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@chxsingthunder
hey so this is my obligatory ooc post! i'm L and i play these guys:
matteo russo ignacio reyes louis powell patrick le clerc cullen everly seo-jun yoon
i probably already love you and your characters, don't be afraid to hit me up for plotting purposes!
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"Oh yeah, I get what you mean." Eleanor said, tilting her head as she looked at the coloring book in his hands. "I never really liked coloring in between the lines much, to be honest." she added with a small, sheepish smile, already a bit caught up in explaining herself. "It always felt kind of restrictive, like I was stuck inside someone else’s drawing and had to behave in it, if that makes sense." She nodded her head thoughtfully.
"I always ended up wanting to change things anyway, like add my own lines or scribble over parts because it felt more fun when it started looking like mine instead of staying neatly inside someone else’s idea." She glanced up at him again, still smiling as she put the book she was holding onto back onto the shelf. "But I did get why other people liked it. It was still kind of sweet, just… not really how I liked to make art."
Teo nodded. "I know exactly what you mean," he replied. It was true, he also hadn't been much of a coloring book kid. He was the blank-pages kid, wanting to throw colors on paper in whatever direction felt right. He remembered his mother sitting at the kitchen table with him on one of her very rare nights off, sliding the little finger-paint pots across the table towards him and just smiling as he dipped a hand in and practically threw the paint at his paper, watching it splat and then following a drip in one direction, loving the way it smeared.
She'd stopped buying him coloring books when he was pretty young. She knew him well, and she knew he wasn't going to want someone else's pictures to color in. "There's no wrong way to make art, just preferences. Everyone's got an artist in them, though." He agreed with another nod.
"Oh, okay– so it's more like that twerking song with the flesh colored shorts and whatnot– I don't mind it, I like it." Leo smiled, tilting his head as he imagined what this song might sound like. He truly had no opinion on Miley Cyrus, other than her being a cool chick who sometimes wore a blonde wig. He liked wigs, but he wasn't sure if he pulled off hair that long to join it with the fun. "Sexier?" Leo let his eyes move from the guy's face to his body, then back up to his face. He wasn't sure if he had any confidence issues, but it couldn't get sexier than that– well, maybe dancing naked in the shower... Leo forced himself to look away to try and hide the fact that his blood was quickly rushing up to his face, coloring the tips of his ears a deep shade of pink.
"I mean, yeah– I get it," he licked his lips and busied his hands with the flower he'd been trying to fill up. "I don't think I could plan much of anything in my life," Leo admitted as he got up onto his feet, dusting off his hands on his pants. "I would get too bored before I even started. I deeply admire people with an organizational mindset," and he meant it. "Follow me, I'll get you your free loaf."
"I guess it's a little like that, but definitely better. Want me to play it for you?" He asked, already pulling his phone out of his pocket, more than willing to play one of his guilty pleasure songs for the stranger. Teo saw Leo's eyes move over him though, and immediately he was blushing, biting the inside of his cheek and looking down at his own feet. Maybe 'sexier' had been a bad choice of words.
Teo thought of his home, the way it was organized with everything always in it's place. But that wasn't really his doing, was it? He kept it well-organized, sure, but he hadn't set it up that way. He just knew he wasn't allowed to mess it up. His own space at the art center, however, was a different story. Mess was a different kind of art, in Teo's opinion, and it wasn't always unwelcome. "Plans are hard," he agreed, laughing and nodding to show Leo he would follow him. "I appreciate it, though you probably shouldn't give away too many free loaves. How will you make money?"
His chest grows tight and he encircles Iggy even more. Hiro isn't used to his body being a shield, something used in defense of another. He's far more used to his hands being sharp instruments that can't help but cut everyone that gets close to him. It's almost alarming how quickly and easily he's blunted himself to be around him. Hiro doesn't even remember the moment he sheathed the sharp edges of himself but they pull in and he surrounds Iggy with only warmth.
He holds him like a fragile flame, with hands cupping gently to block out the wind that threatens to blow him out for good.
Hiro doesn’t know what his next words are going to be so silence hangs there, making him feel stupid, punctuated only by electrical whirring and persistent beeps. He's as grateful for those beeps as he is annoyed at them for existing. It's not fair that those beeps are taking up space in this room, not fair that Iggy is here in hospital. Not fair that his life was so quickly almost taken away.
His throat constricts with an emotion he doesn't want to give a name to, keeping back any words that might have wanted to reach out. They claw at the back of his tongue, digging sharp nails into the flesh of his throat like they're mad at him for being held back. There's so much he wants to say but words have always been elusive and dangerous things to him. Speaking through action is where he feels most comfortable, but not everyone understands the language, even when it feels obvious to him. So he says nothing, because he doesn't know what to say and it feels too dangerous to say anything else and he does the thing he always knows best how to do, so he cups the gentle fading flame that is Iggy in his arms and he tilts their heads until their lips connect.
Hiro is a caged wildfire, the dry brush around him is routinely cleared away to prevent it from spreading uncontrollably but maybe Iggy's weak flame can burn a little brighter when they meet and maybe, just maybe, the wordless thing he can't express can be expressed like this.
It's easy to convince himself that it means nothing. It shouldn't be so easy, but it is. Because it always has to mean nothing, right? Hiro being here can't mean anything. The way he's forced to look at the other for a moment before their lips meet, it can't mean anything. The kiss. It can't mean anything. Or if it does mean something to Iggy, he has to pretend it doesn't, because he doubts it means the same thing to anyone else. He's just being clingy. He's delusional. He's crazy.
He's always been crazy, after all. It wouldn't be the first time he was imagining things, making things up in his head. It was always just in his head, right? In his head, until he inevitably blew it up. Hiro was here now, but he wouldn't be here long. Nobody stayed long, not when Iggy was a ticking time bomb for any type of relationship in his life. He pushed people away, pushed and pushed and pushed until they were all gone. This wasn't going to be any different, not in the end.
So he convinces himself it's nothing when they kiss. When his heart starts to beat faster, the fog in his head lifting just the slightest bit. His good hand clutches tightly to Hiro's shirt, his eyes fall shut, and for just the briefest of moments he's not half-paralyzed in a hospital bed.
The beeping of his heart rate brings him back to Earth, and as much as he doesn't want to, he pulls away from Hiro. All the thoughts in his head are so, so loud, louder than any thoughts he's had since waking up in this bed. Iggy almost says something stupid, but he stops himself. Because this doesn't mean anything other than Hiro's a good guy and a good friend. Obviously. Iggy would be stupid to read anything more into this. It wouldn't be returned, and even if it was, then what? Then he gets tired of Hiro and moves on in a few weeks? Ends up hurting this person who has been nothing but good to him? He doesn't want that, so he knows he needs to shut the fuck up.
Iggy forces himself to smile, though it's hard, he's remembering now how much everything hurts. "If my heart beats any faster, the nurses are gonna come running in," he teased, though at least he wasn't a pathetic, sniveling mess anymore.
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André Lamoglia
Leo was slightly taken aback to hear Louis hated music, but it didn't take long for it to make sense, and suddenly, Leo wanted nothing but to be swallowed whole by the pits of hell in that very moment. He wished the floor would open right then so he could fall and never emerge. "Oh, no– Why didn't you tell me? I could have stopped minutes ago!" Leo pouted, the compliment flying completely unnoticed over his head. He couldn't do anything but listen for a second and nod. "I'm sorry if it bothered you. If I bothered you." Leo bit his bottom lip and, grabbing his guitar, he came to sit next to him. "I think... I think you could feel this, though, just... may I?" Leo asked, reaching for his hand, making sure it was okay before grabbing it and placing it on the body of the guitar, then plucking a couple of strings so the entire thing would vibrate. "Sometimes, when I'm high, I just rest my head on top of it to feel it vibrating. It's a nice feeling. Wanna try it?"
Louis merely shrugged, still smiling happily. Far be it from him to stop someone doing what they love just because he couldn't enjoy it properly. And besides, he wanted to enjoy what Leo enjoyed. A small part of him was happy enough because it seemed to make Leo happy to share it with him. "You didn't bother me! I'm sure it was good, and you looked happy while doing it so I don't mind," he reassured him, shaking his head. When Leo put his hand on the guitar, he smiled again and nodded. "Sure, but hold on," with his opposite hand he reached up, gently pulling his implant off and holding it in his hand. "Okay, go," he said, his voice too soft, always afraid of being too loud when he couldn't hear his own volume. It was a silly fear, but a fear nonetheless.
Aley loved making new friends. If all that came out from downloading Tinder was meeting Teo, she'd feel satisfied. Even if it meant going on a date with a man who insulted her, made her feel bad about herself and threw her outside of his car. At least Calder spent the night with her, holding her against his chest, dropping sweet kisses into her hair! It felt worth it. Some people even commented on her bruises this morning, giving her the good attention she constantly craved. Maybe having a bruised upper lip and some cuts under her right eye were worth it. ''Are you Teo?'' she asked and almost jumped in place as she recognized the man from his picture. She was excited about waffles and hopefully making a new bestie. She sat down before he could even reply and grabbed the menu. She wanted lots of chocolate and strawberry on hers. ''How are you? How's been your morning? Tell me absolutely everything!'' @chxsingthunder
Teo hadn't immediately greeted her, too focused on the cuts and bruises. His own face went pale, and his hand went to his sore ribs, as if maybe their injuries could speak to each other. As if she might know, too. But quickly he let his hand drop when she looked back at him and smiled, and he forced himself to smile too. Because maybe it wasn't what he thought. And maybe she didn't know anything. Maybe this was all going to be just fine, and he could convince her that anything Ike had done was just misunderstanding or mistake. If he was really lucky, maybe he could convince her that his Ike wasn't even the same person who had treated her like shit.
But that's not what he started to say, because automatically as he sat down he blurted out, "Did Ike do that to you?" Without stopping himself, color finally returning to his face in the form of a blush creeping across his cheeks. "Sorry if that's too forward, but...did he?"
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Minho’s bottom lip jutted out into a little pout, absolutely certain that Patch had been laughing at them this whole time while they retold their tale of woe. But then again, they were very silly. Who wouldn’t laugh at them? “I highly doubt that…” They mumble in a small voice, almost into their chin, but since they were standing close it was probably audible enough. But their attention was quickly diverted as Patch asked what they might be having in their shopping basket.
“Hmm, these things are mostly different to what I usually order, I think. And much cheaper too, a bargain!” They say it like they didn’t know that drugstore items were much easier on the wallet than what Minho was usually used to. They did know it, it just often slipped their mind. “Ooh, I got, hmm, Champagne Toast fragrance mist, Butterfly body cream, some white tea and sage candles, ooh and they had hand gel soap Vampire Blood again, from the Halloween edition at a veeeery discounted price!” They chuckle happily, feeling so giddy at catching a discount on something last season. How exhilarating. “Are you sure you don’t want anything? Come on, I’ll find something for you!” They haul their basket up again, hooking it over their arm bend and grab Patch’s sleeve, giving him a gentle tug over.
Patch stared at Minho for a moment or two, his brow furrowing as he tried to determine whether or not he'd said the wrong thing. It seemed almost like the other was upset, but Patch couldn't tell what was real and what was joking. So many people seemed upset, but then claimed sarcasm or jokes. It was frustrating, because the last thing Patch wanted to do was upset a friend. "You are cute," he reassured the other, frowning. "You did something cute, that's all." 'Cute' was another abstract word, but Patch felt like it fit in this situation, for this individual.
"Is the body cream made of butterflies?" He asked, making a face. "I don't think that would be good on the skin. Although I suppose I don't know the benefits of rubbing butterflies on the skin...I just wouldn't want to do it, I guess. If it makes you happy, though, then that's fine." Patch glanced at the basket and then back up at Minho. "Oh, um, okay. I like clean scents?" He added, unsure. "I don't like artificial fruit scents."
location: ivy's van status: closed @monstersunderurbed
When he'd started running, it hadn't been with any direction or location in mind. Though he'd very quickly realized that running was a bad idea, his limp slowing him down significantly and causing him to wince with every other thud of his sneaker on the pavement. And then, in a panic, he'd done his best to get a better understanding of his surroundings.
The trailer park wasn't far, and he knew that's where Ivy's van was parked. Or it had been the last time he'd seen it. And he prayed to a deity he was never really sure if he believed in that it would still be there now.
As he approached the trailer park, his footfalls were becoming slower, not quite as rhythmic. When he saw the van, he was practically walking, though his gait was still fast, and he was limping. He kept looking over his shoulder as he tried to catch his breath, adjusting his cropped halter where it had become askew around his neck and then all but falling into the side of the van with a THUMP!
"Ivy, let me in! Andale!" He shouted, smacking a hand against the side of the van, too, for good measure. Iggy was panting, forehead against the cool metal siding, his bad leg only touching the ground with the toe of his shoe, no weight on it anymore.
location: patch's house status: closed @hllboymglds
Patch was normally pretty quiet, keeping to himself. Even at the parties he threw, he smiled and stayed in one or two spots, nursing a beer and looking around to see that everyone was having a good time. But he hadn't thrown a party in a few weeks, which was very unlike him. He hadn't done much of anything in a few weeks, actually. Not even started some new silly business venture. He'd just been at home. Ordering in, watching movies, keeping to himself.
He was grateful for Hiro, who seemed to be a friend. Patch wasn't always sure, never sure who was a friend and who wasn't, questioning it more than ever these days. When the other arrived at his home, he opened the door and held out the hanger with the elegant silk robe on it that matched the one he was wearing himself, though in black instead of the rich maroon color of his own. "I've been doing a lot of research on self-care lately, and comfort was a big part of it. These are for maximum comfort," he explained, waiting for Hiro to take the robe before leading him further into his home.
"I've also got facemasks and wine and cheese," he added, voice echoing in the high-ceilinged entryway. Patch led him into the kitchen, gesturing to the wine glasses and the bottle of wine, the cheese tray his cook had so artfully set up for them. It was all very nice and probably a bit ridiculous, but Patch was nothing if not thorough in his quest to make himself feel good again.
location: benjamin's home status: closed @icanbuymyownflowers
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Teo knew he needed to get out of the situation he was in. It wasn't like he'd always dreamed of living with a man that he was terrified to even breathe around most of the time. His mother had raised him smarter than that. He had, at one point in his life, known his worth. And he was worth more than what he was putting up with now.
It really wasn't as simple as that, though.
He remembered being eighteen and being introduced to Ike. His mother's coworker, just a charming man with a dazzling smile and bright eyes that looked at Teo as if he were every bit as important as the powerful people in suits that he dealt with on a daily basis. Teo remembers Ike winking at him behind his mother's back, and he remembers blushing, because it was in that moment he knew that Ike was just as interested in him as he was in Ike.
He remembered his mother being sick. How Ike would drop in every so often with two meals, force Teo to sit down and eat with him. Just for a few minutes, making him be something other than a grieving son.
He remembered his mother's death, and the debt collector's aggressively coming at him to pay off her medical bills. He remembered them taking the house, and Ike insisting Teo move in with him, even though Teo didn't want to be a burden.
He remembered mourning. Unable to get out of bed for days at a time because what was the point? The only person who had been there for him his entire life was gone. But Ike rubbed his back, held him when he cried, brought him water and food and drawing him baths so he could put clean sheets on the bed while Teo soaked.
But then he remembered how annoyed Ike had gotten, when the mourning went on too long. How angry. He remembered the words Ike had thrown at him, words that had hurt, but Teo had thought he was right. Maybe he'd been mourning too long. Maybe he really did need to move on. Maybe he was being ridiculous. Ike hadn't meant to hurt him, he just wanted Teo to snap out of it, that's all it was. Ike still loved him. Still rubbed his back and fed him and brought him gifts now, to apologize.
It used to happen so infrequently, the violence. Ike might yell, might hurl insults at him, but it was rare that he would hit Teo. Maybe once in a seven or eight month span. And then it was every four months or so. Then monthly. Then more. And by then, Teo didn't know how to leave. He loved Ike, Ike loved him, and when Ike took control over every aspect of Teo's life, he'd let him. He didn't know any better. He'd been young and stupid when he'd moved in, what did he know of the adult world? Ike took care of him, he figured. Was just trying to help him. Loved him.
This probably wasn't love anymore.
Teo was swaying on his feet when he rang Benjamin's doorbell. He could only see out of one eye, and one of his ears was ringing. The hand pressed to the doorbell dropped to his side and he grunted when it hurt, his opposite arm wrapped around himself, as if he had to hold himself together. He hoped Thomas was already in bed, the last thing he wanted was for the child to see him like this. Teo looked down to see a couple drops of blood on the doormat, likely slowly dripping from his chin, and he put all of his energy into stepping back, immediately feeling guilty for making a mess as he waited for Benji to open the door.
Ivy laid on his back staring at the ceiling when everything was over, waiting for his breathing to come back to a normal rhythm and for his brain to come back to clarity. He usually wasn't as distant as this– if this were any other hook up, Ivy would have pulled Patch close to him, kissed him a little longer until the moment died down naturally, until Patch started getting dressed, cueing him to leave. Instead, Ivy decided to give Patch a little moment for himself– he hadn't been anybody's first before, and the thought that the other might be regretting it made his stomach twist with sickness, but he simply held it all down, and swallowed it with his eyes closed for a moment, until Patch spoke again.
Ivy's eyes fluttered open as he felt the heat of Patch's body moving closer, his arm wrapping around his shoulders carefully. "You don't have to ask me for permission, silly," Ivy responded with a soft, hopefully warm and gentle voice as his fingers combed through the hair at the back of his head. He figured that, if Patch wanted to be close, it couldn't have been bad... he hoped it wasn't bad for him. "What– why are you saying sorry?" He whispered, eyes looking down at the other, the second he covered his face. "Patch, are you crying?" Ivy asked mid panic, but keeping everything soft as he tried to pry his hand away from his eyes. "Patch– are you okay? Did I hurt you? Are you hurt?"
It was probably embarrassing, but Patch didn't feel embarrassed this time. He wasn't sure what he was feeling, definitely more than one thing, but embarrassment didn't seem to be one of them. He did feel a little bit silly, crying right now, especially when Ivy pulled his hand away from his face so he was able to see Patch's tears fall down his cheeks. "No, you didn't hurt me, I promise," he reassured the other quickly, shaking his head. Patch pulled his hand back so he could wipe the wetness from his cheeks, sniffling pathetically. "I don't know why I'm crying," he admitted, cheeks burning red.
For a moment, he sifted through the feelings silently, wanting to put words to them but not knowing how. Words had always been difficult for him, emotions even moreso. When he was a child, he remembered his mother trying her hardest to help him, showing him the photos of children scowling or grinning or crying and teaching him 'angry,' 'happy,' 'sad,' all of those things. But she'd left this earth before the emotions had gotten more complex, and he no longer knew how to explain what was happening in his brain all the time.
Sighing, he looked up at Ivy again. He breathed in slowly, smiling shakily, and melted into the other's arm around his shoulders. "I think I am untouchable, to most people. I don't get this." He explained, his palm pressing into Ivy's chest, gentle pressure to emphasize his point. "This was a lot. I liked it, I like this, but it's...overwhelming," Patch was finally able to explain. It was only a part of the whole, but he didn't know how to sift through the rest of it. "I just need something right now, I don't know what."
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Mark Eydelshteyn | GQ Portugal (2025)
He’s so fucking cute he gives me whiplash
