of it was so animated. You felt like you were in a sort of daze, overwhelmed with happiness to the point that it almost didn’t feel real.

A pair of soft lips pressed against your temple, drawing your attention to radiant, minty-ocean hues.

Satoru gazed at you with nothing short of pure, raw, true adoration. Like every fiber in his body, each and every singular cell, was dedicated to loving you.

“I have one more present left for you,” he murmured against your lips, giving you a chaste kiss right after before he stood up and raised his glass. He tapped the back of his knife gently on the side, creating a chiming noise that settled the ongoing conversations with ease.

Once all the attention was on him, he set both objects down and began speaking.

“I know we’ve already said it a lot, but I wanted to thank you all again for coming here to celebrate this day with us,” he said, turning his gaze to you. “This is truly the happiest day of my life – so far,” he added cheekily, earning him a laugh from the crowd. “So, before all the festivities end tonight, I wanted to do one last thing, if you’d all be so kind as to grant me this moment.”

Of course they would. Satoru was just that type of person. Charisma poured off him in waterfalls, charming anyone he spoke to without effort – you included.

He pushed back his chair, moving to leave. Confused, you grasped his arm and called his name.

There was a glint of something in his eyes, something you couldn’t identify, not with the light tingle of wine sitting in the back of your mind and the overstimulation of the grand day.

“Just listen, baby,” he whispered to you, then he was weaving through the guests, snaking his way to the grand piano situated off to the side of where everyone was situated. “This is a little song I heard many, many years ago, and fell in love with from the first few notes. I’d like to dedicate it to my mother-in-law, father-in-law, their late mother, and I would like to especially dedicate it to my lovely wife.”

Your mother gasped, grabbing your arm as soon as Satoru began playing the familiar melody of the diapason you had been taught ages in the past. It was the one your grandmother played for you, just once. It was the one she played for your mother and father for their wedding. It was the one you played for Satoru, once unknowingly, and every time after that intentionally.

The one he was playing for you now.

Your mother teared up faster than you did, reaching for a clean napkin to dab her eyes with while she waved her free hand at her face, trying to stave off the tears so that they didn’t smear her mascara, though she wasn’t succeeding. Your father was gently shushing her, rubbing her shoulder while he looked between you and Satoru with pride, and you…

You recalled the first time you heard him play the composition his father had written, when you still believed he was just an advanced player. Back then, you felt entranced.

Now, you felt completely spellbound.

You lifted yourself, carefully making your way between the enchanted spectators. Some clutched and squeezed your hand as you passed, and a few others breathed out little congratulations to you, not risking breaking the delicate atmosphere. 

By the time you made it to him, your vision was blurry, and he was playing the last line of bars.

The arrangement floated into the placid, halcyon evening, each individual note rising like a star to join the thousands that looked on with bated breath, protecting this little moment of clement apotheosis.

His hands swept across the final few steps, barely touching the keys at all. The concluding tone resounded, fragile and silk-like, followed by a second of calm silence before the crowd erupted with cheers, hoots, and deafening applause.

Satoru rose from the bench, encircling your waist with his arms and pulling you in for a deep kiss. It echoed in you, the sweetest lullaby, the happiest composition that could never be written down identically. It was one only the two of you could hear and feel, one only the two of you could dance, live, cry, laugh, breathe, and love to.

Of all the endings you ever tried to give that precious lullaby your grandmother had written so long ago, the one Satoru created was perfect.

Because you created it together.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

banner by cafekitsune ♥

[something-tofightfor]

Birthday Kiss #7: Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Word Count: 622

Rating: M.

Summary: A Comforting Kiss

Author’s note: 9 Pedro Characters. 9 Birthday Smooches. These are very lightly edited because they're supposed to be quick. Wanted to give all of you a gift to celebrate my birthday - Enter Joel Miller.

This *is* the Just Too Good To Be Gone pairing, but you cold technically read it as a standalone and be fine.

He was the last person you expected to see when you entered the greenhouse, but the sight of Joel sitting on the stool in front of the small table in the corner wasn’t quite a surprise.

“What are you doing here?” You moved closer, watching as he crossed his legs at the ankle. “It’s the middle of the night.” 

“Yeah?” He cocked his head to the side, staring at you. “I could ask you the same question.” 

Instead of answering immediately, you reached out and ran your fingers along the leaves on the tall plants beside you, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath before you spoke. “I couldn’t sleep. I figured it would look weird to just be wandering the streets, so I came here.” 

“You could have come to my place.” He stayed on the stool, saying your name quietly. “You know that.” 

“You got back late tonight.” The gravel beneath your feet crunched as you walked closer, letting your arms drop. “I didn’t want to bother you.” Joel held out a hand and you took it, letting him pull you closer and watching as his eyes roved over your face, the dim lighting overhead casting shadows across his features and making him look even more concerned than usual. “How’d you know I’d come here?” 

“Had a little help.” He uncrossed his legs and you stepped between them, lacing your fingers with his and then resting your other hand on his shoulder. “Your best friend’s real willing to -” 

“Of course it was Maria.” You smiled, the expression brief but sincere. “She tell you why?” 

“Nah, but I can guess.”  He used his chin to gesture at the neat rows of plants behind you. “You’re from the midwest. There’s only two things in the midwest, and that’s tornadoes and corn, and there’s only one greenhouse with corn in it right now, so…” 

“You sure you weren’t a detective in your previous life?” Your smile was back and Joel returned it, his free hand sliding over your hip and to your waist, pulling you in and eliminating the space between you.  “No, but seriously, Joel, why are you -” 

He stopped your words with a kiss, the man’s mouth pressed to yours with purpose but without urgency. And you leaned into it, stroking your thumb over the back of his neck and sighing when he took your lower lip between his teeth and bit down gently. 

Instead of backing away from you when it ended, Joel kissed the corner of your mouth and then turned his head to the side, taking a deep breath. 

“Happy birthday, to you…” He kissed your cheek, humming. “Happy birthday to you.” Joel kept singing, the sound of his voice covering your shocked gasp. When Joel stood, rising to his full height in front of you, you pressed your lips together, fighting back tears. He finished the song, inhaling and holding a deep breath, the man waiting for your reply. 

“Joel, I … I never told you when, how -” 

“Saw it in the book at the community center.” He drew you in closer, hugging you tightly. “You didn’t say anything, but … I wanted to be the first one to tell you happy birthday, especially after what you did for me on mine.” 

You weren’t sure how to reply, or how to thank him, and so you didn’t. 

Instead, you tilted your head to kiss him again, your lips parted slightly. That one was short, and when you backed away from him, you felt lighter, the sadness that had driven you to walk across town in the dark to seek out a piece of home fading slightly.  That’s not home anymore.

“Joel?” His brows rose in question, and you continued, though you already knew the answer. “Is that invite to your place still open?” 

“Sure is.” 

---

[featherandferns]

fascinating new thing : where are they now?

jj maybank x shy!kook!reader | see these inbox messages for points of inspiration: 1 2 3

word count: 2k.

read fascinating new thing | Thank you so so much for 1000 followers!!! Since starting this blog in May of 2023, I have written so many characters and storylines. I get so many lovely anon messages telling me about their favourite universes and wondering what happens next after my fics have ended. So, I thought to celebrate 1000 followers, I’d indulge. Here’s the (current) where are they now for all of my fics so far…

It’s times like these - standing on an obnoxiously over-sized stage, staring out at more people than you can count who have been screaming your name and your lyrics for the past two hours - when your life feels particularly surreal. You wonder if you’ll ever get used to the feeling of hearing your songs on the radio, or seeing someone break down in tears in the front row of your gig, or scrolling through Twitter and Instagram to find fan-edits galore. Maybe it would be the same as the anxiety, which shrunk just the smallest amount with every show.

Despite your crippling social skills, you never feared the stage. It was the only place where you felt truly comfortable in yourself. You were sure that it helped having Pansy by your side, even now. Whenever you feel yourself slipping away, you’d grapple at the microphone with one hand as if it were a buoy and you were floating helplessly in the middle of the sea, and then you’d look to Pansy. Her wildness from youth hasn't disappeared despite the years and fame. She grins at you just the same as always. Celebrates every concert and every milestone with the same fever that she did when you first played at the Wreck. 

As you neared your twenty-second birthday, you had three official albums released into the world. The latest had made the Billboard charts. Whilst the lyrics flourished, and the production improved, and the vocality developed, one thing stayed the same: JJ was almost always at the forefront of your mind. 

The fans were almost as obsessed with JJ as you. You were gobsmacked the first time you saw some ‘stalker pics’ of the two of you on a date. Whenever he’d make it to one of your shows (which he always tried to do), the fans would have eagle vision and try to spot him. Gauge his reactions and document his pride. And, boy, was he proud. He showed you off like a diamond ring; boasted about you at work and at the surf break. Brought you up in any and all conversations (at least according to the Pogues). One video in particular went viral. Some paparazzi guy had caught him in the street when he was running errands in Kildare. It still felt bizarre to have paparazzi chasing you and your loved ones down. They asked him what he thought of the songs on your latest album. In the video, JJ pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, smirking. They’re all about me, man: what’s not to like about it.  

After seeing the overwhelming positive reaction to you and your boyfriend, you’d started to acknowledge him openly at shows. It wasn’t that you hadn’t taken notice of him before. He was always there - calming you down before and grounding you after - and you always sought him out. Couldn’t settle until you knew where he was. But now, instead of a fleeting glance and a shy smile, you would point him out. Slyly giving a nod to him when announcing the next song: this one’s about a certain someone - you know who you are. The fans ate it up but more importantly, JJ loved it. 

And whilst having thousands of random strangers screaming your songs at you was an insurmountable feeling that you couldn’t ever place into words, it would never top the experience of singing your songs to JJ. He heard them first. Every single one. 

“Come on then,” JJ says, flopping beside you on the sofa. Despite all the money you’d garnered, the two of you stayed in the Cut on Kildare. You always preferred it over Figure Eight. “Let’s hear it.”

“It’s not done yet,” you tell him as you tune your acoustic guitar. 

JJ stuffs another one of your home baked cookies into his mouth with a roll of his eyes. “Like I’d care.”

You smile bashfully at that. You sometimes wondered if JJ was as happy for you as he seemed to be. The fame and money and attention on you hadn’t changed you - at least you didn’t think it had - but it had changed the world around you. That was out of your control. What people said about you, about him, about your relationship and your life together - you didn’t have any control over that. Your schedule became busy with studio sessions and meetings and practice and touring. Hell, there were already musings of doing a tour in Europe next year. You imagined it to be a lot for JJ; would be enough to build resentment in Mother Teresa. But he begged to hear your songs. Tagged along to rehearsals and snuck into the studio. Made it to as many concerts as his job allowed. 

Besides, it wasn’t like JJ was without fame. Himself and the Pogues had found El Do-freaking-rado whilst you and The Wallflowers had been gaining traction. Now he had his dream surf shop which kept him occupied. The financial stability that your combined enterprises allowed meant life was easy to enjoy. And enjoy it, you did. 

You take a tentative strum of the guitar strings, clearing your throat and mind. Glancing down to watch your fingers take placement for the first chord, you begin to play the melody. You could feel JJ’s gaze on you, steady and unwavering, and despite your long-standing relationship, it still made you feel as giddy as the first night at The Wreck. 

“We could leave the Christmas lights up ‘til January…”

You begin to sing. Hesitant at first (as if you’d never played for him before), then confident as the song went on. The lyrics which were still in the scaffolding stages were replaced with half-formed words in melodic hums. You could see JJ’s foot tapping along to the beat in your peripheral vision and it made you smile, serene and sweet, safe in the bubble the two of you had created in the two bedroomed house by the marsh. 

“Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close? Forever and ever. Take me out and take me home.”

Looking up at him, you find his smile mirrors yours. The emotion in his eyes is saved only for you. You get his wildness, his mood swings, his recklessness, his devotion and his love. You get all of him. 

“You’re my, my, my, my…Lover.”

JJ chuckles at that, clearly flustered. Again, after all these years, you can’t believe you of all people have that effect on him. You continue the song, giggling as you trip over a chord, lost in his gaze, heart thrumming happily. He plays into some lyrics, twisting the amorous moment into the most magical of lights. 

“You’ll save all your dirtiest jokes me for me.” 

JJ smiles proudly, crossing his heart as if making a promise. You manage the next line out through your laughter. 

“And at every table, I’ll save you a seat. Lover…”

You conclude the song with a final, definitive strum. JJ erupts into applause, whooping and hollering like he was at a Red Sox game or something. You laugh, bashful, and unhook your guitar from around you. 

“Best damn song you’ve ever written!”

“You say that about all the songs,” you reply, brushing off his compliment. Yes, it seems JJ’s so-called lifelong venture of getting you to accept a compliment was still underway. 

“That going on the new album?” JJ asks. He leans forward to the coffee table, passing your half-full glass of wine to you. 

You nod. “We’re working on the track-list now, actually.”

“You gonna sneak that song in there about Kiara and Pansy?”

“I think Pansy would kill me if I didn’t,” you reply back, making JJ laugh. He nods, making a face of ‘yeah, you’re probably right there’ and sips his beer.

Pansy and Kie hooking up didn’t catch anyone by surprise. It was sweet seeing them so loved up. So, you broke your tradition of writing songs purely about JJ for her. In fact, you’d been branching out more and more, writing about other people and other things. Mike and his now ex-girlfriend, and the world’s messiest break-up, were the basis to one of your best selling tracks: We Are Never Getting Back Together. The sudden rise to fame and all the prying eyes and ears that came with it was inspiration to another from the same album: Nothing New. And now Kie and Pansy, with It’s Nice to Have a Friend.  

Carefully leaning your guitar against the sofa, you place your wine down and shuffle to cuddle into JJ’s hold. His fingers leisurely stroke your hairline, teasing at your hair. No matter the money, he wore the same cologne. He’d tried fancier but after you admitted that it didn’t smell like him somehow, he went back to the old, cheap stuff. 

“I’m real proud of you, y’know?” 

“I know,” you mumble, smiling into his t-shirt. 

“And I’m always gonna be here for you, right? Through the good and the bad?”

“Yeah, I know,” you reply, a little worried as to where this was coming from. 

JJ takes in a breath. It sounds almost anxious and tense. Then, he’s shuffling around, digging for something in his back pocket, and you’re left with no choice but to move off him. Sitting back on your haunches, you watch him with furrowed brows. They knit tighter when he lowers himself onto the wooden floorboards. And then all of a sudden, in the cosy, lamp-lit living room of your shared home, you watch the literal man of your childhood dreams reveal a black velvet box. 

He swallows thickly. His fingers shake as he struggles to open the box. Looking up at you, anxiety swimming in his eyes (which were the inspiration to countless songs), JJ gives a mousy smile. He breathes out your name like reading an ancient, honourable scripture. Tears brim your eyes. A hand lifts to your gaping mouth. 

“I have been in love with you from the minute I saw you singing at The Wreck, back when we were sixteen. For whatever God damn reason, you gave me - a broke-ass idiot from the Cut with about two-dollars to my name and a pretty bad reputation - a chance. And you changed my life forever. Honestly, I don’t know what my life would feel like without you. I hope I never do, really, cause you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.  I mean, when you find a girl who writes songs about you, you kinda have to stick around, right?” 

You give a soggy laugh, sniffling and barely nodding. 

JJ grins, chuckling through his nerves. 

“So, I guess…Will you marry me?”

Tongue-tied like always, you struggle to find the words. No, not words. One word. One very important word. So, you nod frantically. And finally, it comes. 

“Yes,” you choke. “Yes! Yes!”

You’re worried you sound a little pushy, tentatively tagging on, “please.”

JJ barks out a laugh. He wipes at his eyes, mumbling about how he wasn’t going to be a sap, and takes the ring from its cushion. You hold out a quivering hand and let him slot it on. 

“Sorry. ‘M kinda clammy,” you mumble. 

JJ sniffs and laughs and nods. “S’fine, baby.”

You admire the ring in all its glory. Despite his El-Dorado success, the ring isn’t over the top. It’s exactly what you dreamed it to be. Beautiful in its simplicity. Understated and classy. You launch yourself at JJ. He catches you with a laugh, somehow keeping his balance, and embraces you like you might float away. God, you feel like you could. Everything in life is so perfect. Your band, your fame, your talent and your partner: it’s just perfect. 

Pressing your lips to his, you can't keep the joyful tears from falling. JJ cradles your face when you break apart, staring deeply into your eyes in a way that would have fifteen-year-old you crippled and crying on the floor. 

“I’ll marry you, JJ Maybank.”

[izpira-se-zlato]

JO Berlin, 12.03.24

Haphazard, incomplete, typed up for friends on discord and yeeting here in case anyone finds it interesting

I arrived at 16:10 and was number 18 for general access. Now I need to figure out how to remove the number before our business event 😂 . There was no one else for like a hour before or after

The queue was super chill. I got rid of a few more Hojans

we had doors at 19:00 for GA and the first opener started at 19:15, which was unexpected but nice

Sector5 were so much fun! And there was one (1) hardcore Fan in the audience 😂

JC Stewart made the same jokes as in Helsinki but I am easily amused so it was a good fit

while waiting for the gig to start, my friend checked her IG and saw that her favorite place to get film developed had posted a pic with Sadie... I forgot her last name again. Sink? Damon's bff. Damon and her left in a cab after the gig

I was Jance side 4/5 row. Pretty nice spot, I think

Katrina opener!! So did they drop SSOL for good?

WE GOT BARVE OCEANA

Bojan came into the crowd to have a friend sing and he was so sweaty and so close

People were so respectful and didn't touch him I think?

their outfits??

I died at Bele sanje, a Jance moment I will post which. Yeah.

there was another moment later where Jan brushed his hand through Nace's hair

Kris came over so Jan and Kris played at Nace and it was hot

Jan sat down at the piano for um and I think he actually played a note or two

no PiJanO otherwise. I don't think he played it for ew either

Bojan is getting better at the ew piano part. He actually lost his lyrics tho when he saw the fan project by the official JO discord

no bluza 😭

Bojan said the actual working title is Behind Those Eyes but for Germany it would stay Schlager (it is not a Schlager)

he was very surprised by how well we knew the lyrics to šta bih ja

we won't understand the majority of the songs on the new album if we don't speak Slovene/Serbian. Everyone cheered like mad

I actually saw Jure several times??

the stage was too small for Racik backdrop

"who's from somewhere else? I guess a lot of Finnish people? No? Polish?"

there were eight people (according to Bojan) from Slovenia and he hoped they already knew them before ESC

I think Bojan checked with Jan/warned him that he would spray him during omamljeno telo

Nace kept smirking at Jan??

no encore because everyone just. Left after the band and left the stage

the boys looked so so happy on stage

Post gig edition:

we talked to Vita and omg she is lovely. Also, I need to stop talking so much. But jfc

I got a selfie with Teya 😊 did not talk too much, also bc she had to get into her Uber that was waiting

Nace and Kris came out for pictures but left before we had a chance to talk to them

Jan came out afterwards and talked to the ten or so people still left

his fucking voice oh my god

Jan's coat is fake fur and not as soft as it looks

I gave Jan a Hojan sticker

I asked Jan if he knew what date it was and he did 😂

according to Jan, Jure doesn't come out after gigs bc he goes straight to sleep

pretty sure Bojan is sick again (still?) He took a group pic with some people to not stay out in the cold for ages, and then just waved at us to "preserve his health for the tour"

[souryogurt64]

wait idk if i'm reading this right but i'm genuinely curious – you showed pete wentz your essay on his book? how? and what did he say omg

Ok no but last summer I posted a youtube video that contained a part where I talk about pete and his friend. Around the same time, this person posted on social media about a different essay I wrote. Like five days later I saw fall out boy in concert front row and had a bizarre extended interaction with him where I am convinced he recognized me from the video.

In the weeks after this happened, all the copies of his book disappeared from Amazon and so did the cover art, as well as many sources I linked in my essays. Strange things also happened such as an unfamiliar Chicago IP address went through 1,247 pages of my blog seeing if I ever posted about Pete’s mother, and someone filed a complaint on my Vimeo account (complete with a name address and phone number) for a fancam of Goodnight Moon, which is Pete’s softcore porno. Whoever filled this form out claimed they were an authorized representative of the copyright holder for Toxic by A Static Lullaby.

This fancam was posted 7 years earlier and had maybe 50 views. I found this very odd considering that A Static Lullaby are no longer active and this is a really obscure video, but the bibliography of the aforementioned YouTube video linked to a different video on my Vimeo account. It seems more likely to me that someone wanted this copy of Goodnight Moon taken down than the song.

Additionally, this all happened in Julyish, and a few months later FOB began selling an edited copy of one of the interviews that had been taken down, with that quote removed. I found this also extremely odd, especially since this quote was included in the essay that Pete’s friend had posted about.

Fall out boy’s idiot fans love to like scream at me and pee themselves saying none of this is real and I secretly have schizophrenia but I do not. I have not talked about and do not want to talk about many other elements of this and why I have arrived at these conclusions because it involves 2 people who are not famous who have both made it very clear to me they are aware of my essays and blog.

But anyway, I personally feel that if two of his friends definitely know about my essays and blogs, and weeks after this happens a bunch of stuff I linked starts getting removed and his dumb book gets partially pulled out of circulation, it is very obvious to fill in the blanks that one or both of them told their friend about this and his management or whatever subsequently started excessively policing and micromanaging and trying to do damage control because he hates women and doesn’t want women saying anything intelligent about his band and anything that isn’t “Daddy spit on me.” I included these people in the essays because I wanted them to be found, but I am not happy with what happened at all.

People can say that I’m crazy and a bitch and a liar until the cows come home but I know all of these strange things are likely not coincidental. And like I was going to let it go but the persistent harassment from their fans when I was JOKING about “dictator wentz” and also his decision to pretend to be a champion of women’s free speech as long as it’s “Daddy spit on me” is like. Enough lol . I was scared to talk about it for a long time but IDC anymore and I will never be quiet forever now

[thegazette5]

I've found out that reita is gone three months later

so yesterday at night, august 15, I found out that reita was dead... and I couldn't' believe it, it was so surreal and I cried reading the words of ruki for him. it pains me to know the gazette members were friends, mostly reita and uruha that used to know way before.

tbh I haven't listened to the gazette since 2016

I met the gazette's music at 18 or something like that and

now I'm 36 and I have clinic depression and when the gazette made their second world tour, the country I live in it's close to argentina, I had a friend who had an argentinian friend that got me a front row ticket for the gazette concert, I got the flight tickets for me and my friend, and then I had a shitty nationality that didn't let me go anywhere (I already changed my nationality) anyway, I didn't get the visa to argentina, I was so sad I wanted to end everything. I went straight to the psychiatrist, it was the first time I really wanted to end everything, every bad thing that had happened to me, not being able to got to the gazette's concert was the last blow, and someone I thought as my best friend back then, she got to go and it made me so sad and angry 'cause she wasn't even a real fan compared to me, she just happened to listen to their songs that year and go (she dedicated ito to me 'cause she missed me, and hell I told her 'bout that song's meaning, that's my proof she wasn't a fan)

so I stopped listening to the gazette, but this year I felt like listening to, and last night I was listening to layla by eric clapton because a kaleido star's fanfic I was reading with the characters layla and yuri, and I wanted a name for the main female character of the book I was trying to write, I thought layla was cool, but there's already too many L in my main male character's name, so I thought of reila (I thought it was reira) and there was "what happened to reita the gazette" on the search while I was looking for reila's lyrics, I thought it was a illness or accident, but no, reita is gone.

I found out that reita is gone while listening to eric clapton playing guitar.

I went to wikipedia and I thought a troll edited the page, a horrible joke, but it was real and it means I'll never go to a the gazette's concert in my life, maybe I still can, but it won't be the same without reita, he is the gazette and he is my fave bassist and I remember when I was young and grew up with the gazette's songs, I got excited just by watching their pvs on the screen, everytime I read their interviews were so inspiring, just a bunch of young adult friends that decided to pursue the same dream together. I wish I had that kind of friends, and let's face it, most jrock groups break after a few years, the gazette were friends with the same dream that lasted over two decades, they were losers that had each other and followed their dreams and made them come true and to me the gazette isn't one of the best rock/metal groups of japan, to me they're one of the best in this whole universe.

and I went to two aerosmith lives where they were in their 60s and I dreamed of the the gazette were going to rock 'til they were old in his 70s.

tbh I'm curious about reita's passing, I want to know why, last year matthew perry died and I love friends, it was shocking, but I did know why, however asian artists are more discreet than western ones and we may never now about what happened to reita. there's so many rumours and the gazette haven't released new songs since 2021? I guess there'll be a new bassist and I won't hate on him, but it won't be the same.

reita was so young, not 45 or 47, he was 42 and I don't want to believe in the horrible rumours. whatever happened to him, it was his life, if there's heaven, another life or another world I hope he's in peace.

and I'm hurt and I'm not ready to listen to the gazette music yet.

[saucyjothoughts]

This one has been on my mind for a couple of days now, so here we go: festival sex with Jan.

Girl meets boy, reader x Jan, at a metal festival. They don't know each other but meet at the festival and end up making out during the headliner show. Where are they going to take it to the next level? Back at the crowded festival camping in a tent that is a bit too small for 2? Or do they try to find a dark and secluded spot in the nearby forest?

Anonyboo, I am in love with you for this concept.

Edit: part two here

(nsfw under the cut)

The crowd has been amazing and you've spent all of the first day spotting band shirts and battle jackets, admiring all the obscure tattoos and brazen piercings on show, seemingly not a single person there with normal coloured hair. You've been making friends with tipsy strangers, exchanging compliments and feeling good in an outfit you don't normally get the chance to wear, co-ordinating between your small group which stages to flit between to catch your favourite artists. The air is full of the smell of mud and grass, your belly is full of overpriced beer and salted meat, your skin a little sunburnt, your body a little achey. But he's just the same, pushing through the sweat and dehydration to enjoy the music and the atmosphere.

You saw him at one of the smallstages; an obscure indie band that none of your friends liked so you went alone. Long black hair, a nose ring and chipped nail varnish. Effortlessly vicious style and kind eyes. Cute. Slightly drunk. Jan, he said his name was. He preferred their older stuff and thought your hair was cool. Were you here for the whole weekend? You're sharing a tent with some friends with shit taste? Him, too.

You thought that would be all, just some harmless flirting with one of the hundreds of hot alternative guys here (so many to choose from and it's only the first day of the festival). But then he's stood near you for the headline act. He's with some friends but you catch each other's eye and before you know it, you're screaming the words at each other as loud as you can, your voices buried in the crowd. Between songs, he's stood behind you and it's easy to back up into him just a little, close enough that he knows it's on purpose and places a hand on your waist and warm breath on your ear. What are your plans after this last show? Do you want to go somewhere?

You do. His dark hair is a little sweaty from exertion under the show lights and the summer night is darkening. Yes, you really do.

"Somewhere" ends up being through a gap in a fence and behind a row of closed food stalls. It's dark back here and smells of petrol from the generators, but there is an illusion of privacy that makes you brave. It's you who makes the first move, shutting up his rambling with your lips, but he soon takes the hint.

Mostly clothed but his hands are everywhere, his breath this close full of sweat and smoke and beer, slim frame deceptively muscular. You're stroking his erection through his pants, hungry for each other, and he's moaning into your kiss and squeezing at your hips, wanting to take you, pushing you back so your butt presses against the top edge of a locked storage trailer. You don't realise how wet you already are until his hand snakes down inside your underwear and he explores you, spreading slick from your pussy all over your lips, all over your clit. His fingers feel good but you both need more. He unzips, letting his fat erection free, and it throbs in your hand, your pussy feeling emptier than ever, needing him urgently. He fumbles with a condom for a moment, taking just long enough to let you shift your clothes to give him access and then he's lifting you to sit on the trailer and pushing your knees apart to stand between your legs. You've known him for a matter of hours, you don't know where he's from and you're not even sure if he remembers your name. You're a young pair of misfits, meeting by chance and crashing together and he uses his hand to position the tip of his cock against your pussy and pushes. The festival ground is still noisy with crowds but it all seems distant, irrelevant, while your fucking is secret, just out of sight. He has his lips on your neck and his fist in your hair while he's fucking you deep and hard, right there in the open air.

He's slurring compliments at you as he comes, hips thrusting erratically where you can feel him deep in you, his skin slapping against yours. You're not there yet. His teeth are on your shoulder, his arms around you, while you both catch your breath. You figure it's over (maybe you can get yourself off in the tent later after your friends have fallen asleep) but after he's dealt with the condom and you've hopped down from the trailer onto your feet, he doesn't let you fix your clothes. He's not done. He sweeps his long hair out of his face and drops to his knees, hitching one of your legs over his shoulder to push his face hungrily against your dripping cunt.

He's good at it.

Afterwards, you need to find your way back to your respective tents. He's pretty sure he can kick his tent-buddy out tomorrow night, if you were maybe free to hang out again? Maybe you will be. You put your number in his phone. Your real number.

[azulera]

Hello TikTok

Pairing: Marcus Rashford x Black Reader

Summary: Marcus joins TikTok, and you share your thoughts on his first post.

Notes: I wrote this a while ago and it was inspired by the first vid he posted on tiktok which I laughed at for days. He is such a dork (I'm in l*ve with him)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sudden notification to your phone was unexpected, not because of the app it came from, but because Marcus’ name was attached to it. Settling deeper into the corner of the couch, you opened the link to the TikTok video and let it play.

The background was dark, and the footage was slightly grainy, but clearly showed Marcus in a black hoodie, kicking about in a nondescript patch of grass. There was a row of streetlamps behind him, but no eye-catching edits, background music or even TikTok sounds underlying the recording, only the rubbery whack of the ball against his trainers as he bounced it off them and up in the air. After a few moments, the ball flew from his feet and clattered into the camera.

“Yes, everyone— Marcus Rashford, here.” He suddenly spoke, the phone now in his hand and the camera focused on his face. The cheery, formal tone of his voice mismatched with the dark setting.

“And I am on TikTok.”

The video slowed to a stop with his face still in the frame, and the abrupt ending forced a burst of laughter through your lips. Was that all?

You played the video once more, raising the volume and screen brightness to make sure you’d seen and heard everything. The kick-ups could have been anyone’s suggestion, you thought on the second viewing, but the less-than-perfect lighting and straightforward script had your boyfriend written all over it. Still, you had many, many questions.

“Marcus, when did you post this?”

“Post what?”

He walked in the living room from the kitchen with a protein bar in hand, before plopping down onto the couch. He stretched his long frame out over yours, fitting the curve of your hip into his hand.

“This,” You said, flipping your phone screen for him to see his own face reflected back at him. He smiled softly.

“Oh, the TikTok? Just a minute ago. Go on and like it, though, repost it.” He grabbed for your phone, but you pulled it away, watching the video over again. On the screen, and in real life, you could see how proud he was of his creation.

“And you came up with the idea, then? Knocking the phone over with the ball?”

“Well, yeah. Why?”

“I’m just curious. It’s …” You bit down on your lip. The audio of the video continued playing from your phone in a loop. “You didn’t want to run it by anyone first? Even just me, or like, one of your video editing people?”

His eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you mean? I did run it by my team and them first, before I posted it.”

“And what did they say?”

“They thought it was cool. And funny, like. Wait - why’re you laughin?”

Your body shook lightly where Marcus held it, and you covered your mouth to spare his feelings, and mute the sound. He lifted his head up from your chest, unsure that the two of you were laughing for the same reasons.

“It is cool, innit? Don’t you think it’s cool?”

Words were impossible for a few moments, with your shoulders still vibrating with giggles and breath all but gone.

“You couldn’t have added a song at least?” You asked when air returned to your lungs. “Or some kind of audio, it’s dead silent in the back. And why did you end it like that? You could’ve done an outro or something.”

“But it didn’t need all of that, did it? It were supposed to be a short little thing—“

“Also what is ‘Yes, everyone?’” You continued. Marcus huffed and tried to leave the couch, but you held him close, still laughing as you did. “What are you saying yes to? And the camera angle is giving me uncle, grandpa energy, I can’t even–”

“Okay, okay! Low it.” Marcus sucked his teeth and set his jaw, raising on his forearms above you. “S’not that funny. I mean, it is but, not how you mean. I still rate it. It’s cool.”

He spoke like he meant to convince himself. You stared up at him for a minute, taking in the small rut creasing his forehead, and the near pout on his lips. The video was hilarious, there was no point denying it, but it was so innocent, earnest and slightly dorky – all things you loved about him – and he really was so pleased with his work. Even if your abdomen cramped from laughing, you would never have him change.

“You know what, baby? You’re right. The video is cool.” You pushed your face into his shoulder to try and quell the amusement still threatening to bubble over. “You are so cool. And so funny. Super cool and funny. ”

“Plus, it’s harder than it looks, you know. Aiming the ball like that.” He let his head fall back down to your chest. “And I did it one try.”

“Shhh, I know it is, I know. You are so talented. Come here.” He turned his head away from the half-laugh, half-kisses you attempted to press against his neck, but it only made you try harder.

“It’ll be viral by tomorrow.” He finally grumbled, tossing your phone onto the coffee table and allowing himself to be kissed. Soon he spread his arms to resume the previous cuddle. “You’ll see.”

[familyromantic]

SHIPCEST COLLAB

Alright, updates on my planned shipcest collab. We chose the song! And I decided that I'll list the rules one more time and say how we're gonna do this.

The rules:

Only fiction (fiction based on history is allowed)

Canon and non-canon ships are allowed

The ship you take has to be incestuous or pseudo-incestuous (so cousins and step/adoptive family are allowed), but no fauxcest (people who think they're related but they aren't)

Each part means a different couple (meaning that you can't take two parts in a row for one couple), but if at least 3 parts have passed, a couple can appear again (for example, you can take part 7 and part 15 for the same ship)

You can take no more than 6 parts (for now)

No more than three parts for each couple

To take a part, go to my DMs

You can check what parts and couples are taken, in the replies

You should have at least basic experience in editing

Don't apply coloring to your part (I'll apply it in the end to all parts)

Your part has to be in HD. I'll help you find the HD source if needed!

That's all I can think of, thank you for reading!

[upontherisers]

my mota OCs as olympians because i have to

mahalia - reigning gold medalist in women’s tennis but not the favorite because of the injury struggles. she has a fiery relationship with her doubles partner, fellow princeton alumni john egan. know for a mouth and a temper, plays with tactical precision and crazy speed, and is not someone you want to get in a fight with on twitter. she has a nike campaign and a racquet you can buy at dick’s sporting goods and outfits that have her fans making edits of her to meg songs on tiktok. doesn’t play about her parents. is coming into this olympics with less fire than usual, but her best playing in two years. some think she learned from the injury, some think it’s getting a new coach, but everyone can agree that it’s definitely not getting a new training partner in john egan, who seems to be the only person seeing the old mahalia on the court.

bucky - back to back tour champion. hasn’t medaled at the olympics yet, but after a roller coaster first five professional seasons, he’s held it together these past two seasons mostly due to a coaching switch. bowman seems to pick the problem kids. charming, strong, looks good in wristbands, has an undefinable relationship with a woman who could knock him unconscious with a tennis ball. he seems to linger around mahalia more and more as they fight less and less. they even stood with each other for the parade of nations. has a real shot this year.

hazel - beach volleyball, plays with sheila hartman. third olympics. got silver in her first, bronze in her second, and is chasing that elusive gold using momentum from the best professional season of her career. played on a national championship indoor team at stanford and everyone assumed she’d go pro in europe like her older brother did, but she joined the beach circuit instead. she’s found lots of success there, but there’s always been a “what if” hanging over her head. maybe this year she can prove that she’s right where she needs to be. is very friendly and welcoming to new players, but it’s no more mr. nice guy come game time

jack - two-time indoor volleyball olympian, first time beach volleyball olympian. it’s worse on his knees but easier on his shoulders. (there’s definitely something going on between him and hazel keene, right? or is it just me?)

dora - 100m and 400m hurdles. two timer. she’s fucking fast. always has her nails did, hair did, and face beat on track. always smiling. dating fellow columbia law student and olympian rosie rosenthal, a triathlete. hops the into the stands to hug him when she wins. has darren, delilah, and her grandparents’ names drawn on her shoes. wants to be a sports agent for black athletes when she retires.

rosie - proud boyfriend first, law student second, olympian third. not here to win, but brings home an honorable bronze nonetheless. dora definitely makes tiktoks about being a world-class athlete and student at the same time and rosie is in a lot of them and the world is in love with him but he’s the most married man of all time without being married.

vera - women’s eight rower, bow. top of the field in her sport, less than 5k followers on the instagram, incredible husband and beautiful, loud husky at home. she’s living the life. advocates for mental health in sports and coaches rowing when she’s not competing. rowed with ginny in college and hopes to defend her title from last olympics. has a smattering of tattoos and approx 12 piercings in each ear. married to u.s. men’s soccer player ben demarco (not playing this season due to injury but followed his wife to paris. making hab content on ig and tt)

ginny - women’s eight rower, seat 6. daughter of two olympic rowers. her two oldest brother, danny, and second youngest brother, peter (at the olympics) row quadruple sculls and quadruple sweep respectively. her youngest brother nathan is a ncaa champion eight, just like her. she and vera match their outfits each race, including hair and jewelry (up to 2 piercings, ginny ain’t doing all that).

lola - 50-200m freestyle. swims a crazy anchor leg for the women’s and mixed relays. the only person happier than her when she wins is fellow swimmer john brady.

bobbie - indoor volleyball, middle blocker. 2x ncaa player of the year and 4x first team all-american lighting europe tf up in her first professional season. but is it enough? her father, robert chambers, was on the last u.s. men’s team to win gold and she’s expected to outmatch his legacy by defending the u.s.’s title.

dolores - park skateboarder who takes on the course in wired headphones and not only does she not get tangled, she normally wins. soooooooooooooo bisexual.