hello, lovelies! i’m honey and i’m literally too excited to be here. everyone’s muses are so cool and here’s jason who is so . . . not that at all. hit the heart for a plot ( and maybe a friend? 🥺🤲
❛ ♫ · » qian kun, cis male, he/him « wow … jason yan just told me that their band, friction, got accepted into that battle of the bands thing. wait, you don't know them? i could've sworn i saw you two together at sound institute. well, nevermind. they're twenty-five, and they're the vocalist , producer & guitarist of the band. when they're not playing music, you can usually find them doing odd jobs , practicing calligraphy or looking after his grandfather. i think you'd like them— they're so supportive, but … also kind of empty-headed, i suppose. you'll know it's jae if you ever meet them, because they're the walking embodiment of scratches on old vinyl records, vibrant clothing with big brand names & smiles too big for his face.
stats. wanted connections. pinboard.
💥 ——— THE STATS.
FULL NAME * JASON YAN .
NICKNAMES * JAE .
AGE * TWENTY-FIVE .
DATE OF BIRTH * OCTOBER 23RD 1996 .
STAR SIGN * SCORPIO .
HOME TOWN * HITHESIDE , ENGLAND .
GENDER * CIS MALE .
SEXUALITY * BISEXUAL .
FAMILY * YAN CHONGKUN ( GRANDFATHER , RETIRED JAZZ MUSICIAN ) & YAN CHIALING - FORMERLY LI ( GRANDMOTHER , FLORIST ) .
OCCUPATION * PART - TIME HANDYMAN .
BAND * FRICTION .
💥 ——— THE STORY.
jason's grandparents emigrated to england from china when they were both in their twenties. they always gush about how they did it because they were so madly in love . . . and he'd be lying if he didn't enjoy the story every time they tell it. however, being raised by his beloved grandparents wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. the boy had more questions, too.
having never known his parents and with his grandparents not giving him much to work with, jason's history was a mystery to the young boy. he had so many questions but no answers. what of what his grandparents were telling him was fact, and what was fiction? this confusion bordered on misery, which quickly turned to anger. jason was an angry young boy between the ages of eight and ten, and he'd never tell anyone ( much less nainai or yeye ) but it all boiled down to the fact that he knew nothing about himself.
walking through life like that wasn't the way to go, and jason realized that, if he wanted to truly thrive and not just survive, he'd have to find an outlet. the boy tried everything ( truly, he did. he played cricket, then played football, tried painting and then tried to learn different languages ) before, one day, a friend came across one of his ( what he assumed to be ) silly little scribblings, a makeshift and happenstance poem that was more anger than anything else, and told him that it was good. little did he know that it was something so small that would change his life forever.
that little compliment lead him to put more passion and more effort into his writing. he tapped into all of his emotions -- especially the ones he didn't feel comfortable telling anyone -- and put it into his lyrics. never having fancied himself a singer, the boy tried his hand at rapping. jason understands his own limits and, perhaps, he's not the best rapper in the world but he takes the time to practice. practice makes perfect, right? ( he hopes. wow, does he hope! )
he went it alone for a while, cutting his teeth around the hitheside underground scene. however, it soon became apparent to him that he wasn't cut out to be a solo act. jason had it figured out as far as the lyrics could go, but didn't understand the first thing about music production. he could play a very elementary guitar, but he wanted a group of likeminded artists to push him to be better, to make him want to get better. when he found the other members of friction, it was pure serendipity. they might not have been in his life for too long, but he considers them family. they see him for who he truly is and who he could be, and jason appreciates having someone other than his grandparents really and truly on his side.
when he's not writing or thinking up new beats, he's constantly trying new things. the mix of different hobbies he'd tried created a deep desire in him to always try something new. besides, he's never thought of himself as much of a thinker, really -- he's definitely more of a doer. helping his yeye with anything the man needs is time well spent in jason's mind, but he also enjoys helping out any of the elderly men's friends who need things built but cannot do it themselves anymore. jason's always trying to keep busy because, at the root of it all, he's still wondering who he is.
💥 ——— THE WANTED CONNECTIONS
true blue wcs are coming soon, but right now i’d love
friends!
AN EX............
someone who’s constantly teasing him
someone who thinks he’s SO pompous / someone who thinks super highly of himself
a best friend :(
a rivAL !! ( maybe they’re both taking the botb too seriously and think that anyone in another band is automatically a foe )
location : somewhere on higher hithe street
time : ~ 1:00 pm
status : open
“well, shit,” they muttered, looking down at the shattered remains of their phone before gingerly picking it up in an attempt to not cut themself on the shards of glass. embeth tried to power it back on, but it seemed that it was not going to happen. it was toast, that much was clear. it was their own fault, really. they’d been skating along the street, not paying enough attention and nearly tripped over some debris in the road. they supposed they were lucky that their phone was the only casualty from the near-accident. “so,” they mused aloud, “think i could get away with saying this was normal wear and tear?” the question was more of a joke at their own misfortune than anything else, but they were really regretting not getting that extra insurance now. and not backing it up anytime since. “at least things can only go up from here.” it was almost too optimistic, but embeth just had a good feeling that good things were coming their way.
jason couldn’t believe his eyes and knew that, had his worst fears come true, he’d never have forgiven himself for standing idly by and watching embeth get into an accident. thankfully, they looked to be okay, but he still wanted to be sure. “oh my god, are you alright?” he asks, rushing over to them. he doesn’t pay much attention to their phone, but when he finally does notice it, his face falls. “jesus. busted, isn’t it?”
"afraid not,” he begins, frowning as he gives them news they probably don’t want to hear. “however, i’m sure the poor guy trying to help you will feel bad for you. not sure how that helps, though.” hearing them say that things can only go up from here catches the boy off guard. wow, did he admire that way of thinking. ( it couldn’t ever have been him, but he could admire it. ) “you’re sure?” jason wished he didn’t sound as much like he didn’t believe them ( he really, truly did! honest! )
mina sat at keith’s pub, hands on her heads as she winced in pain. she should have expected this. after an uncountable number of glasses of tequila, it’s only natural that a person wakes up the next day cursing at the sun and praying to god for a big mac. yet even with this excruciating pain and night full of regrets, she still found herself at keith’s pub the very next night, eager to make a whole new day full of memories to look back on. she figured she’d start the night off with some social interaction, her favorite. “ hair of the dog that bit you, right ?? cheers. “
it had been a rough morning. a great night, sure, but a rough morning thereafter. jason cursed the day he’d started drinking . . . and then got back to the pub and started drinking once more. who could blame him? the best remedy for a hangover was more alcohol, after all. ( that was a thing, right? )
“amen to that,” he reaffirms, trying to give her a bright grin but the headache only allowing for it to look like a grimace. “what should we toast to? should it be ‘to hangovers’ or ‘to the hope that we’ll wake up tomorrow feeling better than today?’“
willow is no stranger to the loudhouse at closing, or the mishaps that come with getting the last of drunk clubgoers out of the establishment. to be fair, she’s one of them, still warm and buzzed from the last shot she’d taken. it’s not exactly the best state to be riding back on her bike, so she sits herself down by the pavement, waiting to sober up a little more before she risks it.
she’s not particularly surprised when she sees someone stumbling in her direction, drunk off their ass; she’s kind of horrified when her helmet gets turned into a barf bag. and yeah, she was planning on drunk driving so her whole grasp on road safety isn’t the best, but damn. maybe that’s a sign to uber home. “ fuck, ” she drawls, looking at the damage. “ y’can keep that. ”
if jason didn’t know any better, he’d say that he was a little too lost in the sauce. however, he did know better but still -- wow, he couldn’t even finish the sentence. the boy had wanted to cut loose a little with his band mate, but cutting loose crossed over into getting absolutely wasted about four beers in. he’s wobbling down the halls, laughing at a joke he’d heard an hour ago. the sight of willow is a welcome one. “willow! i thought i lost you,” he slurs, reaching out both of his arms to try and embrace her. alas, it’s easier said than done and the motion in and of itself causes him to quite nearly lose his footing. thankfully, jason is able to keep upright, but the sudden change in force causes his stomach to do flips. he feels horrible about it now ( which will inevitably multiply tenfold in the morning ), but he loses his lunch and dinner in the first thing he can get his hands on . . . which is willow’s helmet.
“holy--” he cuts himself off, giving her a look that’s akin to one of a scolded puppy. “willow, i’m so-sorry.” he emphasizes sorry, but can’t stop himself from chuckling at the way it sounds. “can i make it up to you?”
Language is, in other words, not necessary, but voluntary. If it were necessary, it would have stayed simple; it would not agitate our hearts with ever-present loveliness and ever-cresting ambiguity; it would not dream, on its long white bones, of turning into song.
