♪ fuck bambi

new npc?? new npc: some estranged rich aunt??? estranged bc she’s very religious, and bambi’s mom isn’t at all, so they cut ties ( which could also explain why a rich sister won’t help her poor sister :^/ ). anyway, so this aunt wants her nephew to believe in God, y’know. knows he loves music, offers to pay for choir classes at this upper-class church.

so this is where it can go two different ways.....either bambi goes to spend every summer at his aunt’s home so he can go to his classes,

OR

his parents drive him (1hr away? 2?) to the place every week, but the whole drive is just them arguing with him because he’s such a bad student slkfjsdklgjdg and he’s embarrassing them in front of all these bougie kids n their parents ):

i think his childhood friends prob make fun of him for attending those classes. also he absolutely hates it and is always in time-out or whatever. he’s so troublesome, they make him pray his annoyance away more than have him sing. also he fucking hates rich kids so no way in hell he’s singing alongside them smh. probably comes back home with bruises-- these teachers preach so much, but are so impatient they can’t handle him. parents tell him he deserves it anyway :^/

every time he gets back home he plays some rock vinyl and jams to that instead. god choir is so fucking boring. little does he know it would have such an influence on his style later on ( since he sings with such a high pitch ).

i think he’d be doing that from age 7 to like......11 or 12.( which is the age where he started his small punkrock garage band w/ his close friend ). < total act of rebellion.

obviously this would affect the way he sees religion & spirituality. that it was just for rich people and that it hated him. that it was violent and it was painful and it was so fucking boring, obviously. it was not meant for a kid like bambi. being with all these boys, feeling less than. it was everything he hated.

i think, if i do go on with this and add it to his timeline, it would add a lot more depth to the relationships he’s had in the past that i’ve plotted out with a few other muns.........and also open the door for new ones, since it’s a whole other world he’s visiting. 

obvious song inspo: ‘vois sur ton chemin’ from the movie ‘les choristes’ 

this is about as much as...i could come up with. ofc this is very basic info, could maybe change a few things up or improve on some ideas. or just scrap it completely and fill up his childhood with smth else fsdlkjfskdlgj BUT...BUT I THINK...i think this has potential. i’m leaning more towards his parents driving him up there than going over to his aunt bc it would expand on his relationship w/ his parents. and why he can’t stand them nowadays.

@fockbambi :-)

fourteen. fourteen dates. she didn’t think it was possible, but sooyoung had found a broken human, she was sure of it! though the cupid may not have been the best at her job (okay, so maybe she had a lot of trouble properly matching people) but it had never taken her fourteen dates to find a match. no, at this point, it was clear that bambi was the problem and perhaps, at this point, there was no way of fixing him.

she sits, sunk into his couch, with a frown on her face waiting for him to get him. she’s in her cupid form, cotton candy hair cascading down her shoulders and her wings pressed uncomfortably into the couch, her eyes red as blood. this would be the first time he’s encountered her in this form, but he’d be no stranger to her hanging around his place before he’s even arrived. this time, though, she was too irritated to bother changing her features to their human form. what did it matter anyway? this may be the last time she bothered setting him up with someone else.

growing bored of waiting the cupid pulls out her phone, tapping quickly at the screen, brows furrowing. 

[ sms: bambi ] where are u???? [ sms: bambi ] the sun has already gone down and i’m hungry [ sms: bambi ] u promised u’d get me hot cocoa (¤﹏¤)

she sighs and sags further into the couch, adjusting her wings so they weren’t pressed so hard into the fabric, her head falling back with a small groan. not only was he quite possibly unmatchable he seemed to never be on time for anything. with that thought, she could understand one fundamental reason none of his dates worked out. what respectable person would wait around for over an hour for their date to arrive? not many, she figured.

sooyoung perks up at the sound of keys jingling outside and practically throws herself off the couch once she hears and sees the door handle turn. she runs across the room, nearly tripping over her own feet before standing before him, placing her hands on her hips and fixing him with a frown. 

“you’re late!” she doesn’t yell, but she does her best to mimic a stern mother. “where’s my chocolate, huh? if you didn’t bring my chocolate i swear i’m giving up on you.” that was a lie. she was determined to find him a match, even if she died trying. 

it’s only when you least expect it that your guardian angel finally decides to save your poor life. bambi was thrown over a toilet, head halfway through the bowl as sickness made its way out of his body. he felt horrible; headache, exhaustion, muscle soreness, nausea-- heck, maybe this was it. like it it. his time had finally come, and he was about to succumb. nothing was holding him back, he just needed to let go. LET GO.

his phone, dug deep in his back pocket, vibrated. once, twice, thrice. and every time it’d just pull him back. he couldn’t let go, not yet ( unfortunately ).

bambi sat back up, death hanging on his face. he couldn’t die in a port-a-potty, not like this. with the blue neon light buzzing above him, a music festival’s worth of body juices down the shit hole, and there he was, like a diamond in the rough, with his pink heart-shaped glasses and his bedazzled punk leather jacket and his pink shorts and his sandals over his mid-calf length white socks. if he was to die, it would have to be in his jacuzzi, or maybe strangled to death by some secret royalty lover, inside a mansion that cost as much as it does to save a whole country.

not in this faded green port-a-potty while terrible rock music boomed not too far away. bambi didn’t perform that night.

he finally took a glance at his phone, minutes into trying to unlock it. the AI couldn’t recognize his face-- and he doesn’t blame it, he was looking absolutely shit-faced ( more so than usual ). it took him an additional few minutes to recognize the number.

[ sms: 🌸🎀💕 ] singing rigt now [ sms: 🌸🎀💕 ] wwat sun [ sms: 🌸🎀💕 ] ??????!????????????? [ sms: 🌸🎀💕 ] ok [ sms: 🌸🎀💕 ] u promise me brade pitt [ sms: 🌸🎀💕 ] 👿

how much he hated texting. fingers always too heavy to type proper words, but at least he could lie comfortably. it took him around thirty minutes to leave the filthy cubicle, and he only did so because someone kept banging on the door. no more loud noises, please, for the love of god. his manager, too angry at him to drive him home, bambi took a cab and brought along whatever belongings he could remember; a bag full of socks, box with cheap makeup, and heeled shoes-- the type strippers wear-- bold, valentine-red high heels.

but for some reason, as he approached his front door after paying the driver and waving him goodbye, bambi was wearing a black satin robe instead of his punk jacket, and wasn’t carrying a single thing in his hands. 

he opened his door and instantly froze at the sight of the girl. was he dreaming? no one could look that good in pink, not even pretty girls. huh. “ are you high? ” those red eyes had to be a weird side-effect of some drug. “ w-what chocolate? me, i’m the chocolate. “ bambi didn’t even realize what his response was; it was almost automated, the way he’d try to flirt with everything that moved.

he walked past her, although his eyes never left hers, until he crashed onto his couch. a long groan left his throat and filled the silence. “ your wings. “ he started, voice muffled by the couch, “ can i borrow them for a show? “ he didn’t even look up at her. “ are you not high? “ he asked again, as if her eyes were freakier than her wings.

( not accepting. )

" don't say that...sounds freaky. "

bambi didn't quite mean it. he wished he could talk to marion all night, tell him all about the snacks and clothes he stole and how he so swiftly eluded the employees. or whip out the ol' broken recorder and have the older listen through a cracked sound the new tunes bambi came up with. ( and then get frustrated at the stuttering audio, smack the machine and get embarrassed about how badly it made his songs sound ). " don't know why i called you. " a glimpse of a cockney accent made its way through bambi's words-- as he usually spoke around marion.

marion reminded him of... fist fights over which group of kids gets to play at the park, of sticking your tongue on a frozen pole, of insulting other people's mums, and of pulling down the pants of the cop that roams around your neighborhood, but really just uses that as an excuse to creep on teen girls. marion reminded bambi of home. too bad all bambi wanted as a child was to run away from it. " you know i've never been good at fighting. "

he wasn't lying. sure, he boasted a lot about cracking skulls and breaking bones, but never without having his own body turned to dust first. every other week he'd appear with a busted lip, a swollen cheek, a black eye, homemade bandaging around broken knuckles, taped gauze on minor stab wounds, and everything in-between. bambi was lucky he didn't lose any front teeth; he wouldn't have had this level of fame without his good looks. although maybe that would have saved him from...everything that came during his stardom, quite literally.

this is why he should've stayed in contact with marion.

" i'm tired, mama. " nicknames were bambi's strong suit, obviously. " i'm a fuckin' billionaire. why does my brain still hurt? my bones, too. my blood, i can feel it, you know. my body hates me. m'trying so hard to fight it, can't win, mama. " bambi would hand marion a gun and point it at his own forehead if he could. it's not that he wanted to die, it's that he didn't want to exist anymore. or at least for a few weeks. long enough to reset his whole life. just do it all over again-- he would.

bambi pulled a pepsi bottle out of jacket sleeve-- extremely oversized, he was basically dissipating in it-- and took a chug of the mysterious liquid inside of it. he, just as quickly, spat it out, followed by a subtle gag. " you know what's funny ma-marion? " he handed the bottle to the older, " i can't stand drinking this fucking shit. and i'm an alcoholic. " bambi opened up so easily, so freely, and he wasn't embarrassed one bit. he thought it made him cool, and that's all he wanted to be in marion's eyes. all of his validation came from the older boy, but bambi couldn't admit how clingy for his attention he was. " when i die, " he started so suddenly, eyes swimming in the other's, " hire strippers at my funeral. the older ladies with the tits hanging over their knees, i quite enjoy them. make sure you pay them well.  " and that's all he could say, as he took another sip of the motor oil-like drink in his bottle. a grimace ensued. " fuck. "

( not accepting. )

" don't be a dumbass. "

words dripped out of bambi's lips, low, barely audible, like he was on autopilot and didn't even hear jiseok. that was just another one of his automated responses because his mind had wandered far, far away already. took a spaceship and travelled over to the next galaxy. bambi pulled out a crumpled cigarette from one of his pockets and flattened it as much as he could. fingers trembling, he created more folds in the thin white-ish paper, while bits of tobacco spilled out from the end. his eyes spectating the plight before redirecting towards jiseok. " don't say it like that. "

the two of them were sitting on the curb facing the back entrance of a glitzy bar, in a neglected alley only the most courageous could set foot in. bambi's legs were laying flat on the freezing concrete as he was hunched over the goddamn cigarette that would NOT go back to its original state, his hands becoming red as the cold seeped into his bones. with remixed pop music faintly booming from the building in front of them, he finally scooted a little closer to jiseok. " this kind of sucks. " he said, breath turning into a white fog. " sorry. "