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zerocoded · 16 days ago

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summary: your estranged grandmother left you exactly one thing in her will: a sprawling luxury apartment in the heart of seoul — the kind of place that could singlehandedly cover your entire college tuition if you ever decided to sell it. now you had a penthouse all to yourself, a pink-tiled kitchen you weirdly adored, and a hopeless, slow-burning crush on the absurdly attractive neighbor who barely looked your way.

authors note: here i am uploading this big ass story when i should be totally studying for my finals next week. well, i can't help but be obsessed with these vampire ahh cuties. stream desire unleashed everybody! it is a good ass album. i changed and this is the second prologue of the story. don't ask me why, but i think this one suits better as a prologue and not a chapter.

warnings and tags: sfw content but suggestive • niki is our bestie and i hope we're ok with that • dark themes such as depression, melancholy, killing • landlord!sunghoon x reader • vampire!sunghoon x collegestudent!reader • gore, mentions of violence and blood • description of violence• HEAVY ANGST • poor attempt at comedy • fluff if you squint • bad writing • reader's dad has cancer • complicated mom and daughter relationship • family drama.

word count: 10.2k (pls someone sedate me)

previous chapters: series masterlist.

you should’ve known this was exactly how your mother would reach out for the first time in seven months — not a call, not a text, not even a passive-aggressive emoji reaction to your instagram story — but a forwarded email from a lawyer with the subject line "regarding the inheritance of han ok-ja's estate."

no context. no greeting. just a pdf attachment and the words: "at least your grandmother left you something useful. don’t waste it."

that was it.

your mother, ever the poet.

and by good thing, of course, she meant a multi-million won apartment unit in seoul’s most absurdly exclusive building — a place you’d only ever seen from a bus window once during a high school trip, the kind of place you thought only politicians and pop idols lived in.

you hadn’t even known your grandmother owned an apartment in the city. hell, you hadn’t known she was still alive until she wasn’t anymore.

but that was the han family legacy, wasn’t it? generational silence, weaponized inheritance, and the occasional real estate windfall.

you grew up in boseong — land of green tea fields, gossiping neighbors, and a high school with a graduation rate that would make your seoul classmates flinch. your entire life had unfolded in two rooms above a butcher shop, where the ceiling leaked every spring and the walls knew too much about your parents’ divorce.

turns out college plans were ruined when you were only 12 and discovered your father had cancer — stage 3 colon cancer, to be exact.

you remember the way your mom said it like she was announcing a sale at the grocery store. no softness, no warning. just facts over kimchi stew. your dad, on the other hand, had tried to smile through it, like he was the one who should be comforting you.

you kind of always thought you would forever be taking care of him in boseong. after your parents’ divorce — at thirteen —, you knew no one else would be on your father’s side to fight cancer, so you only imagined that would be your legacy forever. no big dreams, no neon skylines, no designer buildings with their own saunas and private libraries. just him, you, and the rice cooker that only half-worked in the winter.

he was your best friend. he let you paint his nails when you were five and cried with you when your hamster died. he showed you how to ride a bike, how to swear in three different dialects, and how to make the best damn doenjang jjigae in the province. you would’ve done anything for him. and you did. you sacrificed your future before it even had a chance to form. quietly, without question. like it was just part of being alive — giving up everything for someone you loved.

and for years, he let you. even when the chemo worked, even when he got stronger, even when the worst passed and the only thing left was exhaustion and silence and the scent of hand sanitizer still soaked into the kitchen tiles — he let you stay.

but then you graduated high school, and he started asking. don’t you want to go? aren’t you curious about life beyond the fields? you’re too smart to stay here forever.

and by “smart” he meant that you had great communication skills and were part of the very small chess community of boseong — it consisted only of you and two old ladies.

you pretended not to hear him sometimes. because the truth was, you didn’t want to leave. not him. not your routine. not the only person who made life feel even slightly manageable.

it wasn’t until your mother’s email — short, cold, weaponized — that everything shifted. she hadn’t even mentioned the death, just the logistics. how your grandma died three months ago. how your mother and her brothers were waiting for legally open her will, how some of them took advantage, how they fought. and still, she had left something for you. her only granddaughter.

and when you told your dad, expecting him to scoff or curse or at least roll his eyes, he’d only smiled. that soft, sad smile that meant he’d been waiting for this moment longer than you had.

“go,” he said. “your life isn’t here. it never was.”

at first, you fought. seoul was never your main goal, you never dreamed of getting out of boseong and going to college. you were content with your two part time jobs at the local bar and at the grocery store. you always had good grades in school, good relationship with your neighbors and a great money reserve.

so you told him that you would never leave him and that you were content with your ok life in boseong.

but one night you got weak and searched about college applications just right after your shift. you could say the curiosity got the best out of you, and there you were perching in your bed with your laptop in hands in your dirty waitress uniform and greasy hair. at first, you really didn’t found anything interesting, until you decided to search up the address of the building your mother sent you.

you were surprised, to say the least. and for someone who shared the same bathroom with your own father for 10 years and cleaned tables as a way of living, your temptation to got to seoul changed a bit after that.

on the same night, your father told you to go. to let him go. let boseong go and live a life.

your life.

you talked to him all night, telling him about how you felt about studying topics you never heard of and living in a too spacious environment when all you have ever wanted was to take care of his sickness. he cursed at you so many times that night about your stupidity that you felt obligated to go and get a life beyond the fields.

so you packed. and cried. and pretended you weren’t terrified of being alone for the first time in your life. you moved into a stranger’s home — one who just happened to share your blood — in a building that felt like a five-star hotel married a haunted mansion.

seonghyeon jaega.

a building that at first made you feel too small, too out of place — all clean marble floors and echoing hallways and neighbors who looked like they’d stepped out of a luxury catalog. the hundreds of pictures of the place on the internet couldn’t get close to how the building was terrifyingly aesthetic inside and out.

and when you said terrifying, you meant it.

the lobby alone had three chandeliers, a grand piano that no one touched and a concierge desk staffed by a man who looked like he hadn’t blinked since 2003. the elevator played classical music, but not in a comforting way — in a this-is-the-last-song-you-hear-before-disappearing kind of way.

there was a koi pond in the library for no reason at all, a fully operational greenhouse on the rooftop that smelled like lavender and secrets. the gym was nicer than most hospitals. the sauna had eucalyptus-infused steam and, somehow, free chilled grapes. and you swore one of the mirrors in the hallway moved half an inch every time you looked away.

luxurious, yes. but also deeply cursed. like a rich aunt who only gives you money if you promise not to ask what’s in the basement.

you were so scared your first night here that you called your dad before even unpacking, crouched on the pristine floor of the guest bathroom because it was the only place that didn’t echo like a murder documentary reenactment. he didn’t know how to work his phone most of the time — had once accidentally live-streamed himself peeling an orange for nine minutes — but somehow, that night, he figured it out. he stayed on the line with you until you fell asleep, whispering his arsenal of stupid dad jokes like it was a bedtime ritual.

“what’s a vampire’s favorite fruit?” he asked, barely holding in his own laughter. “a blood orange, obviously.”

you groaned. he continued. “why did the skeleton break up with the ghost? … because he could see right through her.”

“dad,” you warned.

“okay, okay, serious one. what’s dracula’s least favorite dentist?”

“dad—”

“you. because you’d stake him for his plaque.”

somewhere between his third and twelfth pun, you stopped noticing how unfamiliar the apartment smelled or how quiet the building had become after sunset. it was just his voice in your ear, warm and ridiculous, reminding you who you were when everything else felt too big, too expensive, too not-you.

he kept talking even after you stopped answering, just in case you were pretending to sleep but still needed to hear him. he told you a story about the time he got kicked out of a supermarket for trying to haggle over cabbages, then promised to teach you how to cook galbijjim in an electric pressure cooker “once you stop being a fancy city girl.”

he called you that — fancy city girl — like it was both an insult and a title you’d earned.

and eventually, in that bathroom that smelled like foreign air freshener and existential dread, you fell asleep to the sound of his voice calling you brave in between bad puns about ghosts with dental insurance.

you hated every second of your sleep that night until you started decorating the next morning. with unpacked bags, you left your clothes in a sad little pile of indecision and focused on the real priority: comfort. not survival comfort — emotional comfort. aesthetic comfort. petty, personal, i-will-make-this-haunted-barbie-dream-my-home kind of comfort.

you didn’t have much, but what you did have mattered. mismatched frames, old polaroids, that ugly rug your dad swore was a “family heirloom” (you were 90% sure it was from a garage sale in 2007), your chipped mug with the cartoon bear that looked perpetually anxious — each item slowly carved a space for you inside all the clean, terrifying luxury.

and then there was the kitchen. the pink-tiled kitchen.

you’d thought it was a visual hallucination at first. a fever dream from sleeping on marble and grief. but no — it was real. baby pink tiles from floor to ceiling, gold handles on every drawer, and a retro mint-green fridge that looked like it belonged in a movie about a rich housewife who poisons her husband with artisanal arsenic.

the oven was smarter than you. the faucet lit up in LED colors when you turned it. there was a built-in coffee machine you accidentally worshipped for three full minutes before realizing it also made espresso martinis.

you’d never had your own kitchen before. not really. in boseong, the stove had to be turned on with a butter knife and a prayer, and your dad’s idea of spice organization was “vaguely the same shelf.”

but here, in this edible-looking kitchen that screamed chaotic heiress with secrets, you felt something shift. you didn’t belong here — not even close — but you could pretend. you could make it yours.

starting with the bear mug. front and center. because if the ghosts were going to haunt you, they were going to have to look at his anxious little face first.

you didn’t know much about your grandmother — except that she hated your dad, apparently tolerated your mom, and once sent you a birthday card with your name spelled wrong and five thousand won tucked inside like a truce. growing up, she was more ghost story than family member. the kind of woman who existed only in bitter phone calls and family reunions no one ever enjoyed.

so the fact that this pink kitchen — this frosted, weaponized femininity — had belonged to her was confusing at best and mildly horrifying at worst. did she choose this aesthetic? were the gold swan-shaped drawer pulls intentional? did she wake up one day and think, “yes, i want my home to look like a macaron opened a credit line”? and if so — who the hell was han ok-ja, really?

you were still staring at the gold-rimmed stovetop on your second night here, trying to decide if it made you feel rich or nauseous, when you heard it.

voices.

the first sound of life outside your apartment since moving in — and not the unsettling creak of old pipes or elevator music that sounded suspiciously like a dirge. actual human voices.

you froze, mug in hand, heart thudding like you were the one trespassing.

you crept toward the door and peeked through the peephole like a responsible citizen-slash-nosey neighbor. and there they were: two of them.

two men.

not delivery drivers. not maintenance workers. not the faceless ghosts you’d imagined floated through these halls at night. these guys looked like they’d walked off a K-drama set about billionaire assassins. tall, sharply dressed, effortlessly serious. one had that slicked-back hair that screamed “i own three nightclubs and a moral dilemma,” and the other looked like he could command a room without saying a word. they spoke low and fast — something about “containment” and “asking jake later” — before disappearing around the corner like this was all completely normal.

you didn’t breathe until the hallway was empty again. and even then, only because your bear mug was fogging up the peephole.

you didn’t know who they were. hell, you didn’t know anyone here. the one person who’d helped you move in was the doorman with serial killer energy and an unsettlingly strong grip — and even he disappeared the second your last box was through the door, like helping you was part of some cursed blood oath he had to fulfill.

your college classmates weren’t much better. your entire winter prep course so far had consisted of awkward breakout rooms, muted mics, and staring at floating letters in google classroom. no faces. just ominous little circles with initials like “K” and “Y,” as if you were being haunted by the world’s most boring ghost cult.

so yeah. no friends. no neighbors. no idea if anyone in this building was even real. and you were introduced to the concept of “other residents” in the most dramatic way possible — via hallway mafia cosplay and mysterious murmurs about something that definitely did not sound legal.

you did what any mentally stable person would do: took a shower. hot water. calm nerves. fake a sense of control.

four minutes in — conditioner still in your hair, face mid-existential crisis — the doorbell rang.

you stood there frozen, water dripping down your back, just staring at the tiled wall like maybe you’d imagined it. maybe the building was playing tricks. wouldn’t be the weirdest thing.

but it rang again. twice this time. like whoever it was had the audacity to be persistent.

so you grabbed a towel, cursed under your breath, and padded across the marble floor like the world's angriest wet ghost.

and when you opened the door —

sunghoon.

you didn’t know his name at the time. you only knew he looked like someone who didn’t need names. the kind of face that belonged on perfume billboards and moody vampire dramas. sharp jaw, colder eyes, all cheekbones and contempt. holding your mail like it had personally offended him.

“your delivery,” he’d said.

two words. no emotion. no explanation. just a stack of envelopes addressed to han ok-ja and a stare that nearly short-circuited your brain.

you stammered. tried to say thank you. dropped your conditioner on the floor like a dramatic prop.

he didn’t flinch. didn’t blink. just placed the mail in your hands and turned around, disappearing down the hallway like a final boss retreating after a tutorial level.

you shut the door and immediately collapsed against it, half-naked, half-mortified, fully confused.

you told yourself it was just a fluke encounter. he probably didn’t even live on your floor. maybe he was visiting. maybe you hallucinated the whole thing and the envelopes were cursed.

but then you started hearing more voices in the next day. always calm, always composed — unnervingly so, like they were narrating a documentary or conducting a negotiation instead of, you know, talking like regular people. they were different voices, too. distinct. male. low. not loud enough to catch the words, just the rhythm. steady. practiced. like they knew someone might be listening.

they came from the only other apartment on your floor — the one directly across from yours, the only other unit tucked into this absurdly private corridor. at first, you thought it was just the acoustics messing with you, echoing from the floors above or below. but no. the timing was too perfect. the pauses too measured.

so you pieced it together: those voices, the ones that made your skin prickle and your heartbeat speed up for no logical reason, belonged to your neighbors.

whoever they were. whoever he was.

so, naturally, you started stalking him.

you called it “gathering intel,” but really it was just you loitering in the hallway and pretending to take out the trash three times a day. you even got fake-lost once, wandering to the rooftop and pretending to marvel at the view — only to find him elbow-deep in a planter box in the greenhouse.

you tried to play it cool. like you just happened to stumble upon this botanical mysteryland by accident. he didn’t buy it. you knew because he didn’t say a word. just looked at you, one eyebrow raised, dirt on his hands, like really?

and yes, really — you made yourself a fool. not even the endearing kind. the talks-to-flowers-to-fill-the-silence-while-your-hot-neighbor-ignores-you kind.

you replayed every second of that encounter at least seventy-two times on your walk back to the apartment.

you, standing like a lost sims character in his private garden.

you, talking about hydrangeas like they personally offended you.

you, saying “are you deaf?” to a man who could probably hear a moth sneeze through a concrete wall.

he’d told you his name. sunghoon.

no last name. no polite small talk. just sunghoon — like it should’ve been obvious, like he assumed his name carried weight in ways you were too human to understand. and maybe it did. maybe that was why it stuck with you so easily.

after that, you told yourself you’d avoid him. let the awkwardness fade, let time cover the whole thing in dust like everything else in this building.

but curiosity’s a bitch.

and so were you, apparently, because you started noticing things.

all the other residents vanished during the day — ghost cars coming and going at strange hours, silent hallways, apartments that never flickered with light. seonghyeon was supposed to be the pinnacle of luxury, and yet sometimes it felt like a very expensive haunted house. a place for the rich and restless to disappear.

but his apartment — the penthouse — that one was never truly still.

the door was always closed, always locked, always giving you shall not pass energy. but something about it pulsed with life.

sometimes, if you stood still in the stairwell long enough (not that you did that on purpose), you could hear it — laughter. deep voices. music, faint and classical one day, low and thumping the next. the clink of glass against glass. sometimes even footsteps pacing, like someone arguing with the walls.

and they weren’t ghost sounds. they weren’t echoes. they were unmistakably human.

which confused the hell out of you.

sunghoon didn’t seem like the hosting type. he didn’t seem like the talking type, honestly. and yet… those voices.

you tried to rationalize it. maybe he had roommates. maybe he had a large, weirdly formal family. maybe he was running a strangely attractive cult and no one had noticed because they were all too hot to question anything.

you figured those two men from your second day here — the ones who looked like they belonged in a noir film or an underworld fashion spread — lived there too. the timing made too much sense. the way they moved, too — like the building was theirs.

and that made everything worse.

because, really — why were hot men living together in a penthouse?

not just hot. alarmingly hot. HD-ready, slow-motion-walk-through-the-smoke hot.

either they were in a boyband you’d never heard of, or something weird was going on. and the more you thought about it, the less it felt like a fantasy and the more it felt like the start of an expensive psychological thriller.

you’d moved here thinking the biggest threat was going to be loneliness.

now you weren’t so sure.

between the mysterious roommates, the suspiciously symmetrical garden, and the fact that your neighbor might be the living embodiment of a victorian fever dream — things had shifted. subtly. quietly. but still.

which brings you to the present.

two weeks in. january air pressing sharp against your windows. your heating system suspiciously temperamental. your prep course schedule eating your sanity one unread syllabus at a time.

it was friday — the day after the greenhouse incident. or, as you now lovingly referred to it in your mind: the day you decided to mortify yourself in front of a hot cryptid.

you were doing your absolute best to pretend like it never happened. which was hard, considering the mental reruns your brain insisted on playing every time you so much as walked past a plant.

also, the silence. the kind of silence that felt too big, even for a place this large.

you missed your dad.

you missed the way he knocked on your door every morning even when you weren’t home. you missed how the house always smelled like burnt rice or old coffee.

here, everything smelled like luxury cleaning products and echoes.

you still didn’t know how to use the guest room bathtub.

you still hadn’t figured out which switch turned on the weird chandelier in the hallway.

you were still trying to remember what it felt like to not be new all the time.

which meant: staying indoors, drinking your weight in instant coffee, and trying to finish your college assignment like a normal, functioning member of society.

outside, seoul was a frozen postcard — january at its peak, all gray skies and the kind of wind that made your building moan like it was haunted (which, honestly, wasn’t out of the question). inside, you were wrapped in a giant hoodie, sitting cross-legged on your overpriced sofa, staring at a half-finished document titled “attachment styles and their long-term impact on adult relationships.”

it was due in four days. you’d written seven words. two of them were your name.

“jesus,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face as your laptop fan whined like it too wanted to give up.

your textbook lay open beside you, unread. you kept glancing at the clock, at your phone, at the kitchen — literally anywhere that wasn’t your word doc.

you’d already cleaned the counters. twice. rearranged the spice rack. googled “can someone have both avoidant and anxious attachment or am i just doomed.”

now you were debating whether “take a nap” qualified as productive.

and yet, no matter how hard you tried to focus, your brain kept looping back to one very specific visual: sunghoon. crouched in the dirt. sleeves rolled. that voice. those hands.

you groaned, flopping backwards like gravity owed you a favor.

this was a nightmare. or a romcom. except instead of falling in love you were just… spiraling. academically. emotionally. thermally, because your heater was already acting up again.

it was the end of your second week in seoul.

your father had called that morning, asking how you were adapting to the city’s temperature.

you hadn’t had the heart to say that you missed his jokes the most, that you felt embarrassingly late starting a winter prep course at twenty-three, and that you hadn’t made a single friend over winter break because you were too busy staying inside.

not studying. not exploring. just… existing.

you told him everything was fine. you laughed at his dumb pun about kimchi being your emotional support food. you pretended the loneliness didn’t cling to you like an oversized coat you couldn’t quite shake off.

you were about to post a photo of your aggressively pink mug sitting next to your aggressively pink kettle when the doorbell rang.

you froze.

not because doorbells were inherently threatening, but because in seonghyeon, they kind of were. no one visited you. no one should be visiting you.

you tiptoed to the door, peeked through the peephole — and blinked.

hoodie. messy hair. the boy who fixed your heater on your third day here.

niki.

leaning casually against your doorframe like this was his fifth reincarnation and he was bored of them all. black sweatshirt, slightly messy hair, and a lopsided grin that made your anxiety spike for no reason you were ready to admit.

“hey,” he said smoothly. “sorry for the weird drop-in, but… do you have a printer?”

you blinked. “what?”

“a printer.” he nodded toward your apartment like this was totally normal. “ours died. jake forgot to refill the toner and now it sounds like a dying cat every time we try to use it. i have to print something urgent for heeseung before he gets back from god-knows-where, or i’ll never hear the end of it.”

he gave you a sheepish smile, like he was just another poor man, a humble victim of modern technology. “you’d literally be saving a life. maybe mine.”

“you don’t have a backup printer?”

“we have centuries of accumulated knowledge,” he said, deadpan, “but apparently none of it covers basic office supplies.”

your brows lifted.

niki smiled like he was proud of himself — then added, “also, you kinda owe me. remember the tragic heater incident of last week? i saved your toes. seems only fair you save my social standing with heeseung.”

somehow, niki was the only neighbor who actually talked to you. he sometimes sounded oddly flirty, in that way that made you question if he was joking or just naturally like that, but still — he was the only constant you’d had all week.

like that first night in the elevator.

you’d gone out to take the trash in your sad-girl uniform (read: mismatched socks, your dad’s hoodie, and the kind of messy bun that was less “carefree” and more “actively falling apart”).

the elevator doors opened and there he was. leaning against the mirrored wall like the ride was a runway.

he looked at you, at your tragic ensemble, and without missing a beat said, “rough night or bold fashion statement?”

you almost dropped the trash bag.

then there was the gym.

which, in your defense, you thought would be empty at noon on a tuesday.

you walked in ready to attempt some kind of fake cardio — only to find niki mid-rep, shirtless, earbuds in, glistening with the kind of sweat that looked like it came with a lighting crew.

you stood frozen like you'd just walked in on a pagan ritual.

he noticed you instantly — of course he did — and pulled out one earbud with a grin.

“didn’t take you for a gym rat,” he said, not even out of breath. “what’s your workout plan? anxiety and instant noodles?”

you left seven minutes later, sweating from embarrassment.

another time, you tried to sneak out for a night walk — hoodie on, playlist blasting, full stealth mode — only for the lobby door to swing open and reveal niki… balancing a tray of banana milk, three convenience store bento boxes, and what appeared to be a single lemon.

he blinked at you.

you blinked back.

“don’t judge me,” he said, as if you were the one caught mid-snack run with a lemon like it owed him money.

you weren’t sure if he was teasing you or had the personality of a teen movie star.

but either way, he was a puzzle you couldn’t quite solve — half charming, half cryptic, entirely unpredictable.

and now he was standing at your door, asking for a printer, like that made perfect sense.

niki’s company wasn’t uninvited, just oddly strategic sometimes, like he’s been waiting for tou to open your apartment door for him to leave his.

you raised an eyebrow as he leaned casually against your doorway, still holding the suspiciously printer cable he claimed had “glitched” on him. you stepped aside anyway, motioning him in with a sigh that was more performative than annoyed.

not that you two were friends, exactly. but he made you feel comfortable — or at the very least, not like you were one bad decision away from becoming a true crime podcast episode. he seemed decent. normal-ish. like someone who held doors open and actually texted back.

so maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to give him a chance. you guys already had a decent amount of stupid hangouts. maybe he could be your friend in this giant, freezing city. maybe you wouldn’t have to do this whole alone-in-seoul thing completely alone.

so you let him in.

“you know, most people text before showing up,” you said, stepping aside.

of course, niki had asked for your number last week — for safety purposes, whatever that meant. so you weren’t crazy for demanding him an explanation of why he just didn’t text you first.

“most people don’t fix heaters for free,” he shot back without missing a beat.

“oh my god,” you muttered, closing the door behind him. “you’re gonna milk that forever, aren’t you?”

niki grinned like a fox. “absolutely. you gave me banana bread and now i’m emotionally invested.”

you gestured toward your sad little work desk in the corner, where your overpriced student printer sat in all its barely-functioning glory.

“knock yourself out. just don’t ask me for help if it starts blinking at you.”

“don’t worry, i know how to handle old tech.” he crouched down, already plugging things in like he’d done this a thousand times. probably had. you watched him for a second — black hoodie bunched at the elbows, dark hair falling into his eyes, expression a little too pleased with himself for someone who broke his own printer.

“so,” you said, arms crossed as you leaned against the kitchen counter. “what are you printing that’s so life or death?”

niki didn’t look up. “building schematics.”

“schematics,” you repeated. “for, like… a building?”

“yeah. stuff heeseung asked for.”

you blinked. “okay, wait. which one is heeseung again?”

niki whipped his head around like you’d just insulted his bloodline. “wow. wow. you’ve lived here two weeks and you still don’t know our names?”

you raised an eyebrow. “should i?”

he leaned back on his heels, hand over his heart like you’d wounded him. “unbelievable. and here i thought we had something special.”

you rolled your eyes. “you literally showed up at my door because your printer broke.”

“and you let me in,” he said, finger pointed dramatically. “which means something.”

“uh-huh.”

he turned back to the printer, smug and all too pleased with himself. “anyway. heeseung. red hair, tall, stares like he’s reading your thoughts. very expensive skincare routine. kind of terrifying if you don’t know he listens to city pop while painting model trains.”

you blinked again. “he dyed his hair red?”

niki snorted. “see? this is how i know you only remember my name. scandalous.”

you opened your mouth to argue — and promptly closed it, because… he wasn’t exactly wrong.

niki grinned wider. “it’s okay. i get it. i’m memorable.”

“you sound like we’re actually friends,” you said, eyeing him. “which we’re not, by the way. i barely know you. and i barely see your friends — they’re like never here. or they vanish when i’m around. which makes you suspicious, you know that? because the only one i always see is you.”

niki didn’t even flinch. just kept clicking through printer settings like you hadn’t just accused him of being a walking red flag.

“of course i’m the only one you see,” he said. “i’m the most charming. obviously.”

you opened your mouth, probably to insult him, but were cut off by the sudden whirr of your printer coming to life. he looked genuinely pleased, like he’d just hacked into nasa instead of hitting ctrl+P.

“and voilà,” he announced, as the first sheet fed out. “proof that i am both useful and handsome.”

you blinked. “wow. incredible. now take your stuff and go.”

but niki — who apparently had zero intention of leaving — wandered away from the desk like he owned the place.

“nice place,” he said, inspecting your sad plant in the corner. “what’s this one’s name? depression?”

“that’s literally a peace lily.”

“ironic.” he flopped onto your couch, limbs everywhere. “is this real leather or vegan sadness?”

“niki—”

“oh, are these cookies?” he reached for the half-eaten pack on your coffee table.

you lunged. “those are mine! you can’t just— you’re not even invited!”

“i was invited by the owner,” he said through a mouthful of cookie. “and also, by the universal law of ‘i fixed your heater.’”

“that is not— that’s not how anything works!”

he stretched out like a cat, one arm thrown dramatically over the back of the couch, like he was settling in for a netflix binge. “this is nice. i feel very welcomed.”

you stared at him. “you’re a menace.”

“a charming one.”

“i should start charging rent.”

“sure. just add it to the list of things you pretend you don’t want from me.”

you threw a pillow at his face.

niki smirked, returning to the printer like he hadn’t just gone through your entire life via interior design. “just doing my neighborly due diligence.”

you rolled your eyes. “do you talk like this with all of the other residents?”

“only the pretty ones who lend me banana bread and let me into their apartment without asking questions.”

you blinked at him. he didn’t flinch.

“you’re lucky my pepper spray’s buried in my tote bag.”

“you’re lucky i’m charming enough to take that risk.”

you shook your head, but your lips twitched despite yourself.

a few more pages printed.

“met any of the other neighbors yet?” he asked, still fully sprawled across your very recently cleaned sofa like he paid rent here.

you sighed. apparently, this was your night now — your other cute neighbor (not the one you preferably wished was in your home but still cute, unfortunately) lounging in your living room and asking you questions like this was some kind of casual interrogatory.

you dropped into the only other chair — the one beside the shelf where a TV should be, but you still hadn’t figured out how to afford one when you were barely making your ramen-to-days ratio work.

you glanced over at him and answered. “not unless you count the old woman on the third floor who yells at the mailman in jeolla dialect,” you said. “i think she has a shrine to her cat in the stairwell.”

niki laughed at that.

“ah, mrs. cho. the patron saint of passive aggression.”

you grinned. “and then there’s the guy with the black porsche. not korean. definitely not even asian. i swear to god i’ve seen him in a movie before.”

niki lifted a brow. “short, built like a villain, always wears sunglasses?”

“yes!”

“that’s theo.”

you blinked. “you know him?”

niki shrugged. “he owes me two shirts and a very expensive wine opener.”

“…you hang out with western celebrities and still have to print engineering data on your neighbor’s shitty printer?”

“i’m humble like that.”

you gave him a long look. “so what’s the deal? why is this building full of ghosts and runway models? i thought this was just gonna be me and a bunch of rich divorcees. picking from my late grandmother's profile, this place was supposed to be crawling with silver-haired women named eun-sook and their lapdogs.”

niki just grinned, the kind of grin that made it very clear he wasn’t going to give you a straightforward answer, but he was absolutely going to enjoy not giving it.

“maybe you’re just circulating in different areas,” he said, casual as ever. “there’s also mr. park on the 10th floor. passionate filmmaker. made millions in the '70s. he talks to plants and wears velvet robes. iconic, really.”

you blinked. “…he’s real?”

“very.”

you squinted at him. “and what are you, then? the building’s unofficial tour guide?”

“resident heartthrob,” he replied without missing a beat, smirking. “printer technician. heater fixer. emotional support neighbor.”

you gave him a dry look. “you’re impossible to age, you know that? your face screams ‘freshman orientation,’ but you talk like you’ve been through at least two divorces.”

niki leaned forward, propping his chin in his hand. “i’m twenty-two.”

the way he said it was too smooth. too clean. like it had been practiced.

you stared at him for a second too long. “…sure you are.”

“what, you don’t believe me?”

“i believe someone is twenty-two,” you muttered. “i’m just not sure it’s you.”

he laughed, and you sighed. god, you just wanted to finish your essay before your stomach started announcing its abandonment issues. you’d eaten nothing but cookies all day. even your blood sugar was judging you.

niki’s papers were finally done printing, but he made no move to leave. instead, he wandered back to your couch like this was a regular hangout — like you didn’t have academic deadlines and a deeply tragic pantry.

“do your roommates also pretend to live here,” you asked, “or is that just your thing?”

niki hummed, flopping onto the cushions again. “depends. jungwon’s usually busy running the world, sunoo only leaves for beauty products, jay’s emotionally allergic to sunlight, and heeseung…” he paused. “well, heeseung’s redecorating his room again. new hair, new furniture. guy’s going through his third identity arc this year.”

you blinked. “he really dyed it red?”

“like full villain arc. he stood in front of the mirror for two hours yesterday practicing his ‘you dare betray me’ face.”

you snorted. “i should’ve picked him to develop a weird crush on.”

niki looked at you slowly. then grinned. wide. evil.

you realized, too late.

did you just… fully expose your newly developing crush to a guy who lived with him? really?

sure, niki wasn’t a stranger exactly. but he was also someone who very clearly lived off blackmail energy and chaos. someone who probably kept a mental folder labeled “leverage” with a subsection titled dumb stuff neighbor girl says.

and worse — he was sunghoon’s roommate. as in: shared a home. a kitchen. probably towels. probably saw him shirtless. daily.

your soul briefly tried to evacuate your body.

“you are very unique, you know that, right?” niki said, and for once, his voice wasn’t just joking. it was low, like he meant it. or at least like he was thinking about meaning it.

you raised an eyebrow, trying to play it off. “so you were the girl sunghoon-hyung was muttering about all morning. i thought i was going crazy.”

you blinked.

“what?”

niki didn’t move. didn’t even try to soften the blow. just looked at you like you were the one being slow.

“sunghoon. pale skin, cute moles, nice fashion sense. he was relentless this morning,” he repeated. “a lot, actually. and he doesn’t do that. ever. not unless something’s bothering him.”

you sat up straighter, suddenly hyper-aware of every heartbeat in your body. “and you… came here to print. not to spy. right?”

niki gave you a flat look. “i came here to confirm a theory.” he waved one of the printed pages like a prop. “the printing was just an excuse. i don’t actually care about heeseung’s floor plans. the guy’s redecorating again — it’s like watching a pinterest board have a breakdown.”

you stared. “so you think… sunghoon’s spiraling? and you came here to see if i was the reason?”

niki tilted his head. “he didn’t go out with the rest of us today. jay’s out. jungwon too. even jake finally left the building. which means whatever got him all twisted up happened here.”

you opened your mouth, but your brain hadn’t caught up yet.

niki crossed his arms. “so i asked myself: what changed yesterday? and then i remembered our neighbor,” he said, gesturing around your apartment like it was a crime scene. “who decided to play dumb in his private greenhouse.”

you groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “i didn’t decide anything. i got lost.”

niki raised both brows.

“sure.” he smiled. “you really thought he wouldn’t notice you wandering into his favorite place in the entire building?”

“i thought he was going to throw a rake at me.”

“nope. just internalized it and started spiraling like a man in a period drama.” niki leaned in slightly, eyes twinkling. “which, honestly, is kind of flattering. he usually skips the spiraling and goes straight to brooding.”

you buried your face in your hands. “i’m going to die. i’m going to be haunted by this for the rest of my life. tell no one.”

“too late,” niki said. “i’m emotionally invested now. this is my entertainment.”

“i was such a weirdo,” you groaned, hands still covering your face. “and—how do you even know? don’t tell me he’s the type to talk shit about women around his guy friends. please.”

niki scoffed. “sunghoon-hyung? no. he doesn’t talk bad about women. he doesn’t talk about women. or people. or, like, at all most days. that’s why when he started pacing the kitchen and cleaning the already cleaned counter like he was trying to hex himself, i paid attention.”

you peeked at him through your fingers.

“it wasn’t mean,” niki added. “just... restless. confused. like you short-circuited something in him and he couldn’t figure out why.”

you groaned again and let your head fall back against the chair. “great. amazing. so i’m haunting him.”

“you’re interesting,” niki corrected, sounding way too pleased about it.

you sat up, arms crossed. “okay. fine. i admit it. he got my attention on the first day. but i didn’t know anything about him, so i went up there to check. just... to see.”

niki raised an eyebrow. “and?”

“and i made a fool out of myself,” you muttered. “i insulted his hydrangeas. i accused him of spray-painting flowers. i basically loitered in his personal sanctuary like some floral cryptid. it was a disaster.”

niki was grinning. “a disaster he’s still thinking about, apparently.”

you glared at him.

“what?” he said innocently. “he spirals, you spiral. soulmates.”

“get out of my apartment.”

“rude. but fair.”

“i’m sure you’re wrong,” you said, waving a hand like that would physically shoo away the entire conversation. “he’s probably trying to figure out how to get me evicted. he looked very not thrilled to see someone new, now that i think about it.”

niki raised both brows but said nothing.

“actually,” you went on, like a woman possessed, “he’s so fine it’s probably safer for me to just move back to boseong. honestly. for my health. for public safety. i might actually die if i see him again.”

niki blinked. once. slowly.

then: “you’re unwell.”

you pointed at him. “you started it.”

“and i regret nothing,” he said, positively beaming now. “this is the best entertainment i’ve had all week. please spiral more. i’ll bring popcorn next time.”

you dropped your head onto the arm of the chair and groaned into the fabric. “please let the floor open and take me. right now. just swallow me whole. the guy i found cute is exposing my terrible flirting techniques with his roommates.”

niki reached for one of the last pages still sitting in the printer tray, casually flipping it over like you weren’t mid-self-destruction. “nah. sunghoon-hyung would probably just water your ghost like a houseplant.”

you didn’t even have the energy to respond.

“did you come here to see my suffering? okay, maybe i am crazy. i’m having a mental crisis over a neighbor i barely know and who doesn’t even know my name.”

niki didn’t blink. didn’t smirk. just looked at you, completely serious for once.

“oh, he does,” he said. “i told him.”

your brain short-circuited for a beat. “you what?”

he shrugged, standing to gather his pages like this was a totally normal development. “you were spiraling. he was spiraling. i connected the dots. you’re welcome.”

“you’re— you’re insane.”

“you say that like it’s news.”

he tucked the last paper under his arm, then glanced around your apartment like he was memorizing it — or maybe checking to see if he missed anything fun. “don’t overthink it too hard,” he added, turning toward the door. “it’s not like you’re the only human who’s ever made him spiral.”

you froze. “wait— the only what?”

niki paused with his hand on the doorknob. then smiled. slowly. too slowly.

“neighbor,” he said, completely deadpan. “human neighbor. obviously.”

he opened the door. “night, mystery girl.”

and then he left.

you stood there for a long moment, staring at the door, trying to decide if you were hallucinating or just missing something very obvious. your heart was still racing, though you weren’t sure if it was from embarrassment… or something else.

and maybe that was what made you do it. maybe that’s why, ten minutes later, you were zipping up your coat, stepping into your sneakers, and making your way back upstairs — toward the one place that still didn’t make sense.

the greenhouse.

you weren’t sure if you were looking for closure, dignity, or just proof that this sunghoon guy wasn’t currently chanting your name into his camellias. you just knew you had to go.

because something was off. and maybe, just maybe, you were finally ready to find out what.

——

you didn’t really have a plan. just your coat half-zipped, your phone shoved into your pocket, and a fuzzy memory of the stairwell leading to the rooftop.

by the time you reached the greenhouse, the wind had started howling louder, curling around the marble like it had claws. the door creaked as you pushed it open, hesitant — not quite sure what you were hoping to find. not even sure you wanted to be seen.

but no one was there. not yet.

instead, there was… stillness. eerie, clean stillness. the kind that didn’t feel empty, just waiting.

the lights were dimmed to that soft, golden low — like the whole place was stuck between late evening and a dream. the air was warmer here than in the rest of the building, humid and filled with the scent of damp earth, jasmine, and something vaguely sweet you couldn’t place. like something had just bloomed, or was about to.

you stepped forward carefully, eyes flicking from one corner to another. there were plants you couldn’t name — some domestic, some probably illegal, some tall enough to have a personality. there were shelves of tools that looked antique, a misting system that hissed like a sleeping cat every few minutes, and in the far back — the camellias.

you didn’t know much about flowers, but those had been the ones the cute neighbor was tending the last time you embarrassed yourself in here. they looked too perfect to be real now. which somehow only made you more nervous.

you walked slowly, brushing your fingers over a leaf here, a petal there. something about the place made your heartbeat slow down — not relax, but drag, like time was thicker here.

you reached the camellias. stared at them. quiet. then:

“if you start talking, i swear to god i’ll scream.”

no response. which was good. you weren’t ready for enchanted flora just yet.

you leaned against the nearest wooden post and let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

“i’m not crazy,” you told the flowers. “i mean, maybe a little. but he’s just a guy. a really… visually jarring guy. with plants. and beautiful hands. and maybe cult energy. but still. a guy.”

actually, now that you thought about it, your father would be losing it if he saw you right now — probably wheezing from laughter, maybe texting you articles about urban hallucinations, and definitely threatening to drag you back to boseong before you joined a handsome, plant-worshipping cult.

you never been in love before, hell, you only felt attraction through tv shows and social media platforms. boseong didn’t have actual boys your age to fantasize about. so you felt stupid for being so new to all this experience. hell, you only found him hot, it’s not like you have already fell for him.

or so that was what you were willing to admit right now.

and of course — because your life was a joke — that was exactly when the door creaked open behind you.

you turned. slowly.

sunghoon stood in the entrance, hoodie pulled over his head, face unreadable under the warm light.

he was dressed so casually compared to the last time you saw him — exactly here, probably twenty-four hours ago to the minute — when he looked like he’d stepped out of a noir film in that trench coat that probably cost more than your tuition and shoes you were too scared to breathe near.

now it was just a hoodie. black, like niki’s. sleeves pushed to the forearms. sneakers.

he looked… human. more human than yesterday.

still, hot as fuck.

but you controlled your thoughts. barely.

“sorry that i’m trespassing again,” was your first move — because, naturally, you led with self-incrimination.

great. amazing. full confession. this man was definitely going to start locking the place now. maybe even file a restraining order.

honestly, you wouldn’t blame him.

he didn’t answer right away. you could feel his gaze, though — heavy, unreadable, like he was trying to decide if you were a threat or just stupid.

your embarrassment arrived a second too late. you turned your back to him, pretending you weren’t mortified and that the night view just happened to be that interesting.

and to be fair, it kind of was. this part of the greenhouse stretched farther than you realized — glass walls curved outward, revealing the full sprawl of the city below. lights blinked like dying stars. rooftops dusted with frost. your own reflection faint in the glass, barely outlined by the soft yellow glow inside.

you exhaled.

“i hadn’t seen this part yesterday,” you said quietly to no one exactly. “was too busy making a fool of myself in the front.”

you didn’t turn around. just kept your eyes on the skyline. “it’s pretty,” you added. “i mean—i guess you know that. you live here. obviously.”

you heard movement behind you. quiet steps on stone. then his voice — calm, low.

“most people don’t notice this part. too bright during the day.”

you blinked. “well. i only trespass at night, apparently.”

there was a pause. not awkward — just… full.

“you can keep coming here, if you like,” he said finally, gaze fixed on the orchid. “it’s nice during winter.”

you blinked. “is this special treatment because i became friends with one of your roommates?”

he glanced at you. “are you talking about riki?”

“riki? i swear it was niki.”

he laughed. and you absolutely weren’t prepared.

it wasn’t loud — just a quiet, breathy sound, like something slipped out before he could stop it — but it lit across his face in this rare, startling way. his lips parted slightly. you caught the sharp glint of his canines.

and for one irrational second, you felt your blood run cold.

those were long ass canines, my lord.

“yes, niki,” he said, finally looking away. “he goes by that too, apparently. he’s… troublesome. don’t fall for his traps.”

you smiled before you could help it. “thanks for the concern, but i think it’s too late. he literally invaded my apartment earlier today.”

sunghoon raised a brow.

“printer emergency,” you added, like that somehow justified it.

his mouth twitched. “sounds like him.”

you nodded, trying not to feel weirdly proud that this sunghoon guy didn’t seem annoyed. that he was still standing there. that he hadn’t told you to leave.

did niki say anything to him? god, if he did…

until then, sunghoon had kept a good distance between you both — a few careful feet, a plant or two, like the space between you was intentional. personal. you let it slide, thinking maybe he still thought you were unstable. (which, fair.)

still, you figured you shouldn’t push your luck. shouldn’t linger long enough to ruin the first actually peaceful moment you’d shared with him.

so, with slow steps, you began walking further into the greenhouse, fingers brushing gently over the edge of a planter, letting the silence settle.

the warmth of the space, the smell of wet soil and night-blooming flowers — it all pressed around you like a soft blanket.

you let yourself breathe.

“do you all live here? for how long?” you couldn’t help but ask, voice low, like the plants might tattle.

sunghoon didn’t answer right away. you glanced back at him — he hadn’t moved from his spot, still half-shadowed by a curtain of ivy, the soft yellow light outlining the curve of his jaw.

“a while,” he said finally. vague. noncommittal. ancient-sounding.

you waited for more. didn’t get it.

“like... years?”

he tilted his head. “give or take.”

you squinted. “that’s not an answer.”

“it’s the only one you’re getting.”

you exhaled, half amused, half suspicious. so mysterious. so nonchalant. so suspiciously good at evading direct human timelines.

“you’re worse than niki at evading questions, god. are you all like this?”

sunghoon almost smiled — almost. just a flicker at the corner of his mouth, like he was debating whether you were worth the truth or just another nosy neighbor with too much curiosity and too little survival instinct.

“maybe it’s a roommate requirement,” he said.

you narrowed your eyes. “what, like a quiz? ‘how mysterious are you on a scale from 1 to dramatic rooftop monologue’?”

this time, he actually smiled. just a little. but it was there.

“you’d fail,” he said simply.

you gasped. “rude.”

“you talk too much.”

you grinned. “and you brood too much. balance.”

“actually, you’re the one who should be asking questions,” you shot back, turning to face him fully. “i got here first.”

sunghoon blinked, like he was momentarily stunned by your logic.

“trespassing doesn’t count as arrival,” he said flatly.

“semantics.” you waved a hand. “i was emotionally distressed. that grants me squatters’ rights.”

he let out a quiet breath — not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh.

“you’re unbelievable.”

“and yet, here you are,” you said, gesturing between you. “still talking to me. maybe you’re the crazy one.”

he didn’t deny it. just glanced away, like maybe you were onto something.

“do you always go out with your pink phone case?”

you froze. blinked. stared. how did he—

“wait, you noticed that?”

sunghoon didn’t even blink. “hard to miss.”

your mouth opened, then closed. “it’s for the aesthetics. i like pink.”

he hummed, like he was storing the information away for later. or judging you. or both.

you crossed your arms. “don’t make that face.”

“i didn’t make a face.”

“you did. it was very i-expected-black-but-of-course-it’s-pink.”

he looked at you, gaze steady. “i expected lavender, actually.”

“do i give off lavender vibes?” you asked, genuinely confused.

sunghoon didn’t answer right away — just tilted his head slightly, eyes trailing over you in that unreadable way of his, like he was assessing your soul for color palette accuracy.

“sometimes,” he said. “but mostly… chaotic rose gold.”

you squinted. “that’s not a real vibe.”

“it is now.”

“you just made that up.”

“it’s a pretty color,” sunghoon said.

you blinked at him. “are you calling me pretty?”

“no.”

“that’s rude.”

“you should be at your apartment.”

you narrowed your eyes. “are you saying i’m ugly, then?”

he didn’t flinch. “beauty is about preferences. you can think a flower is pretty, but someone else might think it’s not the best.”

you stared. “are you a walking inspirational monologue coach? is that your side hustle? why are you always showing up late at night like some poetic batman?”

sunghoon looked off toward the glass ceiling like he was considering whether to dignify that with an answer.

“plants prefer quiet,” he said finally. “and so do i.”

you crossed your arms. “you’re so weird.”

and cute, you wanted to add, but decided against giving him that satisfaction. instead, you walked further into the greenhouse, letting the soft hum of warmth and the faint scent of soil wrap around you like a blanket.

you couldn’t believe you were actually talking to the cute neighbor. like really having a conversation, not just a one sided talk. you think you could count this as a good win for today.

the camellias were everywhere — climbing the trellises, tucked into carefully sculpted beds, blooming in quiet defiance of winter. pale pink, deep red, soft ivory. some petals curled like folded silk, others stretched wide like they had something to prove. you could tell someone tended to them with care. the kind of care that didn’t just water plants but listened to them.

tiny ceramic pots lined the shelves, holding herbs you didn’t recognize, some with tags written in what you swore wasn’t korean. there was a cluster of hanging plants near the center — spider plants, trailing vines, a few that looked carnivorous — and nestled between them, a tea set. just… sitting there. like someone had once hosted a garden party and forgot to clean up.

you weren’t sure how long you wandered, fingertips grazing leaves and petals, occasionally pausing to mutter something dumb like you guys get more affection than i do. it felt sacred in a way. not holy, but intentional. lived-in. like it had memories.

eventually, you saw him again.

sunghoon.

he was standing by the far end of the greenhouse now — in the same spot you had been earlier, overlooking the city through the large arched window. the skyline shimmered under the frostbitten night, a painting of silver and cold light. he was still. too still. hands in the pockets of his black hoodie, shoulders drawn back, head tilted just slightly, as if listening to something only he could hear.

you didn’t think. just moved. quietly, carefully, like your slippers might betray you.

he didn’t turn. he didn’t seem to notice you at all — until you got too close.

you were maybe two steps behind him when it happened.

his body stiffened. violently.

his shoulders tensed first, like he’d been punched in the spine, then his head turned just enough for you to see it: the way his eyes had gone wide, pupils blown open like ink on paper.

then the wince.

his nose twitched, and in the span of a single breath, he stumbled back.

three steps. four. too fast. like he’d touched fire.

his face wasn’t angry. it wasn’t surprised, either. it was… pained.

like something disgusted him. or worse — tempted him.

you stood frozen between the camellias and the windows, confused and small.

he was staring at you like you were the ghost.

you stepped back too, instinctively — as if your retreat might undo whatever invisible boundary you’d just crossed.

“are you okay?” you asked, voice soft, the question half-caught in your throat.

sunghoon didn’t answer right away. he was still staring. still breathing like he’d run here instead of just been standing still.

his jaw flexed once, then again. you could see it — the way he was trying to keep his composure, to collect himself into something human, but failing spectacularly.

his tongue darted out to wet his lips, slow, distracted, and for a second you could’ve sworn you saw it — the glint of a canine too long, too sharp.

his eyes, dark and wide, flashed. not red. not exactly. but something burned behind them, low and glowing.

he took another step back.

then another.

“you should go,” he said finally. voice low. hoarse. like the words scraped on the way out.

you blinked. “did i… do something wrong?”

he shut his eyes for a beat too long. shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

“no,” he said, forcing a breath through clenched teeth. “it’s not you.”

and then, quieter — barely audible, like a confession he didn’t mean for you to catch:

“it’s me.”

you hesitated, your fingers curling slightly at your sides.

“do you want me to call niki? or a medic? are you sure you’re alright?”

his eyes snapped shut again. his voice was rough when it came out — like it hurt.

“please. you can leave already.”

you took a cautious step forward anyway. “should i go find one of your roommates?”

that’s when he flinched — visibly, violently.

“fuck—just stay right there. don’t move.”

it wasn’t anger. it was something else. desperation. restraint.

you froze.

his pupils were blown wide now, his chest rising and falling too fast. his hands trembled where they hung by his sides, like he was holding himself back from something.

“please,” he said again. this time quieter. almost a whisper. almost a plea.

you didn’t say anything. just nodded, slowly, and backed toward the door — one careful step at a time.

and the moment you were out, you heard it.

not footsteps.

not words.

just the slam of a side door somewhere deeper in the greenhouse.

like he needed distance. fast.

like he needed saving from something only he understood.

you didn’t look back.

but you didn’t stop thinking about it, either.

not even once.

author's note: i swear the more vampiric side of this story WILL GET HERE, just wait a bit more. i know this is fast paced, i know this is rushed and chaotic, but bear with my little time to plot everything and proofread it. i hope we see each other in the next chapter. send me a request • my masterpost

242 notes · View notes

crapeaucrapeau · 4 months ago

Text

Defunct ME1 Website Codex Entries

In the interest of preserving rare documents related to Mass Effect, I'm transcribing here the Codex entries which were on the ME1 website when the game first came out. They are reproduced here as they form much of the basis by which we understand Mass Effect ; in some cases, they are phrased differently from the Codex in the actual game, with additional information, or contradictions (e.g. the given length of the Krogan Rebellions). Link here : https://web.archive.org/web/20130326112139/http://masseffect.bioware.com/me1/galacticcodex/index.html

Each Codex entry comes in two parts : the "lede" on the starting Codex page, and the entry itself. In an archiving interest, associated polls are included, though they do not represent anything more than the intended market's opinions prior to the game's release. Everything is quoted verbatim, though I have done some formatting modifications for ease of reading.

Note : since this was very much part of the promotion for ME1, the intended audience is clearly human, but it's difficult at times to see if it's an in-universe "we" or an IRL "we". The polls, however, are clearly out-of-universe.

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

SPECIES

The Advent of Humanity on the Galactic Stage

In the decades since our first encounter with the greater galactic community, humanity has risen quickly to prominence, establishing colonies throughout the stars. However, our population growth and military strength have led to resentful speculation that an invitation to join the ranks of the Council itself is imminent. [Read More]

The Advent of Humanity on the Galactic Stage

In the year 2148, humanity discovered Prothean ruins on Mars. The remnants of Prothean technology scattered amongst these ruins allowed them to develop mass effect fields and faster-than-light travel. This led them to discover and reactivate the mass relay at the edges of Earth's solar system, giving them access to the mass relay network spanning the rest of the galaxy and bringing them into contact with the greater galactic community.

2148 AD : Humanity discovers a small cache of highly advanced alien technology hidden deep beneath the surface of Mars. Building on the remnants of this long extinct race - known as the Protheans - humanity quickly masters the science of mass effect fields, leading to the development of faster than light travel.

2149 AD : Spreading out through their own solar system, humanity discovers that Charon, Pluto's moon, is actually a massive piece of dormant Prothean technology - a mass relay - encased in ice.

Once activated, humanity discovers that the mass relay allows instantaneous travel across thousands of light years to a synchronized mass relay in another part of the galaxy.

There they discover several more dormant relays. Over the next decade humanity expands rapidly, establishing colonies and activating dormant relays to open up more and more unexplored regions of space.

2155 AD : To defend its rapidly expanding empire, humanity assembles a massive fleet and constructs an enormous military space station at the nexus of several key mass relays…even though they have yet to encounter another intelligent space-faring species.

2157 AD : Humanity makes first contact with another space-faring culture: the turians. Unfortunately, the encounter is far from peaceful. Over the next several months a brief but tense conflict known on Earth as the First Contact war ensues.

This conflict draws the attention of the Citadel Council - a multi-species government body that maintains peace and stability throughout the known galaxy. The Council intervenes before hostilities escalate further, revealing the existence of the greater galactic community to humanity and brokering a peace between them and the turians.

2165 AD : Humanity continues to expand, founding more colonies and establishing trade alliances with many of the other species who recognize the authority of the Citadel Council. In 2165 the Council makes official recognition of humanity's growing power and influence in the galactic community. Humanity is granted an embassy on the Citadel, the political and economic heart of the galaxy.

2183 AD : Commander Shepard - a promising young officer in the Human Alliance military - is assigned to the crew of the Normandy, the most advanced prototype vessel ever designed.

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Turians: Friend or Foe?

We fought these raptor-like aliens in the First Contact War, but have since settled into an uneasy co-existence with them. Despite their code of honour, discipline, and work ethic, the question remains whether these Council members are friends or foes. [Read codex entry]

Citadel Council Race: Turians

The turians were the last of the Citadel races to join the Council. Their features are avian, making them resemble humanoid birds or raptors. They have a reputation for skill and bravery in combat, but they are not known to be bloodthirsty. A rigid code of honor and strict discipline are the hallmarks of any turian officer. This includes humane treatment of prisoners and conquered enemies. A turian patrol unit will never willingly leave behind one of their own, no matter what the cost of saving them.

Turian society is highly regimented and very organized, and the species is known for its strict discipline and work ethic. Turians are willing to do what needs to be done, and they always follow through. They are not easily spurred to violence, but when conflict is inevitable, they only understand a concept of "total war." They do not believe in skirmishes or small scale battles; they use massive fleets and numbers to defeat an adversary so completely that they remove any threat of having to fight the same opponent more than once. They do not exterminate their enemy, but so completely devastate their military that the enemy has no choice but to become a colony of the turians.

Other species see them as "men of action," and they are generally regarded as the most progressive of the Citadel races. Since their culture is based on the structure of a military hierarchy, changes and advances accepted by the leadership are quickly adopted by the rest of society with minimal resistance.

WEB POLL : Turians are an honourable and disciplined race. Why do you think humanity warred with them immediately after first contact in the year 2157?

There was a misunderstanding that blew out of proportion - 64%

They feared our potential and saw us as competitors - 23%

They probably always attack first to probe for weaknesses - 11%

They wanted the planet Earth and our colonies for themselves - 3%

Other - read my comments - 3%

Total votes : 16674

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TECHNOLOGY

M35 Mako

The Mako is a light infantry fighting vehicle you'll get to use when exploring planetary environments. Equipped with laser-guided ordnance, micro- thrusters, and laser detection arrays, it's an essential tool to have in your arsenal. [Read more]

Technology : M35 Mako

For 20 years, the standard "battle taxi" of the Systems Alliance Marines was the M29 "Grizzly" Infantry Fighting Vehicle (IFV). While excellent in long-term planetary campaigns, the Grizzly's bulk and weight made it unsuitable for rapid deployment across the Alliance's expanding sphere of influence. To fill this increasingly important role, the M35 "Mako" IFV was designed to fit in the small cargo bays of Alliance scouting frigates. The M35's small size and low weight allow it to be easily deployed to virtually any world.

Since Alliance marines may be required to fight in a variety of planetary environments, the Mako is environmentally sealed and powered by a hydrogen-oxygen fuel cell. For deployment on low-gravity planetoids, it is equipped with micro-thrusters and a small element zero core, which can be used to increase mass and provide greater traction.

The "eezo" core can also be used to reduce mass, allowing the Mako to be safely air-dropped. This allows frigates to deploy their shore parties while limiting the ship's exposure to defensive anti-aircraft artillery. When used in conjunction with thrusters, mass reduction allows the Mako to extricate itself from difficult terrain.

The Mako's hull is covered with laser detection arrays, which forewarn the crew of enemy laser-guided ordnance. Ground-penetrating radar allows detection of anti-vehicle mines and other subsurface anomalies. These will be brought to the attention of the crew by the vehicle's micro-frame computer system.

Several combat support vehicles using the Mako's basic chassis are manufactured for Alliance surface garrisons. These include a recon drone controller, a mobile air defense platform, and the M38 military ambulance nicknamed "Moby" because it is painted white during peacekeeping operations. Shipboard Marines exclusively use the tactically flexible and heavily armed base model.

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Normandy

Optimized for solo reconnaissance missions deep within unstable regions, and using state-of-the-art stealth technology, the Normandy is a prototype deep scout frigate. [Read more]

Technology : Normandy

Frigates are swift, flexible warships. Unlike larger vessels, they are able to land on planets. Although lightly armed, Alliance frigates usually carry a squad of marines for security and groundside duty.

The most important role filled by frigates is scouting and reconnaissance. Thanks to mass effect technology, ships and communications can travel faster than the speed of light. Sensors, however, are limited to the speed of light. If an enemy ship is a light year away, a stationary observer will only be able to see it when its light arrives in a year.

An attacker will always gain surprise against a defender; attacking ships moving faster than light will arrive long before their light speed-limited sensor data does. For defense, fleets are surrounded by spheres of scouting frigates. These vessels detect enemy ships passing by them, and transmit warnings to the main body. The Normandy is a prototype "deep scout" frigate, developed by the Systems Alliance with the assistance of the Citadel Council. It is optimized for solo reconnaissance missions deep within unstable regions, using state-of-the-art stealth technology.

For centuries, it was assumed that starship stealth was impossible. The heat generated by routine shipboard operations is easily detectable against the absolute-zero background temperature of space. The Normandy, however, is able to temporarily "store" this heat in lithium heat sinks deep within the hull. Combined with refrigeration of the exterior hull, the ship can travel undetected for hours, or drift passively for days of covert observation. This is not without risk. The stored heat must eventually be radiated, or it will build up to levels capable of cooking the crew alive.

Another component of the stealth system is the Normandys revolutionary Tantalus drive, a mass effect core twice the standard size. The Tantalus drive generates mass concentrations that the Normandy "falls into", allowing it to move without the use of heat-emitting thrusters. The heat sink and Tantalus drive systems allow the Normandy to loiter undetected in an enemy system to monitor traffic, or drop infiltration teams on enemy worlds. Should the Normandys design prove useful in field tests, it is expected that a follow-up class incorporating "lessons learned" will be produced.

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satorusugurugurl · 11 months ago

Note

Toji as a bodyguard

Til’ the Day that I Die

Summary: You’re a popstar in need of a bodyguard when you find yourself with a stalker. That’s how you meet Fushiguro Toji, you’re insanely hot bodyguard. Who knows how to push your buttons, and get you feeling flustered. Just how far is he willing to go to protect you? And how far would you go to protect him?

Pairing: Bodyguard!Fushiguro Toji x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: mentions of stage right, performance, anxiety, stalking, panic attacks, language mentions of gun, (eventual smut)

Word Count: 4.5K

A/N: this request is amazing!! It got my brain worms going! Once again, this will be a multi part series, I’m looking at a total of four parts as I have already planned down the whole story. I’m sorry for the lack of content, it’s been a rough few days and I just decided to take some time for myself! But I do have about four stories almost done so you can expect updates for the rest of the week! Love you all!! (Readers' stage persona is highly inspired by several artists! 😊)

Part Two Part Three Part Four

Performance anxiety is defined as an excessive feeling of fear related to being able to perform well. Symptoms of performance anxiety include pulse racing, rapid breathing, dry mouth, and throat tightness. Dealing with performance anxiety when you're a rising star is brutal, and you begin to regret all your life choices. You aren't sure if you want this to be your life. You were attending nursing school, but your sister posted a video of you singing online. Reading all the sweet comments was fun initially, but it's funny how fast things change.

One second, you were posting a few videos of you singing, and the next thing you knew, you had a record deal, your songs were on the radio, and you were performing at concerts. All in the span of six months. The attention was overwhelming, and, at times, your anxiety even worse. But the more you performed, the more you were able to bury the stage fright down, masking the fear with a persona you made until you were home in your apartment. In the confines of your home, you could cry and tremble; dealing with those attacks was something you’d gotten used to.

But your stalker was a whole new fucked up mess you never dreamed about dealing with.

It had started as nothing more than a couple of love letters that turned into more descriptive letters detailing information about your personal life you had never told anyone. Anytime you saw a letter come in with ‘M’ written on the front and dark gray ink, your stomach twisted. You at first thought you would be okay. You could handle something like this. This was the kind of thing that came along with the territory of being famous.

That was until a bouquet of roses was dropped off at your door in your guarded apartment building. That whole situation sent you into a full-blown panic attack. You left your apartment and went to stay with your friends. That incident caused your manager to contact Kong Security Services and hire you as a bodyguard. One, you were anxiously waiting to meet as you sat in your dressing room before your show.

“It’s going to be fine, I promise.” Nanako, your makeup artist, assured you as she fixed your blush. “Geto said this agency is the best in the business.”

You shot her a skeptical look while her twin sister fixed your hair. “Are you just saying that because your dad’s are my managers, and they told you to say that?” When both twins had ceased their movements in obvious shock at your to-the-point accusation.

“W-What—?”

“No, never!”

“Uh-huh—I don’t believe a word either of you are saying right now.”

Nanako steps back, looks you over, and bites her lip. “They really are the best, whether or not we get to go out for Boba after this. It’s not like sweet milk tea is on the line if we don’t ease your nerves.” Just as your sweet young makeup artist finishes, the door to your dressing, eyes darting towards the door as it swings further open. Suguru and his husband, Satoru, enter, displaying their matching black-and-white wedding rings. They were the best management company in the world, the power couple of Tokyo. Satoru, who was in charge of your social media accounts, types viciously on his phone while Suguru grins up at a man walking in with them.

If you could even call him a man.

A fucking mountain of muscle is a more appropriate way of describing him. He’s tall, has dark hair and navy blue eyes, and he’s fit. The mountain wore a tailored jacket and white button-down shirt with the first two buttons undone. His eyes leave Geto’s for a minute to watch you sinking further in your chair, his pink tongue running over the scar down the corner of the right side of his mouth.

“Hun, this is Fushiguro Toji,” Suguru announced before glancing at his phone. “He’s your bodyguard and will be with you everywhere you go.”

“E-Everywhere?”

“Yes, to rehearsals, your shows, meet-and-greets, he’ll even escort you home.” Your eyes rammed back over to the mountain of a man standing off to the side. When you have time off, or he needs a day away, his work partner Tsukumo Yuki will take over for him.”

You swallowed hard, fingers twitching, a subtle action your new bodyguard noticed immediately as you dug your fingers into your skirt. It was part of Toji‘s job to see behaviors and be observant. He could tell you were on edge from how your fingers twitched to how your pulse raced in your neck. His handler, Shiu, had warned him that you were an anxious mess after finding out about your stalker. But this anxiety didn’t come from just having a stalker. This anxiety was deeply rooted in you. It was probably something you had suffered with for years.

Without being told, Toji stepped forward, kneeling before you, giving you a gentle smile like a father would give a frightened child. He had to put your nerves at ease to let you know you would be okay. “I know you’re scared, but I can assure you that I am very skilled. You won’t even notice I’m around.” You weren’t sure about that. How could you not notice the handsome man who would always be around you?

“Right, thank you.”

“You’re welcome--”

“Ugh! We gotta get going; they expect you on stage in five minutes.”

“I-I s-shou—” you stuttered as the performing anxiety began to root itself into your already anxious demeanor.

“Yep, let’s get going.” Toji stood motioning towards the door of the dressing room. “After you, Miss.”

Being a bodyguard and a security escort for so long had allowed Toji to pick up on specific cues from people, like how their eyes moved around the room or how their body language told him what they were feeling. The way your fingers were twitching, he knew you were nervous and scared, and he wasn’t sure if it was stage fright or something to do with your stalker.

Regardless of whether you wanted to go up there, it didn’t change the fact that thousands of people were already waiting for you to perform. As you both walked down the hall, Tojo noticed you took a deep breath and exhaled through your nose, and as you turned the corner, you put on a huge smile. The way you put in a mask so fast nearly sent Toji stumbling back. He was usually prepared for the unexpected, but seeing this scared, shaking woman shift into a bubbly pop star rocked him back.

Everyone you encountered smiled wide at your perky voice and demeanor. You truly lit up the whole room. “Alright, guys! Thank you for all your hard prep! Now, let’s have a great show tonight!” You were handed a jeweled microphone and placed on a platform to lift you to the main stage, but before you gripped the handles to steady yourself, Toji grabbed your hand. “Oh, Fushiguro?”

“I'll be on the side, watching you. If you need me or notice something's off, you should give me a sign.”

“A sign? Like a signal?”

“Yeah, something easy and inconspicuous.”

You thought for a second, that perky look still on your face, but Toji could see the anxiety behind your eyes. “Well, I wink a lot during my shows and throw a heart sign up.” Toji hummed, pursing his lips together.

“Well, if you don't want to alarm your fans, how about this.” he took your hand, putting your middle and ring finger down. Your thumb, pinky, and pointer finger were left extended.

“Oh, the sign for ‘I love you’!”

“Only use this if you need me on stage. Otherwise, do what you normally do, but know I’ll be right there if you need me.”

There was a flicker of fear in your eyes, which probably would go unnoticed by many different people, but it was one that he could see clearly as day. “Right, thank you, Fushiguro.” Your new bodyguard looked at you as he scoffed, shaking his head.

“Toji, just call me Toji. There is no need for formalities. Have a good show, Miss.”

“R-Right, thank you, Toji.”

Your new bodyguard watched as the platform began to lift, taking you up to the stage where fans were screaming your name. Taking a deep breath before smiling, your bodyguard watched you reach the top before the band blaring music as you began singing into your microphone. The beat of the music rang in his ears; Toji ran for the stairs that led him to the stage, where he could watch you from the side.

There, Toji found your managers standing on the sidelines, watching you. Upon looking at you, he met a woman who looked nothing like the girl he had just spoken to moments before. You danced, sang, smiled, and winked at the crowd. Multicolored lights flashed as fog from the fog machine flooded the stage, and the backup dancers moved in sync with each other. I think this is poor, who was shaking upon meeting him.

“Yeah, crazy to see her shift, isn’t it?” Geto asked before pulling his phone out and snapping a few photos of you as you sang. “She’s like a different person.”

“Like? I hate to be the one to break this to you, Geto, but that woman is a completely different person. Why the fuck is she masking?”

The white-haired man glared at Toji, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. “She’s not masking; it's called a stage persona.” The annoyance was clear in the other man’s voice, a tone that crawled its way under his skin.

“Look, buddy, keep your terms to yourself. I don't care about the different terms. All I know is that woman—” he jabbed his thumb in your direction as you twirled around the stage. “is masking; that’s not who she is.”

“You don’t know a lot about the entertainment industry. This is something that a lot of celebrities do. It’s completely normal, and she knows that. That’s how she adapted so fast.”

Toji wasn’t sure if that was the case. He had seen you firsthand, shaking in your dressing room. To see you change drastically for the sake of a show? Toji could see why you would be nervous to go up on stage. There had to be a fear of your mask slipping, revealing your true persona to the world.

But Satoru was right; Toji’s job was to protect and ensure you were safe. It wasn’t his place to judge how you lived or worked your career. In the end, you were just like all the other popstar divas and clients he had had before. Rich people with too much money to throw around and fame led them to believe that they were in danger all the time, which is how he managed to keep a steady income for himself and his kids as long as they were rich snobs like you, Tojo was guaranteed to have a job.

Instead of continuing to argue with your overzealous manager, Toji crossed both arms over his chest and watched you closely. The sooner the show was over, the sooner he could get you back to your apartment, where he could call to check on Megumi. He just wanted to relax, and for all he knew, you and your managers were overreacting to this so-called stalker you had. If anything, this might’ve been some cruel prank; receiving a note to roses wasn’t that big of a deal, and this was way too easy for as much as he was getting paid, so he wasn’t going to bitch about it.

What he did want to bitch about was how fucking long your show went on for. Performed for about two hours straight, only taking breaks to change costumes throughout the performance. It was in those moments when you were changing that your mask slipped. He could see the exhaustion in your eyes and how you wanted to do nothing more than take a break. But as fast as that mask slipped, you had it back on instantly. When one costume was off, and the other slipped on, you were back on stage to sing the next song.

After about two hours and thirty minutes of this bullshit, you gave a final bow and blew kisses out at the crowd of strangers who were cheering your name. While the two hours he got to stand up to the side and watch you perform was easy, he only had to look for your signal if you needed help; getting you out of the arena safely was a whole different story. Everything moved so fast The second you stepped off that stage and towards your bodyguard.

After every show, the goal was the same: get changed as fast as possible, collect your stuff, which Nanako and Mimiko had already packed, and get in your limo before the crowd started heading towards your exit. Toji gently placed his hand on the small of your back, ushering you through the maze of halls that led you back to the dressing room, where, just like you knew, the girls had packed all your stuff.

“You got five minutes to change,” Suguru announced as Satoru snickered behind his husband. “Thanks to Satoru, you’re trending again for your newest song.”

Toji could see the minutey, perky personality shift into your more anxious state. You frowned, literally frowned, at the news. Most people would be jumping over the moon to hear it. Seeing such an ungrateful expression on your face had Toji resist the urge to roll his eyes into his skull.

Spoiled little brats, you rich folks were all the same.

“Did you make sure to tag the—“

“Are you insinuating that I don’t know who to tag or which hashtags to use? Babes, I've got you covered. When have I ever let you down?”

“Never.”

“Right, so let the best PR manager handle this.”

Toji sighed, glancing towards his watch. “Two minutes,” he announced to the room of people bouncing off the walls and collecting items to clean up the green room. How could your managers be talking about more brand deals at a time like this? Brand deals were bullshit, but knowing how popular you were with the teenagers and you probably had some make-up deal or some other shit that would make you all the richer, you had to make sure the right people were tagged so you continued to be sponsored. But there was a time and place for that, and now wasn't the right time!

“I know you're the best Satoru, but I still wanna make sure the word gets out there.” You stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in black leggings and a simple T-shirt. Completely different from the baby doll dresses you were wearing on stage. “It’s imperative—”

“I know. I’ve already posted it. Everyone’s been tagged accordingly, and the hashtags are in place. You’ll get lots of people to see this, trust me.”

You were slipping on your baseball cap and sunglasses when Toji’s large hand gently grabbed you by the shoulder. “We gotta get going,” you sighed before nodding, waving off your team, and falling Toji down the hall to where your car awaited you.

Thanks to your quick change, nobody was waiting for you outside, making your getaway from the arena smooth as butter. You just wished you felt as calm as your exit from the bustling stage had been. You were beginning to regret going back to your apartment. You hadn’t been back there since the roses were delivered to your door. Going back was going to be difficult, leaving your stomach swarming with anxiety. But at least you had a big mountain of a man to protect you if, god forbid, you needed help.

The entire ride back to your apartment complex was thankfully quiet. Toji sat on the other side of you, staring out the window, not making any conversation, which was a blessing. Not only was your throat sore from the amount of singing you had done, but the idea of sitting through a conversation run solely by small talk was almost as bad as your performance anxiety. Sitting in the back of the car, leaning your head against the window without worrying about smiling or acting perfect in front of strangers, was a breath of fresh air.

Being alone with your bodyguard made you feel like you could let your walls come down for the first time in a long time. It was a feeling you might as well get used to. He would be around most of the time, so instead of adorning the perfect, pretty mask you always wore, you could be the introverted true version of yourself. Knowing that you could relax, you shut your eyes, allowing yourself to doze off as the car smoothly headed down the freeway.

If only your dreams were smooth and calm like the car ride. Your dreams were filled with mysterious notes and roses you had once loved. They circled you, drowning you in paper and petals as a roaring crowd rang through your ears. You could fight against the tidal waves, but instead, you let them wash over you, allowing yourself to be crushed by the unbearable weight of being a star at times.

Nursing school wasn’t easy, but at least when you were in school, you didn’t have to worry about a mysterious bouquet showing up on your apartment doorstep or sneaking out to avoid getting seen and swarmed by your fans. Your biggest concern in school was getting good grades and doing everything possible to get your degree. The only things you had to worry about were study dates and pop quizzes, not ominous letters that made you fearful for your safety.

These nightmares were so vivid that you wished your family had heard you singing online. Was it too much to ask for a normal everyday life where you weren't constantly stressed?

You sighed, looking up at the lingering rays of light that slowly began to peek through. More envelopes and roses piled on the cocoon you were stuck in. Perhaps there was no going back. This might very well be the rest of your life. Just as you were shutting your eyes to the casket you were being buried in, a hand reached out from the top of the mountain of dread and anxiety you lived with, reaching for you.

You couldn’t make out who was reaching out to you, but you were sure they just wanted to help you. Without hesitation, you reached for that hand, brushing over their fingertips. Just when they clasped your hand to pull you out of the burial ground, you were jn. You gasped as someone shook you, waking you from the dream.

You sat up quickly, shaking as you met Tojo’s navy blue eyes. He was frowning, motioning towards the rolled-down window, and Ijichi, head of security for your building, leaned in, giving you a weak smile. With a quick rub to both your eyes, you placed your mask back on, going from the sleep-deprived woman you were transforming into the perky popstar everybody knew and loved.

“Ijichi! Hi!”

“Hi yourself, glad to have you back.”

Toji could see how your shoulders stiffened when you mentioned being back. “Oh, yep! It's good to be back.” Toji could see through your facade, while Ijichi was blind to it.

“I just wanted to let you know that we added more cameras to the building, and my security post will be far stricter with deliveries and anything else from this point on. We want you to feel safe here, and I’m sorry we failed to do that in the first place.”

“Oh no, it’s not your fault! Plus, I feel a lot better now that I have Fushiguro!” The man with glasses peered into the car, waving at your bodyguard whose face remained stoic, not returning the gesture. “Okay, uhm Ijichi, Toji; Toji Ijichi.”

No pleasantries were exchanged, not at all. The only thing Toji managed to do was give him a nod before focusing his attention back on the massive building and making a mental note to ask for access to the cameras. That way, he could keep an eye on you and ensure nobody was hanging around who wasn't supposed to be there. Those thoughts Toji was lost in made it a tranquil ride up the elevator to your apartment. He was leaving you feeling even more anxious. Usually, being around someone quiet never bothered you; you felt so relaxed around that person, but Toji’s cold demeanor and attitude toward your friend made you irritable.

“So, uhm, are you going to be that cold and standoffish every time you meet somebody I know?” You asked, finally allowing your heart mind to win over your mind.

“Huh?”

His dark gaze had you swallowing the lump suddenly in your throat. “I wanted to ask if this is going to be normal, you being—.”

“Oh, I am so sorry little star; I wasn't aware I needed to wear a fake ass mask around people too.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, and unfortunately, unlike you, I like wearing my face. I don’t have to be someone I’m not to get people to like me. Because quite frankly, I don’t give a damn if anybody likes me.”

“I don't eit—”

Toji scoffed, leaning against the elevator wall and shaking his head at your words. “Oh, please. You’re just like every other client I’ve had. All you care about is money, your appearance, and what sponsor deals you get.” His words made your blood begin to boil.

“You’ve barely known me for a couple of hours, and you think you know who I am?”

“Oooh yeah, you're some small-town girl that made it big. And instead of showing the world who you really are, you put on this fucking mask, one that hides the true you from the prying eyes of the world. You care only about ticket sales, making your fans happy, and sponsorships like the one you were talking about with your manager not even thirty minutes ago. So yeah, I’m sure I got a good idea of who you are. It’s my job to read people..”

This was the best security in the business; bodyguard your manager had set you up with? Ha! Yeah, right, this man was nothing more than a dickhead that had a lot of opinions that were far from true?!

You laughed, pushing yourself away from the wall to stand in front of the doors before him. “That's the great thing about wearing a mask around people I don’t fucking know. They get to see the real me, but I get to see people for who they truly are.” Toji opened his mouth to continue arguing with you, but only for you to quickly shut him down, holding a hand up before you. “You were right about a couple things; I do put on a mask, I love my fans, but I could give a damn about sponsorships.” Toji pushed himself off the wall, towering over you, gritting his teeth as he tried to control his evident anger.

“Oh, you suddenly don’t give a damn about sponsorships? I just heard you talking to your manager about one.”

“You don’t know anything about me! That whole conversation had nothing to do with this sponsorship!”

Tojo tilted his head back with a laugh. “Oh, right, of course. You don’t care about your amazing condo or all the money you’re making; you don’t care about those so-called nonexistent sponsorship deals.” The elevator rattled like the lid to the rage threatening to explode.

“Alright, yes, I do live in a nice apartment, one with security that sucks, but it’s still home. But for your information, I don’t do this for the money. You don’t know what I have planned on doing with my life, so I don’t want to hear you make assumptions about me! The conversation you so rudely eavesdropped on had nothing to do with a sponsorship deal but a massive donation I’m making to the local Children’s Hospital. The same hospital is well renowned for helping unfortunate children. So yeah, that whole conversation you listened to was me telling my manager to tag the hospital in my video because the hospital inspired the song! It was a public service announcement, a reminder to help those who can’t help themselves.”

Your rant was unexpected. Toji had never had one of his clients talk to him like that; strangely, he liked it.

“And another thi—”

The doors to the elevator slowly slid open with a ding as you reached your apartment. Usually, your automatic lights would be on in the living room and kitchen, leading upstairs. But as the doors opened, no lights illuminated your bodyguard's face. You knew something was wrong, and just before Toy could look over your shoulder into the apartment,Toji’s hand quickly covered your eyes. He pulled you into his chest, and he listened in as he smashed on the lobby button on the button panel.

“Toji!?” You asked, placing your hands on top of his. “What is it?! Is something wrong? Let me see!”

Toji shook his head as if you could see his reaction, his hand reaching for the gun at the holster on his side as the door slowly shut. There was no way in hell you were going to see what was behind the door. Because he knew if you were to see what had happened in your apartment, you would never be the same. As the elevator slowly began to descend, Toji realized that he had been wrong about your stalker. It wasn’t some harmless joke.

This was fucking serious.

(TBC)

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @luvsymai

444 notes · View notes

xuchiya · 2 months ago

Text

married to the stage || choi san || chapter 1

| genre: fluff. marriage-of-conviniece. angst. idol! san. ceo! female reader | mentions: sasaeng. scandal. SA . cursing. fake marriage. also getting a divorced.

back to masterlist || chapter 2

He was untouchable. Unstoppable. A king in his domain.

And yet, even kings had shadows lurking behind them.

San exhaled deeply, his gaze drifting over the sprawling cityscape from Mingi’s apartment window. The neon lights flickered like distant stars, the streets below alive with movement, yet his mind wandered elsewhere. Ateez’s latest comeback had taken the world by storm, and ever since the music video dropped, his name had dominated the headlines. After months of keeping the secret under wraps, the overwhelming rush of success felt like floating on cloud nine.

But that wasn’t the case of his uneasiness at this very moment.

She was waiting for him. She always was.

She had been a ghost in his shadow for years, lurking at the edges of his world. The letters smeared with red lipstick, the eerie DMs that found their way to private accounts, the glimpses of an unfamiliar figure outside his dorm, the company building, every place he once considered safe. Security had tightened, but she was relentless. Every comeback only fueled her obsession, and latest comeback had pushed her to new extremes.

It wasn’t just about watching him anymore. She wanted more. She wanted him.

San ran a hand through his hair, tension winding tight in his shoulders as his phone buzzed beside him.

Hongjoong [10:47 PM]: You okay? Seonghwa said you haven’t come home since yesterday.

San [10:47 PM]: No and please tell Seonghwa-hyung I’ll be staying at Mingi’s for a while.

Hongjoong [10:48 PM]: Okay, but is she still following you?

San [10:49 PM]: She’s outside again.

Hongjoong [11:05 PM]: I told the company. We added extra bodyguards. Don’t go anywhere alone.

San [11:06 PM]: I won’t. But she won’t stop, hyung. She sent me something earlier.

He hesitated for a moment before forwarding the message.

I want to see you up close this time, San. And I will.

A few seconds later, Hongjoong’s call lit up his screen. San sighs, the heavy truth of the reality settling on his shoulder as he answers his Captain’s call. He leans against the window, gazing mindlessly.

“You’re not going back to your place,” his leader’s voice was firm, laced with concern. “Stay with one of the members tonight.”

San sighed, rubbing his temple as he paced the room. “I'm already at Mingi's and I wasn’t planning to come home tomorrow, tell Seonghwa-hyung I’m sorry.”

A soft crackle of static carried through the line before Hongjoong spoke again. “He says it’s okay and that come back home when everything has calmed down… “ There was a short silence before Hongjoong spoke again, “You need to lay low. Maybe even disappear from your usual routine for a while.”

San dropped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. His mind drifted to the invitation he’d received from Johnny, his childhood friend. Johnny had worked his way up in a multi-media company and was hosting a party to celebrate not just the success of their new CEO but also his own promotion to COO.

“This party tomorrow—Johnny invited me,” San murmured. His situation right now could only heighten the risk of that sasaeng being near, but at the same time he had made a promise.

“Is it important?” Hongjoong asked after a pause.

San’s gaze flickered to his calendar, where he had circled the date in red. He and Johnny had been through everything together—childhood, struggles, triumphs. Through every high and low, they had promised to stand by each other. When San debuted, Johnny had been there. Now, when Johnny was achieving one of his greatest milestones, San couldn’t bear to miss it.

“I promised him, hyung. I have to go.”

A heavy sigh came from the other end. “I know how much this means to you. If you’re going, at least take security with you.”

Despite the tension coiling in his gut, San felt a wave of relief. Hongjoong wasn’t forbidding him. There was still a looming threat, but for one night, he could still be there for his friend.

“I will,” he promised, a small smile breaking through the worry that clouded his mind.

The party was in full swing by the time he arrived, the venue bathed in golden light, a soft hum of laughter and music filling the space. Time must have been so slow that San wasn’t sure how long he had been gripping his drink, but he could feel his fingers growing cold around the glass. He should’ve been enjoying the night—celebrating Johnny’s promotion, breathing in the ease of a well-earned break. And also an excuse to be somewhere she wouldn’t expect.

San scanned the venue, taking in the lively atmosphere. A few familiar faces stood out among the crowd, but most were high-profile CEOs—polished, composed, effortlessly exchanging laughter and deals worth millions. It was a scene he knew well, yet something pressed against his chest, a weight that refused to lift.

The ice in his glass clinked softly as he set his drink down.

"Need an out?"

San turned at the familiar voice, met with Johnny’s knowing smirk. His old friend stood beside him, posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp—too sharp, like he had been watching San the whole night and had finally decided to step in.

Johnny had always been perceptive, picking up on the smallest shifts in San’s demeanor, the barely-there stiffness in his shoulders, the way his fingers toyed with the condensation on his glass instead of actually drinking from it. Even now, in the middle of his celebration, surrounded by people congratulating him on his latest milestone, he still noticed San’s unease.

Johnny’s hand came down on San’s shoulder, firm, grounding. A quiet reassurance.

San exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

Johnny’s smirk widened as he scanned the room, “I think I just found your escape, bro.”

Before San could react, Johnny clapped him on the back with more force than necessary, making San stumble slightly. “Come on. Trust me.” San huffed out a reluctant laugh but let himself be led through the crowd. The tension in his chest eased slightly, if only because Johnny had always been good at reminding him what it was like to just breathe.

For the first time that evening, San felt something other than discomfort—relief.

The moment they reached a quieter corner of the ballroom, Johnny finally turned to him, grinning like he had just pulled off the greatest trick of the night, “Man, I can’t believe you actually showed up.” Johnny nudged San with his elbow as he handed him a glass of champagne. San knew how much alcohol he could take and this could be his last glass before he passed out. “When was the last time you willingly went to one of these things?”

San scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m not that bad.”

Johnny gave him a deadpan look.

San sighed. “Fine. Maybe I am that bad.”

Johnny laughed, shaking his head. “Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad you came. It wouldn’t have felt right without you here.”

San looked at his friend, really looked at him. Johnny had worked hard for this, chasing his dream position with the same relentless determination San had seen in him since they were kids. And now, here he was—standing in the middle of a celebration thrown just for him.

San’s lips curled into a small, genuine smile, patting his friend’s shoulder. “You deserve this, man.”

Johnny grinned. “Damn right, I do.”

They clinked glasses in a silent toast, a moment of ease settling between them. For a little while, San allowed himself to get lost in the comfort of familiarity. Johnny was one of the few people who had known him before all of this—before ATEEZ, before the fame, before the pressure of living under a microscope. Here, San wasn’t an idol. He was just a friend celebrating someone’s success.

It was almost enough to make him forget about the pair of eyes still watching him from somewhere in the crowd. But almost wasn’t good enough.

Because the moment he let his guard down, fate had other plans.

San turned his head at the wrong moment—just in time to catch a glimpse of her.

His heart stuttered.

His stomach twisted.

And suddenly, the walls start closing in.

Johnny noticed the shift instantly, his eyes darting around. He knew about the situation that San is currently in and he expected his friend to decline or won’t show up on his party yet here he is, a champagne in hand.

“San?”

San’s throat tightened. “She’s here.” He felt it before he saw her. A stare, heavy and unshakable. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as his gaze swept across the room—then stopped. Near the bar, a woman stood slightly apart from the crowd. Elegantly dressed, she blended in yet somehow stood out, an unsettling contrast that sent a chill down his spine. Her lips curled into a knowing smile as she raised her glass, her eyes never leaving his.

It's her.

His blood ran cold. He knew she would go to lengths to follow him, but this—this was bolder than ever. San could feel it. The way the air in the room felt slightly off, the phantom sensation of being watched, the familiar suffocating tension pressing against his ribs. She wasn’t in the shadows anymore. She was stepping into the light, bold, fearless, and dangerous in ways that made his skin crawl.

Johnny’s expression darkened, his grip on his glass tightening. “Where?” San wasn’t able to move nor speak and Johnny followed his gaze and cursed under his breath. “Alright,” he muttered, turning back to San. “We need to move. Now.”

San turned sharply, his mind racing for an escape plan—yet he was moving too fast, too recklessly to notice the figure in his path. The moment of impact was sudden. A collision of warmth. A sharp inhale. A startled gasp.

Time seemed to slow.

You stumbled back from the force, the world tilting—but before you could hit the ground, steady hands caught you. Strong, firm. Heat seeped through your back where his fingers curled, anchoring you.

San’s breath hitched. His gaze locked onto yours—wide, startled, unguarded. For a fleeting moment, neither of you moved, held in a strange, breathless pause.

And then, something shifted. His mind had been a storm mere seconds ago, chaotic and desperate, but now—now, it was silent. Suspended in the space between heartbeats.

The soft glow of the lights above cast a halo around you, catching in your hair, tracing your features in gold. For a fleeting second, his thoughts derailed, stolen by the way your lips parted in surprise, the way your lashes fluttered as you processed the moment.

Beautiful.

The word formed before he could stop it. A realization, unspoken yet undeniable, settling into his chest with an unfamiliar weight. His fingers flexed against your arms, as if grounding himself in the reality that you were real, that this moment was real.

Your eyes searched his, confusion flickering across your features, but before you could voice it, something in his expression shifted again—sharp, calculating. Reality snapped back into place. His grip tightened, not in discomfort, but with urgency. A silent message passed between you—something unreadable yet impossible to ignore.

Then, his next words came, low and urgent, barely above a whisper."Play along." It wasn’t just a request. It was a command wrapped in desperation, in something unspoken. Before you could question him, San moved—swift, calculated. His fingers slid from your arms to your wrist, pulling you closer, pulling you into something you didn’t understand yet.

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez choi san #san ateez #ateez san #choi san #ateez san fluff #ateez san x reader #ateez fluff #ateez atiny #choi san fluff #choi san x reader #choi san ateez

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thighsa · 1 month ago

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fromis_9 adult entertainment version please, with all 9 members

Hayoung: Golden Shower

Hayoung's slender, toned physique would be put to use in golden shower scenes where she receives urination from various angles, showcasing her ability to handle large volumes of liquid without flinching. Her dancing background would help her maintain composure during these unconventional performances.

Jiwon: Anal Exploration

Jiwon's petite frame and reported painful experiences with anal scenes would lend authenticity to her intense, deep penetration performances. Close-up shots would capture every contortion and gasp as she navigates the challenges of anal entry, making her a sought-after talent for those who enjoy watching women push past their limits.

Chaeyoung: Glory Hole

Chaeyoung's long limbs and slender build would allow her to comfortably suck multiple cocks simultaneously through a glory hole, making her a versatile and efficient performer. Her scenes might involve her servicing several men in quick succession, demonstrating her endurance and eagerness to please.

Nagyung: Threesome/Foursome

With her small yet curvy body, Nagyung could excel in intimate, multi-partner scenes, navigating tight spaces and participating in creative positions. Her adaptability and willingness to please would make her a popular choice for directors looking to create complex, erotic situations.

Jiheon: Teacher's Fuck Doll

As a schoolgirl creampie specialist, Jiheon's innocence and youthfulness would be exploited in messy, unprotected sex scenarios. Her slim figure would make her a desirable target for older men seeking to defile her purity, culminating in creampie shots emphasizing the illicit nature of the act.

Saerom: Explicit Bikini & Nude Milf Model

Saerom's mature beauty, curvy figure, and leadership qualities would serve her well in explicit bikini and nude modeling roles. She would pose seductively for photographers, showcasing her voluptuous assets and confident demeanor just to make them horny and craves for her body. Her scenes might incorporate props like toys, champagne, or even animals to add an extra layer of sophistication and allure.

Gyuri: Big Breast Bukkake

Gyuri's slightly fuller figure and stunning vocals would be the focal point in big breast bukkake scenes, where multiple men shower her ample assets with semen. Her commanding presence would add an air of authority to the debauchery, as if she's orchestrating the men's pleasure rather than simply enduring it.

Jisun: Masochistic BDSM & Body Torture

Jisun's petite yet busty frame would be subjected to intense pain play and submission in masochistic BDSM scenes. Whipping, spanking, and other forms of corporal punishment would be inflicted upon her, as well as roleplays involving humiliation, bondage, and enforced servitude. Her scenes might explore dark fetishes like rope play, electrostimulation, and etc.

Seoyeon: Gangbang

Seoyeon's slight curves and energetic stage presence would serve her well in high-energy, physically demanding gangbang performances. She might be positioned as the center of attention, taking on multiple partners simultaneously and displaying her stamina and adaptability under pressure. The fast-paced, chaotic nature of gangbangs would play to her strengths as a dynamic performer.

#anon ask #qna time #kpop gg #kpop gg smut #kpop girl group smut #kpop girl noncon #kpop noncon #kpop noncon smut #fromis 9

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autumngracy · 8 months ago

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"Trump is better for the economy, though!"

Aside from almost every major economist agreeing that Trump's economic plans would actually make things far worse than they are now, this man can't even manage his campaign's, his businesses', OR his personal finances.

Case in point, here a list from Public Opinion of his failed business endeavors:

"Trump's companies have filed for bankruptcy at least six times. This is no exaggeration. Digital World noted this in its SEC filings. This excludes additional business failures that might not have declared bankruptcy, but closed owing vendors, employees and others."

"For the record, here are some of Trump's noteworthy business failures."

Trump Airlines — Trump borrowed $245 million to purchase Eastern Air Shuttle. He branded it Trump Airlines. He added gold bathroom fixtures. Two years later Trump could not cover the interest payment on his loan and defaulted.

Trump Beverages — Although Trump touted his water as "one of the purest natural spring waters bottled in the world," it was simply bottled by a third party. Other beverages, including Trump Fire and Trump Power, seem not to have made it to market. And Trump's American Pale Ale died with a trademark withdrawal.

Trump Game — Milton Bradley tried to sell it. As did Hasbro. After investment, the game died and went out of circulation.

Trump Casinos — Trump filed for bankruptcy three times on his casinos, namely the Trump Taj Mahal, the Trump Marina and the Trump Plaza in New Jersey and the Trump Casino in Indiana. Trump avoided debt obligations of $3 billion the first time. Then $1.8 billion the second time. And then after reorganizing, shuffling money and assets, and waiting four years, Trump again declared bankruptcy after missing ongoing interest payments on multi-million dollar bonds. He was finally forced to step down as chairman.

Trump Magazine — Trump Style and Trump World were renamed Trump Magazine to reap advertising dollars from his name recognition. However, Trump Magazine also went out of business.

Trump Mortgage — Trump told CNBC in 2006 that "I think it's a great time to start a mortgage company. … The real-estate market is going to be very strong for a long time to come." Then the real estate market collapsed. Trump had hired E.J. Ridings as CEO of Trump Mortgage and boasted that Ridings had been a "top executive of one of Wall Street's most prestigious investment banks." Turned out Ridings had only six months of experience as a stockbroker. Trump Mortgage closed and never paid a $298,274 judgment it owed a former employee, nor the $3,555 it owed in unpaid taxes.

Trump Steaks — Trump closed Trump Steaks due to a lack of sales while owing Buckhead Beef $715,000.

Trump's Travel Site — GoTrump.com was in business for one year. Failed.

Trumpnet — A telephone communication company that abandoned its trademark.

Trump Tower Tampa — Trump sold his name to the developers and received $2 million. Then the project went belly-up with only $3,500 left in the company. Condo buyers sued Trump for allegedly misleading them. Trump settled and paid as little as $11,115 to buyers who had lost hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Trump University or the Trump Entrepreneur Initiative — Trump staged wealth-building seminars costing up to $34,995 for mentorships that would offer students access to Trump's secrets of success. Instructors turned out to be motivational speakers sometimes with criminal records. Lawsuits and criminal investigations abound.

Trump Vodka — Business failed due to a lack of sales.

Trump Fragrances — Success by Trump, Empire by Trump, and Donald Trump: The Fragrances all failed due to being discontinued, perhaps as a result of few sales.

Trump Mattress — Serta stopped offering a Trump-branded mattress, again likely due to slacking sales.

Truth Social — This existing Trump business owes big money, and may well be breathing its last.

And then of course is his long history of stiffing contractors, restaurants, and even entire cities for their event venues he used for his rallies—as well as some of his own followers—

—such as the case where he promised a greiving hispanic American family that he would pay for the burial of their daughter, Vanessa Guillén, a servicewoman who had been brutally murdered by a fellow soldier at Fort Hood in 2020, but later told his chief of staff not to pay for it after learning it would cost $60,000, reportedly saying "It doesn’t cost 60,000 bucks to bury a fucking Mexican!"

#us presidential election #Donald Trump #us politics #election 2024 #Trump Vance 2024 #us economy

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positivexcellence · 10 months ago

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Jared Padalecki Joins ‘Fire Country’ For Guest Arc That Could Lead To New Franchise Offshoot

EXCLUSIVE: Jared Padalecki is returning to series television. The former Supernatural star, coming off a four-season run as the lead of Walker, has been tapped for a three-episode arc on the upcoming third season of CBS‘ hit drama series Fire Country, headlined and executive produced by Max Thieriot.

He will play Camden, a SoCal firefighter and maverick with a surfer swagger who is a force to be reckoned with and immediately recognizes Bode’s (Thieriot) raw talent.

The deal with Fire Country producer CBS Studios is strictly for the recurring role, sources said. Given Padalecki’s status as a popular leading man with two hit series under his belt, I hear there is a possibility for the guest stint to lead to a new spinoff headlined by him that would join the upcoming Sheriff Country.

Sources stress that the idea is still in its nascent stages. And similarly to the NCIS franchise, which originated on CBS and has generated four domestic offshoots on the network but has also expanded into streaming with the latest spinoff, NCIS: Tony & Ziva (as well as the streaming/broadcast NCIS: Sydney), a new Fire Country spinoff could be for broadcast or streaming. Reps for CBS and CBS Studios declined comment.

Fire Country, which was the most watched new broadcast series in its freshman season, was quickly identified by the CBS leadership as a potential franchise anchor that could spawn multiple spinoffs.

“We are focused on mass-appeal franchises,” CBS President and CEO George Cheeks said in June 2023. “This season’s number one show was Fire Country, which completely lends itself to building out a whole new universe… It became very clear that not only was the show special, it really felt like this could be a great example of us building together a franchise from scratch.”

The first Fire Country spinoff, the Morena Baccarin-starring Sheriff Country, which started off as a planted spinoff episode on the mothership series this past season, was recently picked up to series for 2025-26.

Keeping Padalecki in the fold has been a priority for CBS Studios following the end of its CW drama Walker, on which he was star and executive producer, leading to creating the opportunity for him on Fire Country. Walker was canceled for financial reasons despite being the network’s most watched series.

Fire Country averages more than 10 million viewers per episode in multi-platform viewing. (Live+35-day on Paramount + and CBS TVE)

Season 1 became available on Netflix in the US August 1 and has already reached #3 in the streamer’s daily rankings. This is an additional domestic streaming window for Fire Country whose first two seasons are on Paramount+. It is designed to give the show additional exposure ahead of its Oct. 18 Season 3 premiere on CBS.

From creators and executive producers Tony Phelan, Joan Rater and Thieriot, inspired by Thieriot’s experiences growing up in Northern California, the series follows Bode Donovan (Thieriot), a young convict seeking redemption and a shortened prison sentence by joining a prison release firefighting program in Northern California, which sends him back to his hometown.

Billy Burke, Kevin Alejandro, Diane Farr, Stephanie Arcila, Jordan Calloway and Jules Latimer also star. Tia Napolitano, who also serves as showrunner, executive produces alongside Jerry Bruckheimer and KristieAnne Reed of Jerry Bruckheimer Television.

Since the end of Walker, Padalecki also has discussed a role on the upcoming fifth and final season of Prime Video’s The Boys, developed and executive produced by Supernatural creator Eric Kripke. He is repped by UTA, Industry Entertainment and Fuller Law.

deadline

#jared padalecki #fire country

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virtualtadpole · 8 months ago

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Behind the blue shorts: How an all-boys Catholic school sparked the origination of Thai BL

(Cross-post from Reddit)

One evening this past July in Bangkok's long-time youth hangout of Siam Square, a crowd was gathering in the street, around an area set aside for busking musicians. The mostly young-adult female audience politely applauded as several high school bands took turns performing, but they were actually waiting for a different act. After some time, the crowd began to stir as members caught sight of some two dozen teenaged boys, all in a uniform of white shirts and bright royal blue shorts, headed towards the gathering. As they filed out onto the makeshift stage area, the boys were loudly greeted with passionate, enthusiastic screams, all too characteristic of fans cheering on their idols.

But these boys weren't actual idols - not yet, at least. They were all brand new actors, yet to appear on screen anywhere. They were the cast of Love Sick 2024, an upcoming remake of the pioneering Thai BL series whose tenth anniversary they were celebrating that day, in one of their first public appearances.

Why, then, would such inexperienced newcomers inspire such fervent devotion?

The Love Sick 2024 boys (and three girls) with their audience (Tia51)

Well, for starters, the original Love Sick series is a quintessential classic of Thai BL, arguably the one pivotal work that kick-started the entire TV genre - which in the decade since has developed into an industry worth multi-millions and recognized as a major cultural export. It still holds a place close to many long-time fans' hearts, and BL, like other phenomena of fandom culture, has been known to elicit very enthusiastic emotional responses from followers.

But the scenes witnessed with Love Sick 2024's actors are actually quite reminiscent of those previously seen during the original's release, when BL series didn't yet even exist as a category. Surely, there must be something else underlying this series' - and its actors' - popularity.

Let's take a closer look.

Love Sick's real-life inspiration

In chapter 21 of the original Love Sick novel, Noh, having taken delivery of the music club's new set of drums and overseen band practice for the evening, spends some time sitting around on the stands along the sports pitch next to the F. Building, wondering how he's going to pay for them. It's not long before Earn shows up to rescue him from his financial troubles, but let's pay attention to the location.

The F. Building Noh mentioned is an actual place - F. Hilaire Building at Assumption College (AC) in Bangkok. It is named after Frère (Brother) Hilaire, one of five French missionary teachers of the Catholic Brothers of St. Gabriel who arrived in Siam in 1901.

In the late 19th century, Siam (Thailand's historical name) was rapidly modernizing in response to colonial pressures. American Protestant and French Roman Catholic missionaries played a large role introducing technological and medical advances, and also established some of the first schools in the country as the royal government introduced reforms to formalize the education system. Father Émile August Colombet, the head priest of what was then Assumption Church, founded Assumption College as a school for boys in 1885, and after a decade of growth, the Brothers were invited to help run the school. A convent school for girls, run by the Sisters of St. Paul of Chartres, was established next door soon after.

While the early government schools mostly served the aristocracy, the missionary schools catered more to the general populace, especially the minority ethnic groups who also formed the majority of their congregations. However, while they are remembered today for their legacy of modernization, the missionaries had relatively little success proselytizing, and the large majority of their students remained Buddhist.

Over time, these schools expanded and grew. The St. Gabriel's Foundation now operates over a dozen schools, as well as a university, and Assumption College is regarded as one of the most elite private schools in the country. Its lengthy list of famous alumni includes names from several of Thailand's biggest business families, as well as major political figures, demonstrating its historic stature and the strength of its alumni network. Today, the stereotypical image of its students is of those coming from wealthy or upper middle-class families of Chinese descent, and hefty donations are the norm for families looking to secure placement for their sons.

AC student Keen (Only Boo!) giving a presentation in 2022 on his team's experience joining a NASA-sponsored CanSat (miniature suborbital satellite) competition. It's not like every school has an aerospace program. (Assumption College, via Workpoint Today)

Brother Hilaire, barely 20 when he arrived in Siam, spent his next 67 years dedicated to the school. He learned Thai well enough to write the foundational Thai textbook series Darunsueksa, which remains in use over a century later. Along with Father Colombet, he is memorialized as one of the school's two most celebrated figures.

Today, the building which bears his name overlooks the school's central courtyard, an assembly ground of red brick facing the apse of Assumption Cathedral, an imposing Romanesque Revival structure nestled in Bangkok's old European district along Charoen Krung Road, the city's first modern paved street. Guests headed to the famous Mandarin Oriental Hotel nearby might catch glimpses through the steel palisade fence of boys in their white-and-blue uniforms playing football in the tiny sports pitch - the very place where Noh and Earn had their conversation in the novel. The stands are no longer there, but were present in 2007 when The Love of Siam was filmed at the school. Also appearing in the film, and the site of Noh's classes in the novel, is the 13-storey school building which now towers over the cathedral in order to accommodate its secondary student body of some 2,500 within the limited historic space. (The primary section had been split to a different campus in 1966.)

The F. Hilaire Building clock, and Kao Jirayu as young Tong in the sports pitch, seen in The Love of Siam (Sahamongkolfilm International)

A nativity play right in front of the cathedral would be epic. However, this is artistic licence, as the school's primary section lies elsewhere. This area is now the red brick courtyard; Noh actually mentions in the novel that the school was undergoing a lot of landscaping projects. (Sahamongkolfilm International)

The Love of Siam may have been one of the first few instances where the wider public got to actually see what things looked like inside the school. Although it was only standing in as a location for the fictional St. Nicholas School, there was something about seeing students in their sea of blue uniform shorts that tickled the imagination. Such was the effect that when Love Sick began serializing as a web novel on Dek-D.com a year later, the Thai subtitle, usually translated as The Chaotic Lives of Blue Shorts Guys, undoubtedly helped fuel its popularity.

But what's so special about these blue shorts anyway?

This might come as a surprise to international viewers who've only primarily seen Thailand through its TV series, where they tend to be over-represented, but school uniforms with blue shorts are actually rather uncommon in real life. Let's look back again to Brother Hilaire's time, to find out more about their origins.

A history of the blue shorts

In the early days of formal education, most schools did not have defined uniforms, and AC students wore a varied assortment of costumes according to their ethnic background. The school first introduced a uniform in 1933, consisting of a white standing-collar jacket with metal buttons bearing the school insignia, blue shorts, a white pith helmet, white socks, and black leather shoes (though the helmet, socks and shoes remained optional). This was similar to a form already used by some royally affiliated schools since the 1910s,* though their shorts were navy or black. The reason AC opted for blue shorts is not recorded, though some writers have postulated that it may have been to reflect the common colour of the raj pattern costume, the formal dress of the time.

A class of AC students, with their teachers, in the 1940s. It's unclear whether the shorts were the school's original blue, or khaki green in accordance with the 1939 law. (Assumption Association, via The Cloud)

The first piece of legislation governing school uniforms came out in 1939 under the Fascist-leaning regime of Prime Minister Plaek Pibulsonggram. Male students in government schools were assigned a khaki green military-style uniform to match that of the government's Yuwachon Thahan military youth movement. Some AC students also joined the movement, though those who didn't continued to wear the white uniform, creating an interesting contrast which we'll come back to later. In 1943, at the height of World War II in Southeast Asia, a new law extended the khaki green uniform to all schools, but it's unclear whether it ever took effect as Pibulsonggram was ousted the following year and the Yuwachon movement was dissolved after the war's end.

In 1949, the old regulation was scrapped and replaced with a new one, which codified school uniforms to the almost exact same appearance we see today: for boys, a white shirt, shorts, a belt, socks, and shoes. But the shorts were to be khaki for all schools, except those who requested otherwise to the Ministry of Education. Assumption, together with its sister Gabrielite schools, were among the first to register exemptions and became the only schools with blue shorts for their uniforms for several years.

In 1961, the national regulation was changed again to allow schools to choose between khaki, blue, navy, or black shorts. As time passed, boys' uniforms developed into the convention we see today: black or khaki shorts for government schools, blue or black for private schools. But given their prominence, the image of the all-boys Catholic school has remained one of the strongest associated with the blue shorts uniform.

Not that it mattered much back then, though. In the pre-digital era, people's exposure to different schools was mostly limited to their immediate locality and depictions in the media. While blue-shorts uniforms did feature in some teen movies and sitcoms in the 1990s,† those works didn't really play into the stereotype, and the 1997 financial crisis soon disrupted most media production anyway.

Attracting attention

Then several things happened. The BTS Skytrain opened in 1999, and Bangkok became much smaller overnight - at least for the middle class. Cram schools moved into building spaces in Siam Square left vacant from the recession, and saw an explosion in popularity. School students from all over now flocked to Siam Square in the evenings, and the video classrooms became something of an inter-school melting pot where one could catch sight of all sorts of uniform styles and colours.

And the AC boys, they very much stood out.

It's unclear exactly when things began, but throughout the years, Assumption students had developed a fashion culture of their own. The school is one of a handful that require leather shoes (as opposed to canvas),‡ and its upper-secondary students usually opted for a certain pointy style produced by a couple of old shops on Charoen Krung Road. They would also have their shorts tailor-modified to be very short - typically 15 inches or less, while uniforms coming out of the factory are usually 18 inches at the shortest for high-schooler sizes - and wear them with waists pulled very low. This was despite the rule book stating, like any other school's, that shorts should reach no more than 5 centimetres above the knee. It's actually a common refrain of experiences retold by AC students and alumni that they'd get into trouble for their shorts and shoes whenever the disciplinarian teacher would inspect their uniforms. But it was also part of the challenge, to stay on top of the fashion of their peers and at the same time get away with it.

This fashion only added to the fact that those vivid blue shorts are very visible, like, even from 100 metres away. So, coupled with the stereotype of them being rich kids with likely above-average attractiveness, these AC boys' uniforms easily caught attention, whether they were entering late into a cram school classroom or queuing for the train at the BTS's central interchange at Siam Station during rush hour.

This group strolling down the streets of Siam Square would surely draw plenty of eyes in real life. (Sahamongkolfilm International)

The turn of the 21st century also saw the spread of internet access, and with the early web came the proliferation of online discussion forums, both smaller ones serving specific groups like schools and larger public communities like the youth-oriented Dek-D. Suddenly, it became possible to peak into some of the conversations kids elsewhere were having and share in the knowledge of their hijinks at school. This, in some ways, helped fuel the fantasy of this exclusive boys' world, filled with good-looking guys in revealing shorts who weren't averse to having physical contact with each other.

The online forums also gave birth to web fiction, which soon expanded to include the emerging Y (BL) genre. Naturally, these trends eventually converged to give us plenty of Y fiction set in all-boys schools. But the epitome of these wouldn't arrive until after The Love of Siam hit screens in 2007.

The Love of Siam was probably the first major work in a decade to prominently feature the blue shorts uniform,§ and this time it was actually used to highlight the Catholic boys' school setting, employing AC itself as the location. Though it appeared only in a few short glimpses, they were powerful images that further inspired fascination with the real-life school.

It might be because it's accurate, or because the film has completely coloured viewer's perceptions, but this scene is exactly how one would imagine things to be like in those Catholic boys' schools. (Sahamongkolfilm International)

Then in 2008, Love Sick quietly began serializing on Dek-D's writers' section. The story's premise was simple, but it so effectively tapped into this collective fascination and quickly rose up the site's readership charts. Its popularity came no doubt thanks to author Indrytime's extremely lively and enjoyable writing of Noh, who narrates the story throughout. But a large part of the appeal is also attributable to the lifelike portrayal of his school life, with plenty of references to actual locations both within the school and outside - including the convent school next door and the numerous shops of Siam Square. The novel also name-dropped some of the school's actual teachers who, in Catholic school fashion, are addressed as Miss and Master, and Noh even mentions specific happenings at AC, like the new belt buckles that had been added to the school uniform for younger students that year. The only thing not mentioned was the name of the school, which was intentionally left blank. So close did the story feel to real life that the author had to emphasize its fictional nature when people started speculating about the real identities of Punn‖ and Noh and tried to identify them with actual AC students.

But the most significant reference to real life in Love Sick by far must be its descriptions of what is clearly meant to be the Jaturamitr football competition - a biennial event between Thailand's four oldest boys' schools: Assumption College, its Protestant counterpart Bangkok Christian College (BCC), and the royally founded government schools Suankularb Wittayalai (SK) and Debsirin (DS). The tradition is a HUGE part of school life at these four schools, which pretty much share this culture of intense collective institutional pride.

These boys and their ball game

It's kind of hard to explain all that the competition entails, but the football is just a small part of it. This YouTube video looking at the BCC side makes for a nice intro.¶ There are parades, mascots, Thai-style cheerleading (featuring not acrobatics, but synchronized arm movements), and most notably, the spectacular card stunt displays, which involve the entire student body from the lower-secondary years. The students will spend months practising to perfect their card flips, under the direction of the cheering president. Sounds familiar? That's Earn's position in Love Sick.

Fourwheels (Oxygen, Nitiman, La Pluie), wearing the cheering crew overalls that Noh dreams of, addressing the AC crowd in 2017 (AC Ed Tech)

Beam Boonyakorn (Make It Right) as AC's eagle mascot, though it's often teased for looking more like a chicken, also in 2017 (TTaewTaew Twitter)

The card stunt tradition actually originated at AC in 1942, from the aforementioned contrast between the military youth and regular uniforms. A teacher came up with the idea of having the differently dressed students arrange to form the school initials on the stands. This eventually developed into the elaborate displays done today, which use coloured card booklets to create pixels that together form a detailed aggregate image. Crowds of 1,250 from each school, seated opposite the paying audience, are needed to perform these.

Oat Tharathorn (Fourever You) in the card-stunt-performing audience in 2014; note the plates of colour card booklets set on the racks in front of them. (oattrt Instagram)

Such plates appeared in Love Sick 2024's episode 4 behind-the-scenes clip, but didn't show up in the actual episode. They later appeared in episode 5. (Tia51)

Regular fixtures among these displays include school logos, the royal family, and sponsors. There are also have these coordinated sequences with portraits of students and alumni greeting the crowd, which may feature some familiar faces.

A sponsor ad for Est gives way to AC student Chimon greeting the audience in 2017. (AC Ed Tech)

Alumni PP Krit (AC), Ice Natara (DS), Nonkul (BCC), and Sky Wongravee (SK) welcoming the audience, 2019 (AC Ed Tech)

GMMTV's Marc (AC) and Ford (SK) from the same sequence in 2019; Inn (BCC) from before 2014; AC alum Net Siraphop in 2023 (AC Ed Tech; Suankularb Photo Club; inpitar Instagram)

This attention to popular students didn't exist during novel Noh's time, though. Back then, few people followed the event apart from the schools' students and alumni, and football people scouting for young talent. But the 2010s' "cute boy" craze brought a sharp rise in attention from the sao-Y and cute-boy-following crowds, who flocked to the matches, some equipped with huge telephoto lenses to capture not the football action but cute guys in the audience.

BCC alumnus Inn Sarin photographed in the audience in 2014. Photos of him from the event were virally shared and boosted his following and "cute boy" stature. (inpitar Instagram)

BCC cheerleaders Winny Thanawin (2017) and Ping Krittanun (2019) (BCC Jaturamitr)

The origination of Thai BL

In some ways, the Love Sick novel helped lay the foundations for the phenomenon. It gave readers this imaginary connection to the school, which drove interest in seeing what its real-life students shared on social media, especially as Instagram exploded in popularity around 2012. And of course, attractive boys in revealing uniform shorts was already a winning combination in itself (and the fashion soon spread to other schools).

So it's appropriately fitting that things would come full circle with the 2013 announcement of Love Sick The Series, which generated huge amounts of engagement as fans recalled their impressions of the characters and shared pictures of real-life AC students whom they saw as the perfect Punn and Noh.

As it turned out, recent AC graduate White was cast as Punn, and several other AC boys were also chosen for the many supporting characters. Fans readily took to following these budding actors from the moment they were announced, gathering to meet them after acting classes and supporting them through to the last post-series events. It was a revelation in how dedicated such a fandom could be, without seeing even a second of these actors' work.

For the production, though, it could hardly be expected that explicit reference to the real-life school would be allowed, so they named the school Friday College in the series. (Which kind of bugs me. Couldn't they have at least come up with a vaguely Catholic-sounding name? Anyway, they developed it into a brand and it's stuck now.) They did model the school emblem and uniform exactly after AC's (in its 2008 form, before the new belt buckle), and the same uniform was featured in Thank God It's Friday, a 2019 spin-off set in the same universe. However, the school emblem was redesigned for the 2024 Love Sick remake, maybe because the resemblance now felt too close for comfort. (Another detail that bugs me is how the 2014 series had four-digit student IDs, while the 2024 has six. Most real-life schools have five digits!)

While it would have been a dream come true to see the actual original locations in the series adaptation (even if unnamed), this was not to happen. In fact, unlike its sister school Assumption College Thonburi, which served as the location for Hormones and numerous other works, AC seems to no longer be keen on allowing access as a filming location, and hasn't been spotted in anything since The Love of Siam.

Anyway, Love Sick's broadcast was a turning point in several ways. Of course, it most importantly kickstarted the Thai BL industry,** but this also led to a shift in Y culture where shippers turned their focus from real people to actor pairs from series. "Cute boys" from social media were now regularly tapped to join the many budding modelling agencies, who would try to push them as actors and influencers, and AC students attracted particular attention. Make It Right (2016)'s Peak, Ohm and Beam, for example, were all scouted from the school.

AC students Peak, Ohm and Beam, taken by a fan account in 2016. (allaboutpeak Twitter)

The boys made use of their newfound cult. Popular AC students were tapped to promote the school's annual Christmas Fair, which drew an influx of visitors from their followers, who happily contributed to their fundraising efforts. This was much changed from Noh's time in the novel, when the fair was still pretty much an internal event for students and their immediate friends and family.

Turbo (Love Stage!!) promoting merch for AC's 2015 Christmas Fair (turbotb Instagram)

However, this trend, as with the cute boy craze itself, seems to have largely petered out, especially as life was disrupted by the COVID pandemic and the 2020 protests brought about sharp changes in ideology among young people. Another victim of this has been the Jaturamitr competition, which was postponed for two years before taking place again in 2023.†† But it then became the topic of a huge online drama over the compulsory nature of attendance for the card stunt performances (which not everyone willingly enjoyed), and the negative public attention soured the experience for a lot of the students.

These new concerns seem to have influenced Love Sick's 2024 remake. In the novel, during preparation for the football competition, Noh talks about how hard the marching band was practising, and how he and the band leaders felt the need to push them to perfection, in order to uphold the school's reputation. There's a clear institutional pride in the way he says, "I'm sure the young ones understand. (Or if they don't now, they will in a few years.)"

This stands in sharp contrast to Earn's stance in Love Sick 2024, where he says in episode 4, "If the formation fails, the school’s reputation will just take a hit. But the school doesn’t have feelings, does it? It is they (the young ones) who have feelings."

We'll find out in a couple of hours how else they're updating the depiction of the competition, which was one of the highlight scenes in the novel thanks to how detailed it was with insider info of the behind-the-scenes workings at the Suphachalasai National Stadium in real life. It's an unfortunate fact, though, that it's near impossible that any TV production with a normal budget would even come close to the spectacle of the actual event, with its crowds in the tens of thousands. But let's see how creative the production crew can be.

After all, it's the emotional threads that make the real highlight of the story, isn't it?

Footnotes

* These schools had been set up after the English public school model by King Vajiravudh, who himself was educated in England. Vajiravudh College still uses it as its ceremonial uniform.

† One of these was I Miss You 2 (1996), which was filmed at Montfort College in Chiang Mai, another Gabrielite school. Incidentally, The Love of Siam director Madeaw Chookiat was a student there and became an extra in the film, an experience which inspired him to go into filmmaking. He would later base the Nay-Beam segment of Home (2012, one of the most significant mainstream proto-BL works) at the school.

‡ Most other schools allow both, and their students usually prefer canvas shoes. Nanyang, with its iconic green soles, has long been the most popular brand.

§ Actually there's at least Yong Songyos's Dorm (2006), set at his alma mater Assumption College Sriracha, but it's a horror focusing more on the boarding-school aspect. Yong also created a short film dedicated to the school in 2015, starring four Hormones Next Gen actors (no English subs, but there are hardcoded Thai captions that maybe a tool can translate).

‖ Sorry, but I just can't accept the spelling Phun, as it's plain incorrect. The /p/ and /ph/ are supposed to represent different sounds in Thai, but most Thai people don't understand the system as it's not taught in schools.

¶ As an expat, the video creator misses the meanings of some of the things that happen in the video. The yellow chicken is a reference to a Facebook satirist who's said to bring bad luck to sports teams, while the no-banana sign is a response to the angry chant the BCC side was yelling. It's an expletive that rhymes with the word for banana in Thai.

** Isn't it ironic that a genre revolving around a topic so controversial with the Church should be inspired by a Catholic school? But then, as director Madeaw demonstrated in The Love of Siam, religious conflict has always played an important role in driving social issues, while in the case of Love Sick, it's not actually relevant at all.

†† Yet another victim is the Chula-Thammasat Traditional Football Match, a competition between Thailand's two oldest universities which features similar elements of parades, cheerleading and card stunts. It hasn't been properly held since 2020, and when a substitute event was held in 2024, a huge online drama erupted over the student body's decision to alter certain elements.

#thai bl #love sick the series #love sick 2024 #bl meta #bl history

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writingquestionsanswered · 1 year ago

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Stuck in Planning Stage of Writing

Anonymous asked: Do you have any advice on how to get out of the planning stage and more into the doing stage of writing? I’m up to my ears in notes for scenes and fragments of dialogue between characters. I know where I want to go with the story, I’ve even written a handful of scenes when the ideas come to me, but now that I have this lump of thoughts I need to start organizing and placing them all in their rightful spaces. The one thing I truly know is how much I’d love to see this through. Do you have any advice for a girl who’s unwittingly made herself stuck with a puzzle?

[Ask edited for length]

Planning a novel can sometimes be like digging a really deep hole for a specific purpose, then suddenly realizing you've stranded yourself at the bottom of the hole without a ladder. You've spent so much time digging the hole, you'd like nothing more than to get out of the hole and move forward with whatever project required you to dig the hole in the first place. There's just one problem: you can't teleport yourself out of the hole. You have to climb... or, ideally, build yourself a ladder to climb out with whatever materials are available to you.

That's probably where you are right now with your story. The hole you've dug was necessary, and it's good that you dug it, but as much as you'd like to just magically leap out and write your story, you can't do that. You have to build yourself a ladder to climb out of the hole first. So...

My go-to emergency "get out of the planning hole I've dug myself into" ladders are timelines, scene lists, and outlines.

Timelines: Your story may take place over a single day or several centuries, but either way, time flows in your story. All of those notes and fragments of dialogue and partial scenes are moments or events that happen within the time frame of your story. So, plotting those moments and scenes out on a timeline--according to when they need to happen--is about the easiest way to break your story down into its existing pieces and to see what's missing/where.

There are lots of ways you can format a timeline, such as a table, a list, a horizontal timeline, calendar, or a roadmap timeline. My go-to is a basic two-column document where the left column is date/time and the right column is the moment/event. There are also apps and online tools that will help you build a timeline in various formats.

Horizontal Timeline:

Calendar Timeline:

Table Timeline:

More info: Making a Timeline for Your Story Scene Lists: Stories are made up of scenes, so a list of those scenes is another great way to organize the events of your story. You may even find that creating a scene list is easier after making a timeline, because a timeline may help you see where certain moments or events need to be their own scenes and which can be combined together into a single scene. Just like timelines, scene lists can be as simple or complex as you want to make them. Once again, my go-to is a simple two-column document with the left column for the scene number and the right column for the scene summary, preferably just a sentence or two. Ultimately, once I have my rough timeline and scene list done, I usually combine them into one multi-column document along with my story structure beats.

Table Scene List with Beats:

Complex Scene List/Timeline/Beat Sheet:

More info: Scene Lists

Outlines: Outlines can be really any format you want them to be, and some people count timelines and scene lists as their outlines. My go-to outline is just an exhaustive beginning to end summary of everything that needs to happen. Sometimes, just working through your story from beginning to end can be the best way to make sense of all those disparate pieces you've been piling up.

More info: Guide: How to Outline a Plot Story Structure: Finally, I want to talk a bit about story structure templates like Save the Cat Writes a Novel!, Larry Brooks story structure, seven point story structure, etc. Story structure templates can be a really great way to make sure you're hitting all the right story beats--almost like a road map through your story. It's just important to know you do not by any means have to stick to any particular story structure exactly. Use it as a guide, take what works, leave what doesn't, and don't panic if your beats don't fall exactly where it says they should. As long as your story is working, that's what matters. Some writers even like to frankenplan their stories using a variety of different structure templates.

More info: Creating a Detailed Story Outline (story structure)

Once you finally have a roadmap for moving forward, whether that's a timeline, scene list, outline, or all of the above, you know you're ready to start writing!

Final note: I just want to add that planning isn't for everyone. Some people are discovery writers who let their stories work themselves out as they go. The above is just meant for people who are planners, who have done a lot of planning, but need to pull that planning together into a cohesive, organized document. And... if you have all of the above and still find yourself unable to start, you might find help in the links below. Happy writing! More help:

Beginning a New Story Figuring Out Where to Start a Story Deciding How to Open Your Book How to Move a Story Forward Trouble Getting Started Have Plot, Can’t Write

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

LEARN MORE about WQA

SEE MY ask policies

VISIT MY Master List of Top Posts

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#writing tips #writing help #wqaadvice

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magentaavocado · 2 months ago

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"I see through the bricks to the sea, Crumbling Castle"

This is my Crumbling Castle, a part of my multi-year project creating an immersive walk-through experience set to King Gizzard's Polygondwanaland album in survival Minecraft. This build sets the stage and acts as a sort of prologue for the rest of the album. I've worked on this project for over a year thus far and have several other builds I have not gotten around to posting yet, so stay tuned!

Castle in The Air A New World Deserted Dunes

#kglw #minecraft #minecraft build #my art #the polygondwanaland project #shown here with shaders #built in survival #king gizzard and the lizard wizard #polygondwanaland

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mcytblrholidayexchange · 9 months ago

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Holiday Exchange 2024: General Rules and FAQ

WHAT IS THIS?

MCYTBLR Holiday Exchange is a multi-mcyt gift exchange now in its third year! Because of the size of the exchange, we are going to be matching through Ao3 this year, including tag nominations. The discord will be open with more information in late October.

TIMELINE:

Tag Nominations Open, Discord Opens: Monday 28 October (0:01 EDT)

Sign Ups Open Monday 4 November (0:01 EST)

Sign Ups Close: Sunday 17 November (23:59 EST) Monday 18 November, (11:59 EST)

Assignments out by: Friday 22 November (23:59 EST)

Check-in: Saturday 7 December (0:01 EST) through Sunday 8 December (23:59 EST)

Posting Week: Monday 23rd December (0:01) through Sunday 29 December (23:59 EST).

Final Pinch Hit Deadline: Sunday 5 January (23:59 EST)

LINKS

Discord: [here]

Ao3 tagset [here]

All Ages Collection [here]

18+ Collection [here]

RESOURCES:

How to nominate tags to a tag set. [link]

How to sign up for an Ao3 gift exchange. [link]

A guide to your Sign-up, stage by stage. [link]

Apply for an Ao3 account (currently a 10-day waiting list): [here]

How to add a treat to an Ao3 Collection. [here]

How to image-describe your art. [link1] [link2]

MINIMUM REQUIREMENTS FOR GIFTS:

Art (1 drawing, created to a standard you would normally post as “finished”)

Writing (1k+ words, a complete work that stands alone)

Playlist (2 hour-long playlists, accessible without an account)

Moodboard (2 boards, at least 9 elements each, for a total of at minimum 18 elements between both boards. Speak to mods if that really doesn't work for your designs)

Web Weaving (1 board of at least 10 elements, credited)

Podfic (1 podfic of at least 1k words, edited to your normal level of editing)

Rules and Guidelines and FAQ under the cut.

Rules and Guidelines

RULES AND GUIDELINES FOR NOMINATING TAGS:

Instructions for how to nominate tags [here]

For a tag to be used in signup, it must be part of the tag set, and thus, must be nominated and approved before it can be used.

Tag nomination is done through Ao3’s tag set nomination process. You can nominate up to 20 tags per fandom, and up to 10 fandoms. Fandoms do not need to have a canon tag to be nominated, but please use the canon tag if possible.

Please only nominate tags you intend to either offer or request, to help with matching.

Please nominate tags without using the creator’s tags names, just gamer tags. Do not use the canon tag, as that will be sorted into Video Blogging RPF automatically, (unless you are nominating RPF). Alphabetize the characters by gamer tag within the tags, i.e. GoodTimesWithScar & Grian (3rd Life)

& denotes a platonic relationship, / denotes a romantic and/or sexual relationship. Tommyinnit & Tubbo (DSMP) would be platonic, and Ranboo/Tubbo (DSMP) would be romantic.

You can nominate up to 6 characters within a tag, as long as it fits within Ao3’s character limit (100 characters).

Please disambiguate (include the server name in parentheses after the characters), as that helps us distinguish between creators who’ve been on multiple servers, i.e. Grian could be in YHS, EVO, Hermitcraft, 3rd Life, 100 Hours Hardcore, or Guess the Build, and we need to know which one.

Please distinguish between Empires S1 and Empires S2 if you are nominating Empires.

If you want a work that focuses on one character instead of a relationship, whether or not other characters are present, you can nominate a solo character as Solo: [Character Name], i.e. Solo: TommyInnit (SMPEarth).

Video Blogging RPF is allowed as a nominated fandom, as long as the creators are all over 18 and famous in their own right. Mods reserve the right to reject tags they feel to be in bad taste, such as a person accused of misconduct and the person who accused them.

Crossovers are allowed. Please nominate them in the format Grian (Hermitcraft) & Tommyinnit (Dream SMP) (Crossover Fandom), or if you wish a character to be moved to a different canon, please nominate them in the format Technoblade (Origins SMP) in QSMP (Crossover Fandom). Crossover tags do not need to be entirely MCYT, non-MCYT franchises are allowed. All crossovers go under the fandom Crossover Fandom.

This event does not allow Adult/Minor romantic relationships. A list of characters considered to be minors in canon will be available in the discord– we will be going with age during the bulk of content for past servers, or present age for currently-running servers. Minor/Minor romantic shipping is allowed as long as the character is not extremely underage (15 or younger). Because of the difficulty of moderating content on a tight schedule, this event will not allow aged up characters for the purposes of relationships not being adult/minor.

RULES AND GUIDELINES FOR SIGNING UP:

Instructions for signing up [here]

Must join our Discord for communication. If we cannot find you in the discord at the end of sign-ups, your signup will be deleted.

Must have an Ao3 account for sign-ups, as they happen on Ao3. If you do not have a Ao3 account and need help getting on, please contact the mods as soon as possible.

Because of Tumblr, Ao3 and Discord TOS, you must be 13 to participate.

Signups are divided into Requests (what you want to get as a gift) and Offers (what you’re offering to make). You must request and offer a minimum of three different relationships or solo character tags. They can be from any number of servers and your requests do not need to be the same as your offers. You can offer or request a maximum of 10 servers with 20 tags each.

There are two collections, all-ages and 18+. Signing up in the 18+ collection is opting into NSFW as a possibility. You must be 18 or older to sign up in the 18+ collection, and any under-18 persons found signing up for the 18+ side of the exchange will be banned from this and all future iterations of the exchange.

If you do not want shipping, simply only request & tags. If you do want shipping, request / tags. If you are open to either, request both tags.

Must mention your tumblr blog username in your signup, so your recipient knows how to give you your gift.

You must either write down a DNW (things you Do Not Want) in your gift, or put down DNW: No Restrictions, for each fandom you sign up to.

You must write down at least one like, prompt, or have a letter with more information linked, to give your creator something to work with.

if you are requesting a Solo character tag, you must indicate if you are okay with shipping or not, and any romantic or platonic relationships you don’t want to see in the work, because your creator will be picking from all canon characters as the supporting cast.

Signing up gives mods access to your Ao3 email (it's how we send you your assignment), so make sure the email attached to your AO3 account is one that a) you check regularly, and b) are comfortable with exchange mods seeing. You can verify your email here: archiveofourown.org/users/[your ao3 name here]/change_email

This event does not allow Underage or Adult/Minor relationships. A list of characters considered to be minors in canon will be available in the discord– we will be going with age during the bulk of content for past servers, or present age for currently-running servers. Minor/Minor shipping is allowed as long as the character is not extremely underage (15 or younger), but no NSFW, even if signing up to the 18+ collection. Because of the difficulty of moderating content on a tight schedule, this event will not allow aged up characters for the purposes of content not being underage or relationships not being adult/minor.

RULES AND GUIDELINES FOR CREATING:

Your gift doesn’t have to contain only requested relationships, but it does have to center on at least one requested relationship or character.

Respect your recipient’s use of / or & in their requested relationship. Ship work must be delivered for a / relationship, and platonic work must be delivered for a & relationship.

If you are a participant in the 18+ collection, you do not have to deliver NSFW, but you can if you want.

If you are a participant in the All-ages collection, you may not deliver an NSFW gift, or a non-NSFW gift that is E-rated. The maximum rating of a gift in the all-ages collection is M-rated.

Respect your giftee's DNW. Any gift found to be in violation of a reasonable DNW is grounds for a ban from future iterations of the exchange.

Must check in at the half-way mark of creation to make sure everything is on-track.

Contact a mod ASAP if you don’t think you’ll get your gift out on time or at all, or you want to withdraw

No AI-created content.

RULES AND GUIDELINES FOR GIFTING

You do not need to post on Ao3. You can if you want, and clicking your assignment button will automatically gift it to your recipient, but this is optional.

You must make a tumblr post and tag your recipient to give them the gift.

Must tag this blog in your gift post so we can keep track of gifts

If you are posting from a blog other than the one you signed up with (an art blog, or a 18+ blog for example), you must inform the mods so we can keep track of gifts.

Dark or Violent themes must be tagged appropriately

MISC:

Your requests will be publicly available, to conform with normal exchange standards, and because of the mechanics of pinch hits and treating. If you have something you do not want to be public, do not request it. Your offers will remain private, and mods will work with you to give a gift on anon if necessary.

You will not necessarily be matched with someone who matches your “offer to create” exactly. If the algorithm can make a better match it will do that, but in cases where there are more obscure requests, you might be matched with someone who only has one ship in common between your Offer and their Request. In that case at least you know what to make pretty quickly!

You do not have to make a gift for every ship or character your recipient requested, even if you offered multiple ships they requested. You only have to pick one and make one gift.

Please ask in the discord if you need information. You could also send an ask here, or if it is something you do not feel comfortable sending in an ask, you can message the head mod at @antimony-medusa

Mods reserve the right to ban people for being assholes.

FAQ:

-I changed my mind about my sign-up, I want to add something, what do I do? You can edit your sign-up right until the sign-ups close! As soon as the sign-ups close, everything locks and you’ll be unable to edit it any more.

-I added my fic to the Ao3 collection, but I can’t see it? The collection is currently set to ‘unrevealed’, so works can be added but won’t be visible before reveal day, so it’s all a surprise.

- I don’t have an Ao3 account, what do I do? Speak to the mods— we can help you sign up (there is a waiting list), or we might be able to give you an instant sign-up link (we have a limited number of these).

-I need to contact my recipient, but they have anon off! What do I do? Talk to us, we’ll contact them for you.

-I can’t finish my gift by the deadline, what do I do? You have two options. Option one is to consider if you can still finish it within a couple days, and ask the mods if you can get an extension (you can get an extension of up to two days if necessary). Option two is to drop entirely, in which case you tell a mod, and we will assign your gift to a pinch-hitter so your recipient still gets something. In both cases, the important thing is that you get in contact with a mod as soon as possible— discord is best, but @antimony-medusa can be contacted here if discord is not an option— to figure out a plan.

- My recipient requested 10 different fandoms, do I have to make a gift for each of them? You only have to make one gift! Just pick one fandom and one ship that you like and focus on that one.

-If I want to make more than one gift, can I? You can make as many gifts as you'd like! If you really enjoy making gifts, we suggest signing up as a Pinch Hitter in the discord, and there is also Treating, if you want to look for signups that really catch your eye!

-I don't celebrate Christmas, can I sign up? This exchange welcomes all holidays (even a complete lack of holidays), and people will have an opportunity to opt in to what events they want represented in their gift, whether that's real-world holidays, imaginary minecraft events, or no holidays at all.

-I'm only a fan of a small server, can I sign up? You are very welcome to sign up even if your fandom doesn't have the most active tag, this is a broad MCYT exchange. We will do our best to match you with someone else who also likes your block people, pinch hitting it if possible. If your fandom has less than a thousand fics on the archive, we recommend that you try and recruit friends into the exchange too, so you know that there are people who like the same characters as you in the matching pool. We can't absolutely promise to match on smaller characters, but we have run this exchange twice and we haven't had anyone be entirely unmatchable yet, so fingers crossed that continues.

-Is RPF allowed? While this is intended as a character-focused exchange, we know the lines for that are fuzzy when it comes to off-server events the creators have also done, such as the GIGS Phasmaphobia streams, and it becomes difficult to moderate this line. As we are now able to distinguish between RPF and the server creators using Ao3’s tag sets, so matching is no longer a difficulty, you will be able to request or offer direct RPF from this exchange.

-Is shipping allowed? Yes. Because there is no broad fandom-wide consensus about the appropriateness of that in specific cases (whether it's okay to write beeduo as /r or /p is an obvious case) or between specific fandoms (Lifesteal approach to shipping is different from Empires is different from DSMP), and because of the impossibility of being aware of everyone’s boundaries across the entire internet, the mods will not be policing any specific understanding of boundaries across the event. The event will operate on Don't Like Don't Read, in that everyone will have the chance to opt in for themselves as to if they are comfortable with shipping or NSFW for each specific character relationship they want to work with, and they will be matched based on that.

-Is NSFW allowed? Yes, NSFW is permitted as long as both characters are 18+ and both the giver and the recipient are participating in the 18+ collection. You will only match to people who want NSFW if you have signed up to the 18+ collection. To comply with Tumblr’s TOS and for the comfort of the greatest number of people in the exchange, nothing that would warrant the tags Underage or Adult/Minor Relationship is permitted.

- Are major archive warnings (noncon/graphic depictions of violence/MCD) allowed? Aside from the content rules governing NSFW (no Underage, for the comfort of the greatest number of participants), major archive warnings are allowed. Depictions of real life horrors such as genocide and slavery are not-uncommon motifs in MCYT fics, along with torture, executions, and abuse in the source material, and the mod team is not interested in legislating which types of horrors, griefs or abuses are inherently worse than others and are therefore off-limits. Because holding writing to a quality standard or saying only survivors can write atrocities is unworkable from a moderation standpoint, the three mentioned major archive warnings (MCD, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Noncon), are permitted to be included in the 18+ collection. The all-ages collection permits MCD and Graphic Depictions of Violence as possible warnings, though gifts cannot go over an M rating if delivered in the all-ages collection, even if your recipient has opted into Graphic Depictions of Violence.

Major Archive Warnings must be explicitly opted into by your recipient in their signup, and gifters are free to not include major archive warnings that their recipient has permitted. Delivering un-asked for major archive warnings is grounds for a ban from this event. The mod team reserves the right to warn other mod teams on both the MCYT and Multi-fandom side about your bad behavior.

-Do you allow dark or violent content? Yes. The lore of many mcyt servers includes death games, abuse, cannibalism, murder-for-hire, and other dark or violent themes. However, all potentially triggering content must be tagged for so viewers and giftees can make an informed choice to get involved or not. We would recommend that you not include particularly dark topics unless requested to by your giftee.

-If I want to opt into e-rated gore, but I don’t want to opt into sexual NSFW, can I do that? To opt into e-rated gore or violence you must be part of the 18+ collection, but you can do so and then say you Do Not Want smut. Note that you cannot demand e-rated gore, in the same way that you cannot demand e-rated smut (or fluff, or anything else for that matter), it is simply an option you are offering your gifter.

-My person requested characters I don't want to write, and one of them is a ship I don't like. What do I do? You are only expected to create a gift for the characters you matched on. If you offered to create for GoodTimesWithScar & Grian (Hermitcraft), Docm77/Rendog (Hermitcraft), and Grian & PearlescentMoon (Hermitcraft), and you matched to someone requesting GoodTimesWithScar/Grian (Hermitcraft), Docm77/Rendog (Hermitcraft), and PearlescentMoon/ZombieCleo (Hermitcraft), you are only expected to make a gift with the characters and relationships you matched on, in this case, RenDoc. If you are entirely uncomfortable with your match, you can tell a mod, and we can take it off your hands and get it pinch-hit. You will still receive a gift.

-What is a Pinch Hitter? A pinch hitter is a person who saves the day and steps in when the original creator is unable to deliver their work for whatever reason, making a new work on an accelerated timeline. You can sign up to be a Pinch Hitter in the discord.

-What is a DNW? All participants will have the opportunity to fill out a DNW, which stands for Do Not Want. This is anything that has the potential to ruin a gift for you. DNWs must be phrased politely, (so no "No foster aus because they suck and you suck if you like them"), and they must be reasonable, (so no attempting to box someone into a specific gift, i.e. "DNW anything that isn't a space au where Tommy is a dinosaur-hybrid and Tubbo is a ghost bee and they rampage through the living ship named Las Nevadas"), and they must be clear and defined (so no “no dark kinks”— that is too subjective for someone to try and interpret), but they can be as petty (disliking specific art styles) or as broad-reaching (no modern aus, no specific ships, no crossovers with specific servers) as you like. Deliberately breaking someone's DNW is grounds for a ban from the exchange.

-When do I have to join the discord? You have the option to join the discord and hang out as soon as tag nominations starts on October 28, and you must join the discord so we can communicate with you by November 17. Anyone not in the discord once we start matching will have their sign-ups deleted.

-Is the discord a social server? Can I expect game nights? The discord is primarily an event server, we are not going to be hosting events.

-What are Treats? Treats are optional bonus gifts that people give once they are done with their original gift! All of the sign-ups are available for people to browse through, and they can find prompts they like and make an extra gift for that person! They are completely optional for someone to make and you cannot ask for treats.

-What's a check-in and how do they work? Check-ins are there to make sure everyone is on track to finish their piece in time, and to communicate any issues with the mods! They take place through a google form and will require a short list of information— your name and if you think you will make the deadline, mostly. If you know that you won’t be able to check in on a specific date (lack of internet, etc), please contact the mods in advance.

-What if I need to drop out? It is your responsibility to communicate with us if you need to drop out of the event for any reason, and we do need that communication. We know that life is no respecter of fic and art deadlines, so no hard feelings if something happens. However, we would hate for anyone to end up having no gift, so please think about this if you are thinking of dropping out close to reveals. Please inform us in advance if you must drop out or think you will not be able to complete your gift on time. Dropping out after the last check-in without informing the mods will result in not being permitted to take part in further events run by this mod team.

I have a question not answered here? Ask us in the discord, send us an ask on tumblr, or contact @antimony-medusa on tumblr or discord!

#mcyt #mcytblr #dsmp #dsmpblr #dream smp #hermitcraft #hermitblr #empires smp #empiresblr #trafficblr #lifesteal smp #lifestealblr #qsmp #qsmpblr #faq #fandom exchange #mcytblrsource

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wauzmons · 6 months ago

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My Plans for Elysian Eclipse 0.5.0

As most of you already know, the next release will be a major update, introducing the foundation of tribal stage. Here's a quick overview of what I want to achieve during the next 2 months.

Building System: Since the hut editor is functional now, the logical next step is allowing you to place those huts in the world. For this the construction menu, used to place nests in aquatic stage, will be further expanded in various ways.

Day / Night Cycle: We already tested a small scale version of the day night cycle in the Blorb Zone. Now it will be fully integrated into creature and tribal stage, including a time and weather display, aswell as cheats to change the current time.

Unit Selection: Instead of being a top-down view like in Spore, you'll still play from the perspective of a creature. You'll be able to freely swap between a few different tribe members. Not only will you be able to control multiple creatures, but also ...other things.

Interaction Menu: The interaction menu will be a multi-purpose system to interact with other creatures or objects. Only the base of this system will be implemented for now, but in the future it will be used for stuff like trading or crafting.

#elysian eclipse

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katethetank · 6 months ago

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The Dungeon - Chapter 1

Welcome to my first multi-chapter Steddie fic! Please go easy on me, I'm new to this and still trying to figure out formatting and stuff. I'm also on ao3 as SteveLovesEddie so check me out there too I guess??

Rating: 18+ minors gtfo Plot: Eddie Munson has been living the rock star life for years. Constantly moving around, he hasn't had the luxury of a real connection with someone in a long time. All of that changes when he steps into a D&D themed coffee shop and falls for the gorgeous man behind the counter. Steve Harrington has been looking for love in all the wrong places. Ever the hopeless romantic, he wants nothing more than the perfect movie meet cute where he finds his person. Fate comes knocking when a handsome stranger walks into the kid's shop. CW: Not all necessarily for this chapter, but the story will include mentions of drug addition/overdose, shitty parents, coming out, eventual smut Pairing: Rock Star!Eddie x Counselor!Steve Word Count: 2.3k

Masterlist>>Chapter 2

Sound check is done, he’s got his signature mane tied up in a messy bun, sunglasses on his face, and a basic shitty gray sweatsuit hiding his lithe frame and elaborate tattoos. Eddie Munson steps out of the venue, takes in a deep breath of the crisp, spring air, and feels he can breathe just a little easier knowing that (most likely) nobody could possibly recognize him in this schlubby getup. He’s normally seen draped in black and silver; leather, mesh, chains, rings, thickass eyeliner. Even lace when he’s feeling especially sultry. But strolling down the streets of Indianapolis looking like any regular asshole, he feels more free and like himself than he does when he’s commanding a stage in front of thousands.

He pulls out his phone, opens Google Maps, and searches for coffee shops within walking distance. Unsurprisingly, Starbucks locations pop up all over the screen like it has fucking chicken pox. He’d rather chug a cup of ground glass than shell out a dime to those corporate overlords, so he zooms in and drags the map around until he can find something that’s not a carbon copy franchise. Bingo: The Dungeon. It must be new. Despite Uncle Wayne living here, he doesn’t get back to Indy as often as he likes with the touring schedule being as demanding as it’s been over the last year, and he’s pretty sure he would remember seeing a D&D themed cafe. He might be a bona fide rock star now, but he’ll forever be a nerd at heart.

He scrolls down to check out the photos, and the vibes here are fucking immaculate: whoever they got to paint the interior is the Picasso of dweebs. The walls look like actual stone, complete with lichen, vines, cracks, and shadows. The windows are framed in rich, deep red, velvet drapes. There are honest to god torches mounted on the walls. The tables all look like they came right out of a tavern in Middle Earth. He doesn’t even care if the coffee is any good, he has to check this place out immediately.

He starts the route (nice, only an 8 minute walk) and lights up a smoke to keep his hands busy. He knows he needs to quit, but after years of living the true rock star life - booze, powder, pills - this is the least of his worries. He had some close calls, thank christ Chrissy was there to literally slap some sense into him, and now he’s just surviving on caffeine and nicotine. Making his best friend the band manager was the smartest decision he ever made. Not only is it fun as shit to have her by his side, but she absolutely saved his life and turned his stupid ass around. Goddamn he owes her everything. He should probably grab her a coffee too while he’s out. It’s not exactly a symbol of his undying gratitude but it’s a start, right?

Before he knows it, he’s strolling up to the front of an older looking building; gorgeous thick ivy practically engulfing the dark brick, solid wood door with an antique wrought iron handle, and above it a neon sign proudly advertising The Dungeon in the actual original font of the first D&D manual. He can already smell the freshly ground beans and his mouth is salivating. This place is just screaming to him, “Get in here dork! You’re home!”

He steps through the door and feels like he entered a portal into a campaign he DM’d in high school. The pictures online didn’t do it justice. He makes his way to the counter and takes his place in the short line. He’s perusing the hand painted menu up on the wall, snickering to himself over the custom drink names - The Eye of Sauron, The Rosie Cotton, The Paladin, The Mage - and he stops short at the last drink listed: The Corroded Coffin. There’s no way. There’s no way he happened to find a coffee shop that not only is a D&D game come to life, and has incorporated Lord of the Rings into the menu, but his own band has a place of honor on their drink list? What are the fucking odds.

He glances at the guys behind the counter. A lanky kid with an unfortunate bowl cut that he somehow makes work, and tall kid with a surprisingly dope flat top are manning the machines and cranking out drinks. A short, curly haired kid with a lisp is taking the orders. And to the side, a shaggy haired kid who kind of reminds him of himself in high school is barking through the open doorway to the back room.

“Seriously, get your ass out here, we gotta go!” Shaggy has a serious attitude on him and Eddie can’t help but laugh to himself. All this fury in a guy who can’t be more than 120 lbs soaking wet.

“Goddamnit give me a second, I’ll be right there!” A disembodied voice replies from somewhere in the shadows.

“Oh my god, calm down, we’ve got time,” Bowl Cut reassures as he hands a drink over to someone waiting off the side who thanks him and makes his way out.

Flat Top seems to be on Shaggy’s side as he shouts to the back, “We still have to go home and change before we pick up the girls, and we want to grab Taco Truck before the show! Come on!”

The show? Oh shit. Of course. Of course the kids working the nerdiest coffee shop in the world with his band’s name on the menu would be going to his show tonight. Eddie ducks his head down hoping to not stick out too much while he waits for the line to move.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be right there,” The Voice replies.

Curly takes the next couple orders while Bowl Cut and Flat Top make the drinks and Shaggy paces with irritation spilling out of his pores. Eddie keeps his head down while he waits his turn.

Just as the person in front of him is served, Curly turns his back and shouts, “Get your ass out here now!” Jesus, the tone on this kid. The boys all start to make their way out from behind the counter, which, rude. Eddie is still standing there and itching for his caffeine fix. The Voice comes out from the back room and is surrounded by the kids as they take turns bossing him around. Most of them are tall enough that Eddie can’t even see the poor victim of their verbal assault.

“Make sure you take the trash out before you lock up,” Flat Top reminds him.

“And can you prep the grounds for tomorrow morning?” Bowl Cut actually asks kindly.

“Don’t forget to actually lock up, asshole! Last time the back door was open!” Curly really has an attitude on him.

“And for the love of god can you please not play your pop shit while we’re gone?” Shaggy pleads.

“Hey, fuck you guys, I got it! Get out of here, your dorkfest awaits!” The Voice begrudgingly reassures them.

Eddie snorts. He’s never heard one of his shows referred to as a “dorkfest” before. He turns his head away in a lame attempt to stay hidden in plain sight as the group turns and walks past him towards the front door.

The Voice calls after them, “Have fun kids! And don’t do drugs!”

“Ok MOM!” they all shout back as they make their exit. Eddie has to stifle a giggle at the exchange. You can’t get this kind of banter at a Starbucks.

The Voice finally turns their attention towards Eddie. “Hey, sorry about that. What can I getcha?”

Eddie looks up and he swears his heart falls out of his fucking ass. This man is beautiful. He has no business being in a nerdy coffee shop run by bossy little assholes. His chestnut hair is all swoopy and tousled like he’s been running his hands through it all day. Eddie wants to grip it in both his hands and pull. His hazel eyes are downright sparkling from the light coming in through the windows. He’s got an entire universe of constellations speckled across his golden skin. And his smile. Oh my god, his smile. It’s kind and warm and more genuine than all the placating smiles he sees on a regular basis.

“Uh…you ok man? Need any help with the menu?”

Oh, shit. Eddie’s just been standing there gawking like an idiot, hasn’t he?

Talking. He needs to start talking. He’s good at talking.

“Shit. Sorry. Uh, no no, I was just wondering… how’s the Corroded Coffin?” The menu says it’s iced coffee with 4 shots of espresso. It might be exactly what Eddie needs to jolt his brain back online.

“Ha! Well, are you asking about the drink or the band? Because the drink is great. The band? Eh… not my cup of tea. Or. Coffee I guess.” And this adonis of a man snorts at his own lame joke. Eddie is fucked.

And wait. Did this guy actually just insult his band? To his face? He’s kind of impressed with the audacity. Eddie reaches up and snaps his shades off of his face. “Is that so?” he purrs.

Hot Guy seems to blush just the tiniest bit. “Yeah. But don’t tell those dickheads I said that! They’re obsessed! They even bailed on their own shop and left me here to flounder so they could go to their concert tonight.”

Ok, so Hot Guy doesn’t seem to recognize him at all. That’s fun. “And you didn’t want to go?”

He shakes his head, his floppy hair swishing around adorably. “Nah, not my scene. They’re good musicians I guess, but I don’t know, it all just kinda sounds like noise to me.”

Eddie can’t believe this. He’s been so used to people blowing smoke up his ass and feeding his ego, he forgot what it was like to get a genuine honest opinion from someone. It’s humbling to say the least. And weirdly kind of a turn on. And for real, the guy isn’t even registering who Eddie is. It feels so…liberating. No expectations, no pretext, no assumptions of how he should act or what he should say. This could be dangerous.

Eddie leans into the counter, popping his hip out and bats his eyelashes. He knows what his bigass Bambi eyes can do to people. “Well, what about the vocals, sweetheart? The music itself might not be your thing, but does the singing do anything for you?”

God he’s really laying it on thick, isn’t he?

Hot Guy rolls his eyes. Actually rolls his fucking eyes! “Eh, not really. It’s just kinda like, screaming isn’t it? I don’t think you really need much talent to scream. I could scream.”

Yeah I bet I can make you fuckin scream, gorgeous.

Woah. Down boy.

Eddie bursts out laughing. This guy is just straight up badmouthing him now without even realizing it, and Eddie must be more of a masochist than he ever thought possible because weirdly, this is doing it for him.

Hot Guy laughs along with him, shaking his head. “Sorry! Sorry, I got off track. Did you want to try that drink, or is there something else I can get you?”

Your hand in marriage would be great, thanks.

“Yeah, fuck it, lemme get the Corroded Coffin. To go please.”

Hot Guy nods and smiles, but something dimmed a bit in his expression. He turns around and starts getting the drink ready, and Eddie’s eyes dart down to his ass. It’s hard to fucking miss. Round, and perky, and fuck his hair, Eddie wants to grab a couple handfuls of that. “So. Where are you off to this fine afternoon? Not gonna lie, I was hoping someone would stick around a bit. Thursday’s are usually pretty slow, and I’m stuck here running the ship until we close at midnight. Not that I’d expect anyone to hang out here all night! Just, ya know. Distractions help the time pass a little quicker. Sorry! I’m rambling!” He turns around with a drink in hand looking a little embarrassed, a little flushed while he rings up the coffee. He’s adorable.

Did he want Eddie to hang out here with him? Fuck. If he wasn’t expected to be swaggering across a stage soon, he’d drop everything and spend all night drinking this beautiful motherfucker in.

“Oh uh… yeah I have to be at work in a little while, unfortunately. But maybe I can swing by again later when my shift is done.” Eddie gifts him a little wink as he swipes his card and adds a 200% tip.

A shy smile creeps across Hot Guy’s face. God, Eddie wants to eat him alive. “Yeah that uh, that would be cool. Maybe I’ll see you later…..” his eyebrows rise up his forehead.

“Eddie! I’m…I’m Eddie.”

He extends his hand across the counter and Hot Guy meets it in the middle. The paws on this man! Big hands, long fingers, and god how are they so soft? Eddie is so distracted he almost misses Hot Guy introducing himself.

“Nice to meet you Eddie. I’m Steve.”

Their hands linger a little longer than what would be considered socially acceptable for just two dude-bros saying hey. The little smiles and blushes they exchange don’t hide anything either.

Regrettably they both let go and Eddie takes a step back from the counter. He makes his way to the door and turns around catching Steve’s eye once more before he makes his exit. “I’ll see you around Stevie.” Steve smiles and it’s like the sun breaking through storm clouds.

Eddie makes his way back down the sidewalk, feeling like he’s walking on air. As he sips his coffee - which is fucking delicious, by the way, and will definitely get his brain firing back up again - he realizes that he never even bothered to order anything for Chrissy.

Masterlist>>Chapter 2

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #rock star eddie munson #meet cute #slow burn

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