#what the fuck is farmtown

[modmad]

part 2 of the new gladstone comic was a mess btw 💔 idk why they changed the already fine structure of the comics

I was certain it would be after the first half I'm so sorry you went through but uh

I'm not touching that :)

[jesterducky]

I hate Skies of Farmtown. The art so beautiful (shoutout Stefano Zanchi Y'all), but the writing it's just so bad. It's self explanatory as to why I hate it. I loved the first entry but the sequel is just awful! I wanted more found family content, not this romance bullshit. Gimmie more of Blossom and Fitzy gahdammit! I wanted it to explore Farmtown more! I already know what Duckburg is like, why tf are we back?? 😭 Aunt Olivia's character is basically just "Well... we can't exactly bring back Gladstone Gander's mother back from the dead so let's just make a whole new character that makes no damn sense at all! Haha!". Lastly, Prisicilla... sigh... be so fucking for real girl. 😐 She pissed me off so much this issue. Get a better man (or women), Gladstone fucking sucks and is a walking red flag AND YOU KNOW IT AND YOU CAN'T FIX HIM! DON'T FIX HIM. You deserve a better love interest. Priscilla, You are so much better than he is, don't be stupid. Wished they kept Gladstone's farmtown life a secret because everyone else has a secret double (or mutliple) lives so why can't Gladstone??? His family doesn't need to know?? Would've been better if it was kept between him and Scrooge. The only good thing about the second entry is how much Stefano's art improved. Love how the comic mirrors some panels from the first issue. So pretty...

Solitude is worth it overall! Skies is just a waste of time to read but worth the time to aww over the art.

[zackastor]

Of course, the damn thing was broken down beyond repair. Otherwise Hunter would've managed to repair it. Fucking car nerd. Zack wanted to breathe out a curse, but he didn't, his face set firmly into a scowl as he tried to pry the hood of the thing open, even as Vivienne talked. The blood on the hood stuck to his hands as he jerked and tugged, trying to not listen to Vivienne talking, telling him it was futile - until something in her tone changed. Zack wasn't sure what it was. Maybe a little crack in the usal disdain that she showed him, maybe her choice of words, almost gentle, imploring him to stop.

His gaze lifted and met hers. Her gaze was different, her eyes wide, a slight tremor to her gaze as she stared him down. She was desperate. Because she was stuck out here, in the middle of nowhere, with dwindling supplies and god knows how many miles between her and Altoona. Because she didn't know how to navigate this hellscape. And she had no one else there to help her but him.

He could leave her. God knew he'd made harder decisions ever since the world ended. Just let prim, rich Vivienne figure out this new world like every other damn person that couldn't find a bunker to hole themselves up in. Just like he had, after his unit had been destroyed. Maybe she'd make it, maybe she'd die. It wouldn't be his damn problem.

"Fucking hell Viv, what do you want me to do? I ain't- you think someone will just come and fix all your damn problems? What was your plan in all of this?" There was a certain frustration to Zack's voice, but not the same bite that he'd had during their arguments back in the day. Not that it mattered for the outcome. Especially not now. After everything, after the time they'd spent apart and the arguments and anger and resentment, she'd been his wife for thirty years.

"There's a place. Five miles south from here." He stared at her as he spoke, his hands still splayed out on top of the car. The rank of Hunter's rotting corpse filled his nose and mouth. "A farmtown that managed to survive this whole shitshow. It's fortified. They might take you in." He didn't like it. Still- "I can take you back with me."

Vivienne knew that truth, that Zack had every bit access to a safe house as she and Hunter and the rest of the Astors had, but she didn't bring that up. She was watching him, instead. The apocalypse had brought out surprising facets of people, and while some had been predictable (Jason's increasing descent into blaming everything on the so-called lower classes and anybody who he felt belonged there), some had been almost unfathomable.

Kelly's determination to get herself to Europe to save her children had been one of those things. Hunter's willingness to write those same children off as likely already dead had been another.

Zack looked appallingly like the boy Vivienne had known, even with those big baby doll eyes crinkled at the edges now, seeming in a permanent scowl. But he'd found something in this wasteland, this deathscape, clearly. He had a sureness of purpose to him, a rigidity, like body armour.

With a slight gap in it. He said he was sorry she'd been through that. He said it and he meant it, and Vivienne nodded, wrapping her arms around herself briefly before deciding it made her look skittish and forcing her hands back down to her sides, tossing her hair back.

"You're not going to get it working." The prospect of Zack getting this ugly car fixed and then sending her on her way made a sharp blade of alarm spike its way through Vivienne's chest, and she followed him along the hood. Hunter's body slumped further into its full death and Vivienne stopped, putting her hands on the hood and holding on tight, shutting her eyes. "There's a toolbox. Hunter made sure to bring all the roadside accoutrements. It won't get working. He brought extra gasoline but it didn't help. It's rotted, Zack." She didn't want to say anything else, but she opened her eyes and looked at him, disgusted by the desperation she could feel in her stare.

[trashbinbackyard]

any dnd pc you like + trias?

yee

1. How does your OC feel about their full name?

She's just Trias, she got off easy, could've been worse

Kyriakos Petrovic, it's an ok name, a little mouthful for new people but he likes it

2. What do strangers notice about them first?

The scars on her cheeks marking her an outcast. The visor covering her eyes

His height, the bags under his eyes

3. How does their social personality differ from how they act when they’re alone?

She's more energetic around people, alone she's mostly just laying on the floor vibing. WIth people she's basically bouncing off the walls

In large groups of people he's pretty quiet unless he deems his input is necessary. He likes his alone time a lot

4. How do they act around a crush?

Silly Billy mode, crack jokes, laugh louder, try to impress the crush

He's very forthcoming, he's no kid and if he's interested he will let the subject know, get physically closer and talk more freely with them

5. Do they have a “tell” for when they’re lying?

She has tha One Type of smile that at least will immediately recognize as the "I'm fibbing" smile

His voice is pretty monotone to begin with, so if his intonation changes chances are he's leaving something out, he doesn't outright lie but it's called lying by omission

6. What do they smell like?

Deodorant, gunmetal, arctic ice, sports (every flavour of axe)

Salt and pine, tobacco if he's had a particularly rough night

7. What is their hair texture like?

Silky like all terenlasi, gentle waves

Used to be rough from all the mullet styling, now it's more smooth, when it's short there's a slight curl to it but as it grows longer it straightens

8. How much jewelry do they wear, and do they have a favorite or distinguishing piece?

None, those are a hazard

Just his wedding ring and a necklace of the path of light symbol

9. Do they have a word or phrase that they tend to overuse?

"oops"

no words, just a heavy sigh

10. What is a weird quality that they have (ie their hands are always cold, they’re always hungry, they snort when they laugh, etc)?

I mean the whole Trias is a weird quality. She has some quirks she's picked up in her formative years, like having a knife everywhere, sitting always facing the exit

His ears twitch when he's deep in thought and furrowing his brows. He's also an incurable manspreader bc he used to be the cool punk dude who owned every room he walked into and he never quite unlearned that

11. What color do they look strikingly good in?

Anything, but I associate neon green with her

Dark blue

12. How do they show affection to someone they love?

Be goofy together, be physically close, continue doing stunts to impress the other

Small touches, helping to take of the armor, just sitting together quietly (he misses his battle husband very much)

13. Do they make strong/frequent eye contact when they talk to someone?

Kinda hard to see where she is looking with the visor and all black eyes tbh, but she is making pretty intense eye contact, with all four eyes

He does maintain an eye contact when talking one on one, if addressing a group his gaze will dart all across

14. What attributes do they have that are inherited from their parents or shared with their siblings/other relatives?

Growing up didnt really have a family other than trainers and fellow assassin preschoolers, got some weird and fucked up ideas bout the world from there that did permanent harm to her psyche (she might unpack all of that sometime and completely break down bc she never had a family like everyone else)

Hardworking, proud, looking out for the people who dont have noble birthright etc, he was just some farmtown boy once

15. Are their greatest flaw and their greatest strength related and in what way? (ie very caring and helpful but a doormat, or very observant and shrewd but often paranoid)

The greatest flaw is that she struggles to take things seriously until it becomes too late. The greatest strength that once she does take things seriously shes very passionate

Related strengths and flaws would be his experience, in his 160+ years he's seen the best and worst, met all kinds of people and gained so much knowledge. But at the same time that time has forced him to let go of things he wouldn't have wanted and all that causes a deep sadness in him

16. How has their childhood affected the way they view an aspect of their life (people, education, society, themselves, etc)?

"wym you didn't have a dagger at age 5". She has a bit wonky sense of reality and is only good at few things

Grew up in a farming town, not the poorest, but not the richest by far, his parents were modest and hardworking folk. He was very much expected to stay in the village and find a job after school but he was So Smart he got into the best magic school on the continent. While he fared better than his peers back home he never forgot where he came from

[jewish-space-laser]

Stand Back

Wow! I’ve only been back for a few hours, and there’s already been so, so much support. I missed you all. This piece is one of my favorites, inspired by my R&RHoF excitement last winter. My dear friend, @for-fucks-sake-h​ beta’d this for me, and I loved her then and I love her now! Thank you all for believing in me! If you enjoy this story, shoot me some feedback :) 7.5k words

xoxo Tile

“Harry, c’mon!” Millie whined, tugging at his sleeve when he didn’t bother looking away from the TV. “This isn’t fair and you know it!”

“Millie, fuck’s sake, I already told you that it’s just not possible,” He rolled his eyes, reluctantly looking over at his puppy-dog-eyed best friend. She’d been pestering him for the better part of the afternoon, and he was beginning to get frustrated. She was definitely going to ruin his surprise.

“I just don’t understand,” she pouted, “I’m the one who got you into Stevie’s music in the first place, maybe I should be the one inducting her next week.”

“Yeah, you can do the performance bit, too,” he chuckled, “I’m sure the audience would love to hear your off-pitch, dying-cat screeches. Stevie would love it, too. Instant record deal- oof!”

The pillow hit his stomach with more force than he had expected, but it did nothing to wipe the shit-eating grin off of his face. Millie whacked him on the thigh, and then once more for good measure, before chucking his throw pillow – her makeshift weapon – across the room.

“I didn’t want to see your performance anyway,” she grumbled, “you’ll probably sing Edge of Seventeen, because you’re too basic to sing anything else, and I’ve already seen you perform that one.”

Harry smirked at the memory. They had been fifteen, almost sixteen, and Millie had managed to smuggle a few bottles of cider from her father’s ‘special fridge’ in the garage. Harry had climbed the tree outside her window for the umpteenth time, and the two of them had spent the entire night looking up youtube videos of their favorite rock singers, their virgin livers drunk off of just a few sips of alcohol.

“The 1983 performance was better,” Harry argued, throwing his hands up in outrage.

“You’re taking the piss,” Millie scoffed, swatting his hand away from her laptop, “The 1981 performance is clearly better. Her dance moves are absolutely insane, and the audio quality is better.”

“Her dance moves are mediocre at best in this one,” Harry stated, nodding his head to the guitar beat anyway, “anyone could replicate those.”

“I’d like to see you try!” Millie challenged. The duo regarded each other for a long moment, waiting for the other to back down, and completely oblivious to the hearts in their eyes, still too young to understand what they were feeling.

“Alright then,” Harry giggled, standing up on her bed, obnoxiously singing along to the music blaring from her laptop. He tried to imitate Stevie’s high kicks, the bounce in her step, and swung his arms around as if he were draped in the singer’s white shawl. Millie couldn’t fight the peals of laughter that bubbled up in her throat. He looked completely absurd.

“Just like the white-winged dove!” Millie sang, hopping up on her bed to join Harry.

The two of them bounced until the song was almost over, their voices riddled with gasps and coughs as they tried to catch their breath. The fun had ended abruptly, with Millie’s mother swinging the door open, asking the two red-faced teenagers if they knew that it was past midnight.

“First of all, that was a great performance,” Harry teased, appreciating the way Millie’s eyes softened as she too reminisced their teenage years. She’d always been a sucker for happy memories, and Harry had quickly learned that they were the best way to calm her down or change the subject. Most of her happy memories included him, anyway. “Second of all, this time around, you won’t be grounded for a week.”

“Yeah, because you won’t let me be there!”

“Millie, I told you, I promised Gemma I would bring her along and I only get to have one guest,” he lied, “she’s my sister, I couldn’t say no.”

“You say no to her all the time, in fact, you love saying no to her,” she pointed out, “plus, I’m kind of like your sister. We’ve known each other just as long.”

Harry felt his heart plummet into the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t the first time she had said something along those lines, brother and sister, but it still hurt. He was beginning to think that she would never feel the same way about him that he did about her.

It was a curse, really. He had the world falling at his feet, enough girls were interested in him, and he was successful. But it didn’t matter, did it? Not when the only person he wanted thought of him like a brother.

“Right, yeah,” he cleared his throat. He quickly stood up, mumbling something about getting them more tea, but really he just wanted to hide the burn of tears behind his eyelids. When he came back, Millie was squinting at the screen of her laptop, hunching over so her face was inches from the screen.

“I’m buying my own damn ticket,” she informed him.

Fuck, he thought.

“Okay, okay, stop,” he groaned, closing her laptop. Millie’s hands were still suspended in front of her, poised to type when he shut the computer in her lap. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but there’s a front row seat at the Hall of Fame with your name on it.”

“I KNEW IT!” She cried, shoving the laptop off of her legs and throwing her arms around his neck. “I knew you wouldn’t just leave me behind!”

Harry melted into the hug, winding his arms around her shoulders and back and subtly inhaling as he pressed his nose into her hair. She was practically vibrating with excitement, which made him grin with pride. It may not have been the surprise he had planned, but it was certainly the reaction he’d been expecting.

“You were making it really hard to lie to you,” he admitted, tugging her back when she tried to step out of their embrace. He wasn’t quite ready to let go of her yet. “I was going to tell you tomorrow at dinner, had a whole plan.”

“I’d say I’m sorry for forcing it out of you, but I’m not sorry in the slightest!” She wiggled out of his arms, successfully this time, and gave him a look of pure happiness that made his insides turn to putty. “Does this mean you’ll tell me what song you’re performing?”

Harry snickered, batting her hands away when she went to pinch his arm. He wasn’t about to reveal all of his surprises.

“Not a chance!”

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

“Oh my god, turn this up!” Millie squealed, already reaching over to twist the volume knob on the dashboard.

“Oi!” Harry snapped, swatting her hand away with a steely glare. “What did I just tell you about touching m’ new car?”

“You told me not to make fingerprints on the window,” Millie crossed her arms over her chest, “you never said I couldn’t touch the radio.”

“It was implied,” Harry said through gritted teeth. Normally, Millie’s stubbornness was oddly charming, but today she was truly getting on his last nerve.

Harry had finally saved up enough money for a new car. Grueling ten-hour bakery shifts, babysitting jobs, yardwork, any penny he could get his hands on, had all finally been worth it. He didn’t technically have his license yet, since he was only sixteen, but nobody really paid attention once you got out into the country. Most kids knew how to drive anyway, one of the benefits of growing up in small English farmtown.

The car, which he had bought off of a classmate’s older brother, was a complete piece of shit, but that didn’t stop Harry from polishing every last surface, inside and out. It was a Mustang, and even though the front bumper was dented and it had chips in the paint, it was his pride and joy. He’d overheard a group of girls talking about how sexy it was that Brad Hannagan, his lab partner, had gotten a car. Apparently, he’d taken Allison Fishman to the next town over for dinner, and then they made out in his front seat. Harry wanted his car to be sexy, too.

There was really only one girl he wanted to impress though, and she was currently spilling granola bar crumbs onto his leather seats.

“Millie!” He whined. “You’re getting everything all messy!”

“You’re being so anal, H,” she had just shoved the rest of her bar into her mouth, so her voice came out muffled and garbled, “this is supposed to be fun! Our first ride together in your new car.”

“It is rather special, huh,” Harry nodded thoughtfully, “how do I look in the driver’s seat?”

“Honestly?” She raised an eyebrow. “You look… kinda hot. But do not let that go to your head or else I’ll - ohmygod! Harry, seriously turn it up, it’s Stevie Nicks!”

This time, he didn’t complain when Millie reached over and pressed three different buttons on his dashboard, because the girl he liked thought he was attractive, his windows were rolled all the way down, and the chorus of Stand Back was blaring through his speakers.

This feeling was worth every window smudge, crumb on his seat, and unwelcome dashboard push, he thought. Especially if it meant seeing Millie like this: long hair blowing out the window, head thrown back with her eyes closed, and feet tapping along to her favorite song.

It was a miracle he could keep his eyes on the road.

Harry was going to sing Stand Back. He knew it, Stevie knew it, almost the entire crew backstage knew it, but Millie was still in the dark. It was her favorite song, and he had every intention of putting on a show for her.

He was already dressed in his suit. He’d chosen another custom-made Gucci, a deep matte black fabric with metallic bronze flowers twisting up his torso and down his legs. He’d even let the makeup artist apply some matching bronze eyeshadow to his face, something he’d always wanted to try out. His shoes were plain, black with a bit of a lifted heel, and his only other accessory was a bronze colored tambourine. This was a Stevie Nicks tribute, after all, it wouldn’t be complete without her signature instrument.

The moment he stepped on stage, he knew his outfit choice was a hit. He hadn’t even started his speech before the familiar screaming started, but he’d grown used to the high pitched noise.

He hadn’t been able to meet with Millie beforehand, but it was hard to look away from her now (not that keeping his eyes off of her had ever been easy for him). She was sitting in the front row with a proud smile on her face, and a sinfully tight silver dress on her body, and Jesus Christ she looked incredible. He gave her a lopsided smirk before squinting his eyes into the lights over the audience.

The moment the first notes of the song echoed from the speakers lining the walls, Millie’s jaw dropped lower than Harry had ever seen. He smirked at her, licking his lips cockily as he started bobbing his head. The cheers from the crowd only spurred him on. He took his bottom lip between his teeth, never looking away from his best friend.

“No one looks, I walk by, just an invitation would have been just fine,” he crooned, unable to stop himself from tapping his feet to the rhythm.

He’d opted out of playing the guitar during the performance, wanting to focus more on his vocals. He tore his eyes away from Millie, who was still watching him in awe. This song was for her, but there was still an entire venue crowded with thousands of people, and this was the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. He’d rather fling himself from the Empire State Building than give a poor performance.

“Stand back, stand back,” he ripped the mic from its stand, prancing across the stage and flipping the hair out of his eyes with a dramatic snap of his neck, “in the middle of my room, I did not, hear from you….”

“La la la la la la la, la la,” he closed his eyes as he turned his back to the crowd, seeing the bright bronze and burnt orange visuals on the screen through his eyelids.

He knew he absolutely killed the performance, if the whoops and hollers were any indication. He could hear the cheers, see people dancing, see her dancing. She seemed to have befriended the woman next to her, as they were both shouting out the lyrics along with him with their hips bumping.

“Take me home….” Harry belted, his voice turning grainy the longer he held the note. When the music finally faded out, he let out a low chuckle into the microphone, relieved to have done the song justice.

It took several minutes for the applause to die down enough for him to speak, and by the time it did, he had no idea what to say.

“Ehm, hello New York!” He called into the microphone, clearing his throat. “It’s an honor to be here.”

Writing a speech about Stevie was the easiest thing he’d ever done. All he had to do was be honest, after all; she was an inspiration, a legend. The definition of a powerful woman. The kind of person who supports young struggling artists, can whip out a killer song in less than an hour, who dedicates her life to bringing melody and emotion to her fans. A poet. A magician.

Giving the speech was another story. The sweat on his back was making the fabric of his undershirt stick to his skin in the most suffocating manner, and Millie’s burning stare had all but caused his brain to short circuit. She’d looked at him like that just once before. He thought about it often, usually when he was alone with his hands shoved between his thighs.

Millie was four drinks in.

Harry knew this because he’d been counting. He had gone to enough parties with her to know that she got a bit… loose once she’d had a few, and he’d taken it upon himself to keep her away from every man who dared look in her direction.

“Stop shooting daggers at everyone, H,” she’d complained, “I wanna dance with someone, but you’re scaring them off. They probably think you’re my boyfriend.”

Good, he’d thought.

“Mills, the men here look sleazy as fuck,” he’d said sternly, “I’m not letting you rub yourself all over some chav.”

“Well, I need to rub myself all over someone, or I swear I’ll lose my mind,” she giggled, her eyelids more hooded than usual as she leaned up against the bar, “you know how I get when I drink.”

Maybe he wouldn’t have normally responded in the way that he did, but he’d had a few to drink himself. The words were pouring out of him before he could stop them, his filter broken down by the whisky double he’d choked down earlier.

“Y’could dance on me.”

Millie hummed, slowly raking her eyes over him from his shoes to the stray curl on his forehead. Instead of giving him an answer, she leaned over the bar to whisper something to the bartender.

He wanted to kick himself. She’d said it time and time again: he was like a brother to her. He started running excuses through his head, things he could say to break the tension and make her forget that he’d ever uttered the words.

“Now that’s an idea,” she finally said, carelessly dropping a bill onto the counter beside her. Harry raised his eyebrows, shocked. When the shots she ordered appeared by her elbow, she slid one over to Harry wordlessly. He took it without hesitation, the burn of tequila tickling his lips long after the bitter taste faded away.

“A good idea?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. “Or a bad one?”

She had never looked at him like this before. Harry had long ago memorized every facial expression she’d ever thrown at him, and prided himself in being able to read her like a book, but this was brand new territory. Her eyes, which were normally bright enough to blind him, had darkened. She was looking at him like she could see right through his clothes… like maybe she wanted to see right through his clothes.

“Why don’t we find out?”

It had taken him weeks to stop dreaming about the way Millie’s ass had felt pressed against him, or how dewy her skin had felt as he ran his hands over it, but now it was all rushing back. Not even the bright spotlight could disguise the fire in her eyes. She wanted him.

But he couldn’t think about that night at the club, not unless he wanted to pop a boner in front of thousands of attentive onlookers. He delivered his speech perfectly, but on the inside his stomach was twisting and tangling into knots, and he hadn’t been able to look at Millie throughout the entire thing.

The rest was a blur. The deafening roar of applause as Stevie came on. The brief hug he shared with her as he passed the microphone to her. The hand he placed on the older woman’s back while a video montage played on the giant screen. More applause. Millie’s eyes.

By the time he made it offstage, all he wanted to do was shove his hand down the front of his trousers, but he still had one more surprise he had to follow through with. With his back pressed against the wall and a twitching hand on his stomach, he took a few deep, heavy breaths. He needed to calm the fuck down, or he was going to blow his load the moment he saw her in that dress.

“Shit,” he exhaled, closing his eyes.

He wasn’t near as composed as he wanted to be, but one of his security guards would be leading Millie backstage any second. He’d arranged for her to meet Stevie, something he knew she’d been wanting since they were children.

“Harry!”

He looked over to see his best friend galloping towards him, his frazzled looking security guard trailing after her.

“Sorry we’re late,” the man apologized, adjusting the walkie-talkie that was clipped to his belt, “she ran ahead and went the wrong way, so we had to backtrack and ended up getting lost.”

“That sounds about right- oof!” Millie clearly hadn’t pumped the brakes, barreling straight into him. If he hadn’t been against the wall, the two of them would have ended up on the floor. “You can take the rest of the night off, Dave.”

His guard didn’t argue, quickly spinning on his heel and leaving the pair to themselves. She’d glued herself to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his waist as she swayed them back and forth.

“Missed you,” she mumbled.

“Just saw you last week, Mills.”

“Yeah, too long,” she nodded. Harry liked the way the tip of her nose rubbed against his dress shirt.

He chuckled fondly, gently easing her back with his hands on her shoulders. “How’d you like my song?”

“H, I can’t even describe how incredible it was. Like… I’ll be honest,” she blushed, “you looked… kind of hot. But do not let that go to your head, or else I’ll chop off your bollocks.”

Suddenly, he was fifteen again, bouncing all over her bed and getting her in trouble. He was sixteen, preening as Millie complimented him from the passenger’s seat. He was twenty-two, filled with euphoria as they moved on the dance floor. He was twenty-five, looking at her silver dress and feeling the overwhelming need to kiss her.

She was peering up at him like she might want him to, wide eyes and tiny smile, but one glance over her shoulder told him that there were more important things on the agenda. Stevie was walking towards them slowly, her ridiculously tall heels causing her to teeter with each step she took.

“Don’t kill me,” Harry said quickly, “I have one more surprise.”

“Harry, what- OHMYGOD!”

Millie had thrown her hands over her face, cupping them against her mouth and nose. The moment Stevie came into her view, tears burned at the corners of her eyes and a few fell down her cheeks.

“Oh my,” Stevie cooed, stepping close and placing her hands on the younger girl’s elbows, “I know Harry’s a handful, but there’s no need to cry!”

“Heeeey,” he whined, but it fell on deaf ears.

He stood to the side and watched his best friend tell her idol about all of the amazing memories she had with her music. She told Stevie about the first time she played Landslide at her fourth grade piano recital, how she’d listened Edge of Seventeen on repeat for hours on her last night of being sixteen, how she’d written an essay about Leather and Lace for her creative writing class at uni. Millie’s hands were flying all over the place, clutching at her chest, in the air above her head, wound around Stevie in a secure hug. He’d done this for her, and there was no better feeling.

“Harry talks about you constantly,” Stevie smiled. Harry widened his eyes at her.

“Oh he does, does he?” Millie pursed her lips teasingly. “Hopefully nothing too horrible.”

“On the contrary,” Stevie’s eyes twinkled mischievously. Harry shook his head subtly. He’d given her a long and detailed monologue of his feelings for Millie during a particularly vulnerable songwriting session, but they had never mentioned it again. “He’s said only good things. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

Harry’s chest deflated with relief. He was going to send a very long, scolding text to Stevie later on this week.

When it was time to part ways, Harry left the two women alone to say their goodbyes while he made sure there was a car for him and Millie. They’d arranged for her to stay in his guest room, and all of her bags were already there. By the time she was walking over to him, mascara streaking down her face and a sad little smile on her lips, he was ready to have her all to himself.

“How’d I do?” He grinned, scooping her into his arms as she let out a shaky sob.

“I’m,” she let out a hiccup, “so happy!”

“Oh, Mills,” he cooed, rubbing a hand over her shoulder blade, “let’s go home, yeah? I can make you some tea?”

“Mhm,” she whimpered.

The pair began walking towards the back exit, clinging to each other. It made it harder to walk, being pressed together so tightly, but the thought of letting go didn’t sit well them them .

“My emotional Millie,” he hummed, “always so teary.”

“Shut up, Harry!” She cried as she slid into the car. He quickly followed, watching her buckle herself in and kick off her heels. “I can’t help it!”

“Didn’t mean it as an insult, babe,” the term of endearment slipped out before he could stop it, “means you’ve got a big heart. It’s sweet.”

“If anyone in this car is sweet, it’s you,” she sighed, “first, you fly me here all the way from London. Then, you perform my favorite song, and then you introduce me to Stevie Nicks… my absolute, complete, legendary-“

“It was nothing,” he said quietly, knowing that she’d never stop unless he cut her off. Millie scoffed, but he was telling the truth. He’d do anything for her, and if it made her happy, it didn’t feel like a chore.

“Nothing my arse.”

Millie had felt like she was high from all of the excitement, but the way Harry was looking at her was sobering. Despite the sharpness of his cheekbones and the hard line of his jaw, he looked soft, the pine green of his eyes turning to velvet.

“Why are you looking at me… like that?” She asked softly.

“Like what?” He mimicked the tone of her voice.

“Like…” she paused, gulping against a dry throat, “like you’re thinking about kissing me?”

“I am thinking about it,” he admitted, “I’m constantly thinking about it.”

She didn’t say a word, turning her head away and staring out the window. With anyone else, he would have been offended, but Millie was a deep thinker. She always took a bit longer to process things, lost in her own head. He twiddled his thumbs as they sat in silence for the rest of the drive.

He knew he couldn’t take it back. He probably shouldn’t have said it in the first place, but it was as if everything he loved about Millie had been amplified tonight. Hell, he’d just inducted a rock legend into the Hall of Fame, and all he thought about all night was her. She was in his head, in his heart, running through his veins, completely ransacking any rational thought he might have.

When the car stopped in front of his building, Millie was swinging her door open and marching across the lawn before he’d even gotten himself unbuckled. He quickly thanked the driver, scurrying after her like a madman, making sure to grab her forgotten heels before the car rolled away.

She had already walked into his apartment building, using the little fob he’d given her when he started renting in New York. His two level loft had an entrance on the first level, which is where he found her standing when he finally caught up. She was tapping one foot impatiently at his locked door.

“Mills….” he cleared his throat as he dug the house keys from his pocket, “I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean it?” She hissed.

“No, no,” he rushed, “I meant it. I just, I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

Once again, he was met with no response. Millie pushed the door open as soon as it was unlocked, and he could hear her stomping up the stairs. He sighed, fighting the pinprick of tears that threatened to form.

Harry didn’t know why she was reacting this way. Sure, she’d told him just last week that she was like a sister to him, but the way she’d undressed him with her eyes earlier had given him some hope. Maybe he’d just imagined it, conjured it up in his head to cope with his desperate need for her.

As much as he wanted to follow her up the stairs, he knew it was a bad idea. She was angry with him, and he couldn’t figure out why, but leaving her alone to simmer down had always been the best course of action.

“Harry, what the fuck!”

Harry’s eyes widened. This was his first day back to school after missing an entire week, and he realized with horror that he’d forgotten to text Millie about breaking his leg.

“You just vanish for an entire week, and then you show up to homeroom with… with bloody crutches?”

“‘M sorry,” he ducked his head, “I fell off my bike last weekend, and we had to stay in Manchester for a bit to get everything settled. I swear I didn’t mean to worry you-”

“Worry me,” his friend rolled her eyes. They were only thirteen years old, but Millie was more terrifying than most adults when she was well and truly angry. “Understatement of the century. I went by your house, and nearly organized a search party when nobody was home! Have you even checked your phone?”

He hadn’t.

“You know what? If not texting me is so easy, why don’t we just never speak again?”

“Mills,” he groaned, voice cracking slightly. They’d both noticed that his voice was starting to get a little bit deeper, and normally she’d tease the hell out of him for a voice crack like that, but she wasn’t in the mood. “I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t change how scared I was when you didn’t answer me!” She huffed, storming off. Just as he went to follow her, the bell rung, meaning he was already going to be late. With an irritated moan, he hobbled his way to his first class, hoping to god his teacher would let his tardiness slide when she saw his crutches.

She had, and later that night, Millie’s flailing pre-teen limbs fell through his bedroom window, eyes filling with tears and apologies leaking from her mouth.

“I thought about it all day, and once I calmed down… I just missed you.”

He chugged an entire glass of water before slamming it on his counter, taking a deep breath. His ears perked up at the sound of footsteps in his hallway, so he turned around to look at her. She was still in her dress, but had wiped off her makeup. He swears she’d never looked more beautiful.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” she said sheepishly.

“I’m sorry for-”

“No,” she gulped, “you don’t owe me any apologies. I was just… surprised.”

Harry nodded, not knowing what to say. He watched his feet, wiggling his toes awkwardly as an uncomfortable silence fell over them. Millie was shuffling around as well, debating whether or not she wanted to ask the question she’d been wanting to ask for years. Eventually, she couldn’t contain it anymore.

“How long have you been in love with me?”

Her voice was loud, but the volume isn’t what startled Harry. Sure, Millie had always been straightforward, fearless when it came to confrontation, but they’d never had a conversation like this. People had teased them as kids, telling them that boys and girls couldn’t be just friends, but they’d let the comments roll off of their backs.

“I… I-” he stuttered, his tongue suddenly feeling like an anvil in his mouth.

“You… don’t hide it well,” she divulged, looking at anything but him, “you’ve always been like an open book to me.”

“I’ve… yeah,” he choked out, “I, um, most of my life, I think.”

She started crying, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. He wanted to go over and hold her, like he usually did when she cried, but it was as if he was stepping into cement, absolutely rooted where he stood.

“Most of your life,” she echoed.

Harry rubbed a hand over his face, his skin feverish and beginning to bead with sweat. He needed to get out of his suit.

“I- you, yeah,” he croaked, robotically moving across the room to slip his blazer over one of the kitchen chairs. His legs felt like jelly, as if he’d completely forgotten how to walk.

“H,” she whimpered, “why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Why didn’t you ever say that you knew?”

Millie sucked in a breath, fiddling with the sequins on her dress. “I wasn’t completely sure. I mean, I was pretty sure, but then you’d talk about going on dates with other people, or… just, I had my doubts. But then tonight….”

“I was pretty obvious tonight,” he chuckled humorlessly, clearing his throat and scratching at his jaw, “and I never told you because… well look at us. We’ve never been this uncomfortable around each other.”

“H-”

“There were a few times I almost told you,” he gulped, “but… the timing was never right. You’d be in a relationship, or I’d be out on tour. It never lined up.”

This time, when Millie let out a sob, Harry didn’t hesitate to tuck her under his arm.

“You’re such a wanker,” she bawled, pressing her forehead into the skin between his sparrow tattoos, “obviously I love you too.”

Harry couldn’t breath. Had his heart stopped beating? Was he alive? Maybe he was hallucinating. The girl he loved, his best friend, was currently pressing her entire body against him, and she apparently felt the same way he did.

“How long?”  He asked.

“Most of my life,” Millie giggled.

“Fuck,” Harry wept, licking the tears away from his lips, “we’ve wasted so much time. Could have been together ages ago.”

She looked up at his face with a watery smile. “We’re here now. Still wanna kiss me?”

Harry leaned down and mashed his lips to hers in one fluid motion, loving the way it felt to have her like this. Millie was pushing herself closer, the pressure of the kiss making them both smile. She tasted like salty teardrops and toothpaste, and he probably smelled like a gym locker after loping around the stage, but neither of them minded, completely captivated by the feeling of finally moving their mouths together.

Once the floodgates had been opened, there was no way of stopping it. What had been a sweet, almost innocent embrace, was suddenly rough and desperate. Their soft touches were now strong and unyielding, calculated movements gave way to impulse and speed. They were like a river breaking free of its dam; calm waters growing higher and stronger until the tension became too much, cracking the barrier and releasing every single pent up drop. They were white-capped waves, beautiful and chaotic as they crashed against each other.

“I’ve thought about this so many times,” Millie heaved, clenching her fist around the fabric of his shirt while he nipped at her jaw.

“‘Bout kissing me?”

“No, I mean, yes- oh!” She yelped, hissing through gritted teeth as Harry licked over the spot he’d bitten into her neck. “Yeah, b-but, also about what it would feel like to have sex with you.”

He’d been ignoring his semi since he walked off stage earlier in the night, but the moment she spoke, he could feel his cock chub up in his trousers, the blood rushing below his belt making him a bit dizzy.  

“Thought about that too,” he was hunched over as far as his back would allow, his craving to taste the skin below her collarbones much stronger than the strain on his spine.

“We should probably do it then, yeah?”

Harry moaned. He had been suppressing his inappropriate thoughts about the way she looked since the moment he saw her in the crowd, but now he could let them roam freely. He wanted to gather her hair into his fists, peel the dress off of her body, absolutely ruin her lipstick (he was a little bit disappointed that she’d wiped it off). He couldn’t wait to make his fantasy a reality.

“We probably should,” he agreed, pushing the strap of her dress down her arm, “only if you want.”

“Obviously I do, bloody bellend,” she said impatiently, undoing the buttons on his dress shirt, “god, this outfit was so sexy tonight. When you were singing, all I could think about was how bad I wanted you to fuck me.”

“I know,” Harry smirked, “saw the look on your face when I was done. Nearly got a boner during my speech.”

“The sex eyes can’t be tamed,” she shrugged, finally unfastening the last button under his navel. She tugged the material from the waistband of his trousers and pushed it off of his shoulders.

“Don’t want you to tame ‘em,” he growled, moving closer to her when the zipper of her dress snagged under his fingertips, “want you to keep the sex eyes on, and get this fucking dress off!”

When he finally got the zipper down, he practically ripped it away from her body, tugging it roughly over her hips and letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. Millie didn’t even have time to step out of it before Harry was lifting her bridal style.

“Don’t you fucking dare drop me!” She shrieked, lightly swatting his shoulder when he set her down on top of his kitchen table.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mills.”

She opened her mouth to tell him off again, but her train of thought completely derailed when he got on his knees and sucked her clit through her underwear. She couldn’t suppress her moans, especially as he swept the flimsy fabric to the side and really dug in, tongue licking over every bit of her and calloused fingers plucking at her clit.

Millie sighed feverishly. The rough texture of his fingers and the smooth wetness of his mouth felt practically angelic, while the sounds filling his kitchen were sinful. Wet pops of his lips and hollow slurps when he suctioned his cheeks in wre driving her hellishly insane.

“I can’t come like this,” she panted, “I want to see your face.”

He pulled off of her, leaving one last kitten-lick to her folds before rising to his feet. His lips were swollen and shiny as he undid the zip on his trousers, quickly stripping the bronze and black fabric from his legs. He pressed his erection against Millie’s sopping core, letting her soak into the fabric of his boxers. Everything was warm and wet and smooth, just like he’d always imagined.

“Let me fuck you,” he pleaded.

“Condom?” She asked, feeling her walls twitch as if they were trying to guide Harry’s cock inside on its own. “‘M not on the pill….”

“Right,” he swallowed harshly, “Okay, yeah. I’ve got to run upstairs and get one.”

“I’ll stay right here,” Millie promised, peeling her undergarments off the moment he was out of sight.

Whenever she pictured having sex with Harry, it was romantic; white sheets and fluffy pillows, a warm summer breeze, maybe even some scented candles and music. She certainly hadn’t imagined it happening on the hard wood of his kitchen table, but in a way, it was even more perfect.

Their friendship, their relationship was unique. They were two people who had spent the better parts of their lives dancing around each other, orbiting like two planets, feeling the weight of the gravity but never touching. It was only fitting that their first time together was unconventional.

Harry practically sprinted back into the kitchen, wincing at how cold the tile felt against his bare feet. However, he didn’t focus on that long, too distracted by the skin Millie had revealed in his absence.

She was laying down still, and her exposed breasts fell slightly to the sides, their undersides resting on top of her ribcage. She’d splayed her legs open upon seeing him, giving him his first unobstructed view of her heat.

“Christ,” he wheezed, “let me just….”

He ripped the condom package open with his teeth, slipping the clear latex from its confines and pinching it his fingers while he ripped his briefs from his body. He rolled it on slowly, almost teasingly, when he noticed Millie watching with an attentive gaze.

“Ready?” He hummed.

“Please, H,” she nodded, wiggling her hips in anticipation.

He gave her a breathtaking smile before pushing inside. She was so slick that he managed to push all the way in with one single stroke, causing Millie’s back to arch off of the table. Harry’s knees nearly gave out when she clenched around him, so he gripped her thighs and locked them around his hips to keep himself steady.

This had to be his favorite position.

From where he was standing, he could see the entire expanse of her body, laid out so prettily against his table. He could watch himself push in and out of her, seeing how his cock glistened with her wetness all the way down to the base, admire the way the flesh of her hips creased as they bent to accommodate him, watch her breasts bounce and jiggle with every thrust. If he leaned forward just the slightest amount, maybe he could even reach up to roll her nipples between his fingers.

Millie loved it, too. She liked the way Harry’s stomach muscles concave with each flex, the rapid snap of his hips affecting every nerve in his body. She absolutely loved watching a red flush creep up his chest and neck, the black ink of his tattoos standing out even more against the rosiness. Most of all, she liked watching his face. It was almost as if he didn’t know where he wanted to look most, his blown-out pupils flickering over every inch of her body.

The smell of sex wafted over them, sweet, sensual, and uniquely theirs. Their bodies were sticky with sweat as they slapped together, filling the loft with wet claps and breathy moans. It was raw, carnal, a complete release of the tension they’d been holding in for years.

When Millie was close, Harry dropped one of her legs to play with her clit, knowing that he’d find his release the second she found hers. Her lips were mouthing his name, but no sound came out. He watched, utterly bewitched, as her fingers curled into her palms and a strangled moan fell from her throat.

She gushed her release onto him, and he felt it drip down the fronts of his thighs as she tightened around his cock. He’d never made a woman squirt this much before. Profanities poured from his lips as he felt his balls clench, cumming into the condom with so much force that he had to bend over and rest his torso over hers to keep from falling over. His face was nuzzled into Millie’s breasts.

It was Harry who broke the silence after several minutes of shallow breathing. “Well, fuck, Mills.”

“Holy cow,” she coughed, “okay, first of all, I need some water, second, we’re doing that again immediately.”

He chuckled into her skin, nipping at her breast playfully before standing upright and looking between them. They’d made quite a mess of themselves, not that he minded.

Millie slid off the table, walking her shaky legs over to the sink, where she stuck her entire head under the faucet. Harry smiled to himself; seemingly, nothing had changed about their dynamic. He was afraid that professing his love for her might change the way they acted around each other, but she was just as silly as she’d always been.

“Millie, no! That’s so unsanitary,” a twenty-year-old Harry complained. Millie had just stuck her entire head into the unisex bathroom sink, chugging at the stream of water, “this is a karaoke bar, probably germs everywhere.”

“I was thirsty,” she informed him, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, “and there’s only one more person in front of me. How am I supposed to sing Stevie Nicks with a dry throat?”

“How are you supposed to sing Stevie Nicks when your voice sounds like a police siren?” He countered with a smirk. His best friend crossed her arms over her chest in offense.

“We can’t all be professional singers, you knob,” she bit out, swinging the door open with more force than necessary. She’d only had a drink or two, but Harry drank enough to make the room spin.

“‘M not a knob,” he muttered to himself as he followed after her.

“You sure are!” Millie called over her shoulder.

When it was time for her to take the stage, Harry made sure that his seat was all the way up front and his phone camera was at the ready. Millie had always been a horrible singer, but that had never stopped her. He couldn’t wait to post the video to his private instagram in the morning.

“Stand back, stand back!” She screeched, flipping Harry the bird when he started laughing, “in the middle of my room, I did not, hear from you!”

Her hair was flopping all over the place, hips moving back and forth while she hopped up and down. He wished he’d gone up there with her, wanting to wrap an arm over her shoulder or put his hands on her waist.

“I would cry… la la la la la la la, la la….”

He was in a perpetual state of wanting to be near her. It felt like it was part of his identity at this point. His name was Harry, he had curly hair, he wore tight jeans, and he wanted to be touching Millie.

Twenty-five year old Harry wished he could go back in time and tell his younger self that he’d get to touch her, whenever he wanted and for however long he wanted. He’d held her close while they showered together, placed a hand on the small of her back while she sifted through his dresser for pajamas to wear, and had her sprawled over his chest while she slept in his arms.

He closed his eyes, a smile never leaving his face as he imagined having her at twenty-six, twenty-seven, thirty. Maybe even fifty, sixty, and seventy. Trips down memory lane are much more enjoyable when there’s a future.

And yeah, he thought, revelling in the tickle of her soft snores as they puffed into his skin, there was definitely going to be a future.

~~~

Thank you for reading, if you’ve made it this far! Leave me a message, I’d love to know your thoughts <3

xoxo Tile

[burnedlegend-blog]

Descriptive and Detailed Profile of Your Muse

Repost with the information of your muse, including head canons, etc. If you fail to answer some of the facts, add some other of your own. When you’re done, tag other people to do the same.

NAME: Michael Declan Rory. AGE: 46 GENDER: Male. ORIENTATION: Pansexual! INTERESTS: Money, fire, violence and fighting, fire, boxing, fire, animals, food/baking, and also fire. PROFESSION: Thief. BODY TYPE: Muscular and broad-shouldered, though despite his generally aggressive workouts, his tum is still a lil bit soft around the middle. Hey, when you subsist on a diet of beer and sugar, it happens. EYES: Gunmetal blue. HAIR: Shaven most of his life so that people can’t get a grip on his hair during a fight; but as a young child and up through his early twenties, his hair was generally messy and brown (blondish for a while as a small child but it changed fairly quickly). SKIN: Tan and scarred.  HEIGHT: 6′2′’. COMPANIONS: Leonard Snart, Lisa Snart, Sara Lance.  ANTAGONISTS: Barry Allen is the main one with a name but honestly get on his bad side in any way and you’re an antagonist. Accidentally bump into him when he’s in a bad mood at a bar? He will forever hold a grudge against you. He’s an angry man. SMELLS: Smoke, metal, and liquor. FRUITS: He loves food. Any kind of food. He’ll eat most anything, as long as it’s real and not synthetic shit. He generally prefers green apples and strawberries though. DRINKS: Same with food, he’ll drink almost anything. As far as nonalcoholic drinks go, he really loves coffee and any kind of soda or smoothie/milkshake (as long as it’s very sugary and not something with vegetables - vegetable shakes are a no but he can do fruit smoothies and shit). ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES? Beer is his go-to. But if it has alcohol in it, he’ll drink it. He doesn’t give a fuck if it’s a ‘girly’ drink, it has alcohol in it, it has sugar, he’s drinking it. SMOKES? Occasionally. He used to smoke a lot when he was younger, but just kind of slid out of the habit as he grew older - he’ll smoke when the mood strikes him, but it’s not something he absolutely has to do at all times. DRUGS? Tried them a few times, hated them and never did them again. He doesn’t like the hallucinations and he doesn’t like the way it fucks up his perception - it’s different than being drunk for him, drunk he likes. High, not so much. DRIVERS LICENSE? He has one. It’s fake, but he has one. He never bothered getting his very own driver’s license, preferring to just drive and learn on his own. On the off-chance he ever wants to do something the legal way, he has some fake ID he uses. RANDOM HEADCANON: His first romantic encounter was with a boy. He was new in town, and Mick had seen him at their church, but been too afraid to talk to him. The boy’s name was Mateo; he had come from a big city to Mick’s little farmtown. A slight, unused-to-hard-farmwork Hispanic boy with cocoa-skin and big doe eyes. He was quiet, but persistent, and knew a lot more about... things than Mick did. Mateo knew what being gay was, and knew that he was, but Mick, not so much. He didn’t know what the fluttering feeling in his stomach was, until one day on one of their many walks around the fields outside of town, Mateo kissed him. Mick was only ten, this was innocent, it really was - but another older child from church happened to see them, holding hands, close to one another, and went to tell the pastor and the boys’ parents. Mateo disappeared soon after and so did his family, no doubt to hide from the shame Mateo had brought them and start anew. Mick himself was sent to a special camp for troubled children to learn the way of the Lord again. Even decades later, he sometimes wonders where Mateo went. Whether he’s okay. Whether he found love. He wouldn’t say that moment as a boy was love - Mick would never admit to such feelings anyway - but it had been warm, it had been golden, it had been pure, and sometimes he lets his dreams carry him back to a simpler time before it all got muddied by forced shame and disappointed glares.

Tagged by: @frostbiittcn tbh Tagging: whoever wants to do it

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON TITANIUM’S MAIN RAP KANG JENO...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 25 DEBUT AGE: 20 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 16 COMPANY: Midas SECONDARY SKILL: Acting

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): nick (of the zootopia fame) INSPIRATION: jeno’s inspiration was taken from a fixation on pop culture and music due to where he was raised. he fixated on pop-rap in particular, and really enjoyed a lot of the older gen groups or rappers. he often says he became a member of titanium to be a performer rather than a rapper. some are understanding or this and enjoy the answer, others use it to claim that he’s a useless ‘idol rapper.’ SPECIAL TALENTS:

soccer (juggling the ball)

gardening (he claims)

skateboarding

NOTABLE FACTS:

is really into pop culture, notably loves superheroes

plays a lot of pokemon go, enjoys pokemon in general

is in the process of finishing up a degree in acting at a mid-tier university (it’s rumored he got in through preferential treatment)

says he likes being out in nature and exploring, especially on vacations (haha, what are those?)

was almost admitted in msg but failed the last round

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

in the short term, jeno would love to see his group prosper. he hadn’t gotten into the company, or the career, with the intention of hopscotching off immediately to greener pastures. he does want titanium to succeed, and he’d love for them to get their first win on a music show. to really show themselves as standout in the industry, even if they are forever known as the experimental, artistic offshoot of midas entertainment. but jeno thinks he could be okay with that. at least it’s unique. at least they’re all able to show off a good performance. for everything bad in the industry, he thinks he’s mostly okay where he’s ended up. and while he might not be in love with the company he works for, he thinks he does love his group.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

more than anything, jeno wants to prove himself. at first it had been with rap and performance. forcing himself into mimicry until a company had gone and given him a chance. then it had been the build up, laying a real skillset over his bare-boned frame. he’s mostly passable. it’s clear he got picked up by a performance based company for a reason, easy to see why 99 had passed him by. not terrible, but through and through jeno is an idol rapper. built for performance, the stage, the spotlight. everything else was a nice bonus. his real talent lies in his charisma. and that’s what bridges over to jeno’s long term aspirations. acting – except he’s already done that. what he really wants to do now is reorient the public’s perception of his acting. forcing everyone to see that he’s improved, proving to himself that he has. getting a role that means something to him, that he’s proud of.

IDOL IMAGE

jeno is sharp and cutting. a clever comment in the middle of a game. finding a workaround to the problem, exploiting a rule in a game, outright cheating on variety. he’s likened to a fox, when fans hand out animal personas for all of them. sly, but in a way that’s deemed cute. not the way they use it to talk about girls. he’s allowed to lean on his words, to stir up a personality for himself that’s entertaining. he’s not able to sweep the masses in an easily consumable package, but he’s entertaining to the fans. the type of person that edges on playful, but can real it back in with a quick sweep of his hand over his face. he’s not cute, and he’s no ice prince. he’s a quick peel of laughter, the one rewriting rules to make himself the predetermined winner. “your face doesn’t look very sweet,” one of the evaluators had told him that once. but that’s fine, that’s good. jeno doesn’t want to be sweet. he’s fine with playing this up instead. with letting them paint the picture of his face into a character, what one might assumes he acts like. casual enough for him that it’s not an immense burden to bear. he’s lucky, with this concept titanium’s portraying. there’s probably plenty other group ideas that jeno would’ve been cut from. but for this? it makes a decent match.

he’s often the member tasked with making clever quips on broadcasts. no fear of speaking, and if anyone jams a microphone into his face he’ll pick it up and make up some dialogue or another about their song. he’s not afraid of the camera, and jeno really does live to perform. he’s not one to push himself over the top, to ruin himself on broadcast. but he leans on his wit. his entire image comes back to revolve around it. cute and sly, quick witted. it doesn’t matter that jeno’s not really a genius, that he sucks at math. he’s just good at thinking up retorts and hates to lose, so it’s become who he is. the fans think he’s far, far cleverer than he is in reality.

IDOL HISTORY

chungcheong province,

childhood.

this is where jeno is born. in the hands of a mild december. his mother had wanted a fall child, but he’d disappointed her. a day too late ( and it wasn’t his last time to do so ). his parents own a sprawling strawberry farm, and a small outcropping of fruit trees dubbed an orchard. he grows up among the unruly thickets and bramble bushes. a wild child with thorns in his hair and leather-worn feet. raw-scabbed knees and the ability to climb through the forested barrier that fences in the farmland from the woods. he can climb up and down the tallest tree in the circle in under a minute, faster than the other three kids who live nearby can. jeno’s always loved to win.

youth.

his school was tiny, both in elementary and high. kids were bused in from every which direction, a collection of worn out sneakers and words drawled out slowly. like everyone has all the time in the world. it makes sense, they’re not moving everywhere. just standing still among the weeds, waiting for the roots to hold them down. a willing prisoner to handed down fate and obligations.jeno doesn’t even hate it, the farm. or helping out around it. but it’s a small town, and jeno figures out pretty quickly that he likes being the center of attention. he’s a big fish in a little pond, and his interests expand outside of the borders of his little farmtown ( quant as it may be ). not with aspirations, not at first. it starts out with pop culture. movies, comics, music. an interest in the more extravagant. new and upcoming. as a pre-teen, jeno got hooked on pop-rap. not really hardcore, but cooler than the trot singers his parents listened to, or the ballads that played, lost in the rattle of the old radio in his father’s pickup truck on the way to the market. he has a faraway daydream of fame. he thinks about it, lost in a daze as he doesn’t pay attention during lectures. fantastical in his mind, an escape. but not something he pursues seriously.

when jeno was fifteen, his friend invited him along with him on a day-trip with his mother. there were stops involved, but he wanted to go and see that stretch of cityscape. there was a step in the itinerary, msg’s open auditions, and she had wanted to audition. jeno had slouched inside with her while her mother went off to shop. whoever was in charge had assumed jeno was there for the same reason, so he fumbled his way through it instead of correcting him. surprisingly, he’d gotten a call back. to the last round, where he was summarily cut. but that put the precedence in his life. that drop of hope, the idea that maybe he could do that, if he really wanted. be famous. be an idol.

so he returned home. he put in the time. he watched youtube tutorial videos in the middle of his bedroom on a half-functioning computer. a self-taught performance rapper, and by all accounts he probably shouldn’t have made it. a big fish in his puddle of a pond, and maybe jeno should have been overlooked when he was dropped into the expansive sea of idols. he came back a year later, a few centimeters taller. tried out for 99 first, and midas soon after ( but not msg, fuck msg ). 99 rejected him, a testament to the fact that the raw talent of underground rap did not resonate within jeno’s soul ( fuck 99 ). but midas gave him a callback. and the another. the final audition, but this time he passed. he has a charm about him, and they can fine tune the rap. that’s never been midas’ main focus anyway.

his parents weren’t thrilled that he wanted to move out before he graduated. that he wouldn’t be inheriting the farm unless he failed miserably. but he’s stubborn, and they can’t hold him in place. at first he commutes back and forth, or attempts to. it leaves him worn and tired. dragging himself through life. they relent, finally, and allow jeno to move out by himself. sign off on a dorm space midas rents out. jeno picks up a part time job to scrape his way through life and the school they send him off too. jeno thinks it’s bullshit that he has to buy the ugly uniform himself.

olympus is already a ship sailed. jeno’s not so sure when he’ll get a chance to prove himself. if.

seoul,

post-youth,

jeno slogged through it all despite himself. midas poured their talent into him. shiny and gold. he focuses on rap, because that’s what he’s best at, what he fits ( midas standards, at least ). he figures out he doesn’t mind dance so much when he gets an actual trainer to work with. he leans hard on his own athleticism. trainees are whittled down. one by one – until there’s five of them standing there, confirmed for titanium. he doesn’t think he should be the main rap, but there it is. first and foremost, he’s an idol - a rapper second. probably the type of guy rap-focused groups swear at in their still manufactured pseudo-diss tracks ( fuck them, too ).

he’s twenty and finally feels like he stepped into himself, to some degree. but he’s always been greedy, and he wants more. wants the focus of a camera, wants to prove himself. he wants to act. but there’s a year of promotions first. finding their feet as a group. not olympus, not even close. they’re not meant to be olympus. so they don’t win an immediate music show, and their songs aren’t marketed toward the general public. after a year, he’s given a little more breathing room ( because they’re not olympus, they’re like a stand in child born in case the heir accidentally keels over and dies ). he wants to act, jeno keeps telling them. when midas lets him, it’s a trainwreck. it’s a repeat in history, he’s both angered and hopeful and finds himself a trainer. he rather likes midas’ endless resources. it’s years before he acts again, after two lackluster projects in the beginning that were met with extremely poor reception, criticism to his tonality and the too-slow way his words dripped out between cuts. more than one, though (just in case the first was a fluke or something, but it hadn’t been). titanium still doesn’t earn themselves a trophy. but they march on. they perform. they carve out a niche jeno decides he likes occupying.

he works hard, he takes lessons, he even goes to university for it. ( there had been a brief, small murmuring - rumors that he’d gotten in due to preferential treatment ). by the time he acts again, he actually does a decent job. but nobody bothers to watch it, he’s already stuck with that label of idol-actor, notoriously terrible ( fuck everyone ). jeno pushes harder, he wants for it - to be recognized for his work or his ambitions. he’s an idol first and foremost, and the public is quick to remind him of that.

[iamnarvi]

Tagged by @sviker

1.What is the weirdest dream you’ve had? I was a scientist that had to do an autopsy o Mickey Mouse because he swallowed the cure for cancer. He did it because he wanted to keep business with the Make a wish foundation going. But the cure for caner ended up killing him, since it was not met for humanistic mice.  2. What kind of sense of humor do you think you have? Sarcastic with a dash of sass 3. What is the last movie you saw? In theaters, Kong: Skull Island. At home: zootopia 4. Did you ever go through an embarrassing phase, and if so, what? You mean my life until I hit the age of 16. I was just the oddball growing up. In Farmtown NH, I didn’t want to work on a farm, nor was I the girly-girl. I wanted to sit in my room and read. And even the school thought I was being anti-social and needed to be looked at professionally.  5. What is your biggest pet peeve? People asking STUPID questions about me having a service dog/people clicking and making noise at my dog. “What the patch says don’t touch... I am not touching.” 6. Which do you prefer - texting or making a phone call? Texting. Unless it is family. But the thing is, they dot want to talk to me, they would rather text me.  7. What is your biggest fear? Fucking Balloons! 8. Do you prefer hot coffee or iced coffee? Hot if I make it, iced if anyone else does 9. What is the weirdest thing you’ve overheard in a stranger’s conversation? Well.... a stranger said this to me once... Unwarranted.... “I had a dog. But it was eaten by wolfs. I had to burry the body. That was last week.” 10. What is the most disgusting thing you’ve ever tasted? Bethany Italian soda (Coke brad) Dear god my mouth still tightens up when thinking about it.  11. Do you burn or tan in the sun? Buuuuuurrrrrrn. If only I tanned. 

Tagging: @modithorson @sheroaredlouder @enigmaticinvisiblezebra

Rules: Answer the questions below, come up with 11 new ones and keep the cycle going

1. Travel by plane, train, or automobile? 2. Watch TV or read a book? 3. Choose: a free trip or money? 4. What is your favorite memory? 5. What has been your biggest challenge? 6. If you could go back in time, what year would you travel to? 7. What makes you board? 8. What is your favorite 4-legged creature? 9. Name 3 things in nature you love. 10. star wars or Star treck 11. Who is your favorite youtuber?