#I feel like some of you didn't listen to the lyrics of the stains of time

[sailorsenshishitposter]

Until it finds my dreams have disappeared

I've been debating about whether or not to post this for a while. Mostly because I use my tumblr to post dumb stuff or act as a distraction from stress. I'm getting kind of tired with people though. This isn't something exclusive to the Metal Gear franchise (far from it) but it's something I've noticed happening quite frequently. Metal Gear has many characters with horrible backgrounds that suffer from PTSD/CPTSD and many mental health issues. I can't help but notice that there's a trend in the younger crowd (isn't mgs exclusive) that whenever there's a heavily traumatized character (I've only seen it happen with male characters but I assume the opposite does happen) that they considere attractive, they will simp for them and post things unironically.

It's like they see someone who they think is attractive and start actually going "NO I CAN FIX THEM! THEY'RE JUST SAD LITTLE MEOW MEOWS". Like it's fine to make jokes but when you see posts that resemble those weird celebrity fan pages bordering on obsession I think it's time to take a step back. I get some people identify with characters which is fine but they'll completely ignore said characters actions and be like "sure they killed all those people but I'd totally let them cut me up if I had the chance to smash" when the person in question isn't even real. Or there will be a character that's traumatized so badly that they think that if you just cuddle a person like that and baby them then you can fix them. I guess I'm mostly just mad because I feel like usually these are young kids who still have a chance for a good life but they're very ignorant about how people affected by trauma can be.

It's not some cute, quirky thing. It changes your whole world and your beliefs, especially when it starts in childhood. You can technically put this for any character that meets the criteria but personally for me I would have to choose Monsoon from Metal Gear Rising. He grew up with no choice but to kill to survive and witnessed the Cambodian genocide along with working for the mafia and nearly dying from that. I don't really care if someone has a crush on a fictional character, personally that's none of my business. What I'm tired of is seeing frequent posts that range from "uwu my soft cinnamon roll baby" to all the graphic smut on here depicting tortue.

I can't speak for everyone but personally I find it demeaning when being coddled by others. Yes, I went through things but please don't treat me like a child. It feels insulting. I also have no problems with BDSM but I can only take seeing so many posts that basically allude to someone drawing a character about to be raped for their own personal enjoyment. It's especially bad when people make stuff of that for characters who have already been held hostage or enslaved (I'm looking at Vergil x Mundus shippers specifically).

Trauma is not something that you can help someone overcome. It consumes them and becomes your entire world regardless of how it came to be. In fact trauma is often passed down through genes. Though you may not have someone else's memories you will have the same reactions to traumatic situations that those before you did or your body will adapt to that kind of environment. Hypervigilance can be passed down through epigenic changes in DNA.

This is where things get personal for me. Though I've never met them, I know I come down from genocide survivors. I'm either third or fourth generation. I'm not exactly sure what they saw but from what I've read it was common to see various forms of torture. One method was to stick babies in the sand and then trample over their heads with horses... Based on the family I could find and knowing their location, they must have survived the death marches and I'm unsure if they were at the final killing fields or not. That's not even mentioning everything they had being taken away from them and seeing everyone they knew suffer horrible fates. To this day bone fragments will still rise from the ground, the bodies of the dead never having been put properly to rest.

I'm unable to travel there but if I could, I couldn't help but feel like I'm being swallowed by death. Why am I here but so many perished. Then on to my father. I don't know much about him and he passed away when I was a child. All I really know about his background was that he came from a wealthy family. It was common for his friends families to have guards outside their children's bedroom doors. We lived in a western country where it was "safe" (he wasnt originally from where I Iive) but I remember he wouldn't sleep at night and would seem like he was looking for something during the day. Sometimes he just stared like he was waiting for something to happen but nothing ever came. I don't want to say that he was an intentionally cruel person, just that I don't think he had the capabilities to act like a normal human being. I was raised with a mindset of being better than others. That is to say that I wasn't supposed to have weakness. It makes sense looking back. He survived having his body messed up and I was told he survived assisnation attemps (corruption is huge down there so it's not like police could do anything). Nothing was said after so I assumed he killed whoever was after him before they could kill him. Pretty much a kill or be killed mindset.

Growing up I realized he was hard on us not to hurt us but because he thought it would make things easier for us in the future. I know it must have been even worse for him if he thought that this was being kind. Anyway he passed away when I was a child and long story short but for whatever reason my family couldn't get in contact with us so I never received my inheritance but that's for the best. I don't know how well I would have handled it at nine if I knew there was a possibility of being kidnapped or killed for the money or because someone had a grudge against my father.

I guess I always knew I was different but his death really solidified that. I was used to having to be tougher but it seems like my older sister and mother couldn't handle it. They already cried one time when we couldn't see him (which was often) and once the news broke I just remember everyone sobbing and screaming in agony. I didn't feel anything though. I realize now that it was dissociation but no tears would fall and I understood what was happening but it felt like I couldn't emotionally process it. At some point I have no memories up until a certain point. Whenever I have some sort of traumatic situation happen I suffer from dissociative amnesia. I'm not sure for how long, I just know that there are large gaps in my memory.

Right before my memories vanished I can remember not wanting to exist anymore. The day after I was surrounded by all the sobbing and knew that I couldn't let myself die. If I did I would just be trying to escape from my pain and would place it on my family. So for the last two decades I haven't really had a dream or anything to look forward to. I've just had a goal of trying not to die. There are many more traumatic things that followed which I won't get into but I dislike telling people my life story since they just give me looks of pity or seem like they want to ask how I haven't killed myself yet.

Unfortunately the kill or be killed mindset has been passed on. While I've never harmed anyone, I have recovered memories involving someone I trusted keeping me against my will and unspeakable things happening many times. I've had frequent nightmares since then and didn't know that my situation wasn't normal. By the time I was a teenager I found out that I didnt have to live my life in fear and allow abuse to keep happening. I've decided since then that I'll do whatever I can should I be faced with a similar situation in the future. I can only fight back to stop such a thing from happening again. It will most likely never occur again but it still affects my life everyday. I can't go out in public without someone I trust and even then I still scan the whole area and look for an escape route. I shouldn't have to feel like everyone around me is a possible threat to my safety and freedom.

I don't think people realize just how calming the rain can actually be. Not just the light stuff but heavy rain. It acts as a soothing white noise that drowns out your thoughts and feeling it hit your body also distracts you. I won't say when since it could reveal my location but within the last few years I was outside during a very bad storm that had frequent wet microbursts. It destroyed all the trees in the area and I almost died but I felt oddly calm. It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. There was so much wind and rain that it resembled blowing snow and there was so much water hitting the ground that it would form waves that would zoom so fast and then crash only to repeat the process over and over.

I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm annoyed by all the sexualization of people with mental health issues. With the way some people act towards characters that don't exist, it worries me how they could treat real people going through similar situations. And on the other hand please see trauma survivors as real people. Many of us had to survive on our own and you thinking someone being terrified is just a shy/cute trait that makes them adorable is infuriating. I can't tell you how much I hate the latter. I'm so sick of people thinking that I need someone to spoil me with affection and protect me to the point where I feel like I'm being treated as a baby. It just makes me feel more weak and pathetic.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Kinktober day 21, Biting - Toby, GN

You might be wondering, Aubrie, didn't you say you'd only post these written out on AO3 so they'd all be together? And, yes, I did say that, but I am making today an exception because I feel this fic is very viscerally my canon yandere Toby and I want it on the blog.

You can still click right here to find it on AO3 and leave any comments or kudos as that would be much appreciated <3

But I also just. I wanted this to be in my yandere tag, as I finally wrote yandere Toby and biting with actual smut.

CWs for this one; dub-con into possible consent, biting, blood, depictions of gore, cannibalism as a very direct metaphor for love, I guess cannibalism as love???, Toby being insane, Reader losing themselves to his insanity, Stockholm syndrome. It really just is Toby basically biting and kind of eating the reader while reader can't decide if they consent or not. (There's also some secret lyrics from a song hidden in there I was listening to while writing <3)

I had a very visceral reaction in one of the ending scenes of this and had to tone it down because it made me so uncomfortable, but I do really REALLY love this as one of my yandere Toby fics. Please enjoy <3

"It wo-wouldn't be so bad if y-you stopped resisting." His tone did little to calm your anxious squirming, his hips holding your own down, hands restraining yours above your head. The blood that coated his lips wasn't his own, and the soreness in your shoulder pressed the tears blooming in your eyes to trail free. You knew from past experience that regardless of how hard you struggled or resisted, even if you'd fully submit to him, the pain would still sting with the same intensity, and he'd provoke you however he could to get a reaction out of you. You opened your mouth to respond, and his eyes narrowed in warning for you not to speak.

"Just let me h-have some f-fun." A twisted smile blooming on his cheeks had you trembling once more as he pulled a switchblade out of his back pocket, flipped it open, and pressed it jarringly softly into your abdomen, slicing cleanly through your clothing but leaving your skin free of blood. No, Toby wouldn't cut you with it, he'd much rather draw the blood out of your skin himself. He licked his lips, your blood smearing across them, as he watched your clothes peel off your skin, and he switched both of your wrists into one of his larger hands so he could remove your clothes, leaving you bare beneath him as his eyes devoured you.

It was one of the few times he still looked soft and loving, when his hooded eyes roamed your figure, his hand softly tracing and caressing with a gentleness you were rarely given. It was moments like this where you could almost believe he still loved you, that he was still your sweet, caring Toby that you'd fallen in love with, but the blood shining on his teeth as he smiled at you was quick to squash that thought. Hand trailing back up your body to rest at your throat, squeezing firmly as he looked over your face, your eyes widening in fear, tears staining your cheeks, the giggle leaving his throat far too happy.

"S-so cute!" He cooed at you, leaning down to press kisses to your cheeks, his tongue slipping out to lick up the remaining drops of tears on your skin, leaving a watery red trail as it went. His licks turned to kisses once more as he pressed them fervently to your lips, giving you a taste of the iron of your blood, before pausing with an irritated sigh as he backed up from you. "Don't m-move them." He glared at you as he painfully squeezed your wrists, and you nodded quickly, wanting the pain to cease. He finally released you, but you obeyed, out of fear more than anything else, and with his extra hand he was quick to begin working his pants off, his mouth once more on yours, impatient moans leaving him as his body twitched above you. You had little time to react as his hands touched you once more, hoisting your legs up and revealing the vulnerable area between your thighs, his grip intentionally squeezing into the areas he'd bruised violently earlier that evening. He separated from your lips once more to appraise the area, a smile far too wide appearing on his face as he began to pump his cock, lining himself up at your entrance without any preparation.

"Toby, wait, please, you haven't-" Your words were halted by a cry tearing from your throat as he pushed inside of you anyway, a deep groan leaving his throat as the warmth of your body enveloped him. He narrowed his eyes at you once more, his hand grabbing yours, bringing it to his lips as he pressed delicate kisses to your wrists. Your heart was thudding in your chest, a whine already leaving your throat as you could feel what was coming. "W-what makes y-you think you d-deserve preparation?" It was chilling, how cold and cruel his voice could be, but before you could respond tears were leaking from your eyes once more as he teasingly nipped at your wrist, before plunging his teeth into the soft skin of it.

Your head tipped back with a scream and it caused him to moan in response, his cock throbbing inside of you as he began to move in and out of you in slow thrusts, his teeth pressing firmer and firmer into your wrist until he could taste your blood on his tongue once more. It was the same process, every single time he wanted to fuck you, every time he wanted to pleasure himself without a care in the world for if you wanted this or not. His tongue lapped eagerly at your bleeding wrist as he fucked into you, moans slipping out of him as easily as tears and cries were slipping out of you. You wanted to hurt him, to make him experience the same pain he'd make you experience every day, but the fear of what would happen if you tried, keeping your right arm held above your head as he continued to hold your left, the throbbing in your broken ankles a reminder not to cross him.

You tried your best to focus on the pleasure, to focus on his cock moving in and out of you instead of on his teeth trailing further up your arm, a trail of red smearing across your skin in a way he always described as divinely bewitching. Your cries alternating between moans from the sensation of his cock dragging along your walls to sobs from a particularly painful bite had Toby losing himself above you, his hips stuttering as he'd lose focus of his thrusting and slip above you. By the time he'd made it back to your throat your arm was beginning to go numb from the pain lacing through it, his mouth once again smeared with blood as he hovered above you, panting heavily as he rutted into you as if his life depended on it. His eyes roamed over your body, looking for purchase, looking for the next place he wanted to destroy with his teeth, and as they always did, his eyes landed on his favorite area of your body. He descended to press passionate kisses to your jaw, trailing them down your neck and licking and sucking, lavishing you with attention as your moans increased in volume. Despite his rough treatment, you could feel yourself drawing closer and closer to your end as he hammered into the spot that would always make your vision go white. You finally broke the rule of not moving your hands to wrap them around his back, gripping onto him for stability in a way that made him think you were enjoying this far more than you were.

"T-that's i-it! Keep enjoying y-yourself!" The excitement in his voice had chills running down your spine, but you couldn't argue back, preferring to surrender yourself to the pleasure fogging up your mind and making you forget who you were and where you were, making you forget who the monster doing this to you was. Your mind buzzed, your vision blurring from the mix of euphoria and blood loss, spacing out and dissociating as you surrendered your body to the man who lived solely to defile it. It was so beautiful, your spacey expression, the blood mixing across your skin, his head was reeling, doing his best to show you just how much he loved you. Causing all of this blood to spill out of you, licking it up and drowning in it, it made him feel so high, so positively intoxicated, presenting his love to you in the deep red color coating your skin. He was so giddy, so filled with absolute joy at the thought that maybe you were finally starting to love him again, that you'd no longer found him so unusual, that you were accepting that this was your life now, embracing it and treasuring it just as he did. Oh, it made him so happy! He felt as if he could explode from euphoria as his pace increased, animalistic grunts and groans roaring out of him as he did his best to try and make you feel as good as he did.

He couldn't remember the last time he felt this happy, maybe not since the first time he'd done this to you. That fateful day all those years ago when he'd lured you here on the false promise of it being an adventurous date, only to lock you up in here forever, right where you belonged. To pin you down and bloody your body, to force himself on you in a way he'd been longing to for far too long, it had been the most exciting day of his life, defiling your body and showing you how much he loved you, the way he loved you. You were the only person whose blood he'd tasted, and it goes to show how much he loved you, that tasing your blood was in fact how he loved you. Drawing blood, your life force, out of you and indulging in it as if it were the finest meal in the entire world, what better way was there to express his unending devotion to you? He recentered himself from memory lane by licking your blood off of his teeth, his eyes rolling back into his head as he trembled above you. There was no better feeling than doing this, and knowing you were finally enjoying it as much as he did was driving him unquestionably insane.

You didn't know how much time had passed since you zoned out, floating above your body in the space between pleasure and unconsciousness, but you'd soon find yourself pulled back down to earth. As your orgasm slammed into you, you'd felt yourself screaming at the top of your lungs, not from pleasure, but from Toby sinking his teeth all the way into the side of your neck, squishing your flesh and causing blood to soak the bed beneath you as his impulses took over him, giddy laughter and moans vibrating from deep inside of him as he gorged himself on your blood and skin. You clawed and screamed and begged, but he wouldn't let go of you, not when he met his own climax right alongside you, not when he coughed and choked on the blood filling up his mouth, not when he slipped his tongue inside of your neck, slid it through the gaping holes his top and bottom teeth had left inside of you and had you crying out from pain and discomfort. It was revolting, it was disgusting, it was violating, it was quite possibly the worst thing he's ever made you feel, and yet it had been the very thing to trigger your orgasm and have you falling apart underneath him. Your cries shifted from pain to revulsion at your body for enjoying such a thing, and an incredibly dark thought focused in your mind, the realization that over the last few years, he'd been conditioning you, conditioning your body to accept this, to associate it with pleasure. His cock throbbed inside of you, throbbed like your arm, throbbed like your neck, and it felt good. You felt euphoric in a way you'd never felt before, and as he curled up beside you, as he pressed his lips to yours, as your blood coated the inside of your mouth as his tongue caressed yours, a horribly intrusive and repulsive thought you'd been promising yourself you'd never have filled your mind as you lost yourself to the darkness of blood loss. Were you falling in love with him again, in love with this monster, this horribly sick man? And, even worse…

Were you finally starting to enjoy it?

[crispxxxx]

How skz(ot8) would react to s/o reader having a bad day

(tw.None(?) Tell me if i need to add any)

Lol I made this because i want to throw myself off a building rn and the good thing about being a writer is that you can wright what you need!

sorry for ranting, I'll most likely re-edit this tomorrow when i'm not a mess

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Bangchan-

He is the embodiment of the lyrics "the monsters gone, he's on the run and your daddy's here."

When he gets home and realizes that you've had a bad day he's instantly by your side giving you hug's and kisses, He won't force you to tell him anything unless he's scared that your not being safe.

If you wanted to talk about it he would sit there and listen for hours, But first he would ask if you wanted advice or you just wanted someone to talk to, because he will stfu and listen if you just want someone to talk to.

But if you didn't want to talk about it than he would give you two choices, Either he would cuddle you in silence or he would talk about something that happed in his day (something cute the boys did) Nothing Bad ofc so he wouldn't bring down your mood more

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Leeknow-

He's not very good with comforting with his words so he does it with his actions, When he see's you slumped on the couch with a tear stained face he made a bee-line to the bathroom and ran you a warm bath with bubbles.

When you both got in the bath he would brush/wash your hair before drying you off and helping you put on your favorite pjs and doing your skin care

than he would lay with you in bed and cuddling with you and ofc if you wanted to rant he would let you but if you didn't that's okay, He knows you well enough to know when he needs to push you to tell him what's wrong.

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Changbin-

The moment he got home and noticed your upset expression he would cuddle you like his life depend on it.

He would sit there and let you rant for hours And would text one of the boys to bring over some of your favorite snacks.

Would 10/10 not leave your side the next day, He would tell Chan that there was a problems and he couldn't make it in until further notice

you would have to force him to go back to work but ofc not without him throwing a fit

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Hyunjin-

He would sit there hugging you and crying with you, He believes that you two are soul mates so you must share the same feelings

when your sad he's sad, when your mad he's mad, when your happy he's happy.

Once both of you stopped crying he would ask if you wanted to talk about it,

If not he would just sit there and hold you until you either fell asleep or you wanted to do something else.

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Han-

Once he saw you were upset he would head to the kitchen and grab a tub of ice cream sit there and hold you while you eat it,

all he want's is his baby to feel better, he wouldn't start talking unless you told him it was okay.

if you want to tell him what's wrong he's all ears but if not he wouldn't push you, He wouldn't let you go unless you had to go to the bathroom other wise he's clinging onto you like his life depends on it.

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Felix-

he would wordlessly pick you up and put you on the counter. letting you rant as he made your favorite dessert and food,

once he was done he would run you a bath and just take care of you, with gentle touch's, kisses and sweet words,

he want's nothing more for you to be happy and would do anything for you just so he could see your smile return to your face.

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Seungmin-

Very much like Leeknow, he would wordlessly run you a bath and take care of you, he would wash your hair, style it, brush your teeth, do your skincare, get you changed in a new set of clothes and feed you and than once's that done he would hold you tight and sing you to sleep,

you cannot tell me that this man will not sing to you,

he would do anything for you, that even means singing a lullaby to you.

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I.N-

He would be so sweet,

the first thing he would do is grab a bunch of blankets and pillows and make a fort in the living room,

grab your favorite snacks and drinks and turns on your favorite show, he would hold you tightly until you fell asleep and if you weren't tired and didn't want to talk about yourselves he would rant about his day to distract you.

[they-call-me-emmy]

Memories - Tara Carpenter

I'm using da lyrics from 'Memories' by my angelic sweet angel face Conan Gray. I worship him. Thank you.

i dont even know how to classifiy this or whatever but lie eyhahh

yey.

It's been a couple months That's just about enough time For me to stop crying when I look at all the pictures

The Polaroids on your bed sheet. The small, scribbled dates in blue sharpie on the back. The way you genuinely looked happy in the photo. The way your own face looked back at you. The way her face looked back at you. It's been months. Get over it. That's what your friends tell you. What your family tells you. What you tell yourself.

Now I kinda smile, I haven't felt that in a while It's late, I hear the door Bell ringing and it's pouring

Tears well up in your eyes, blurring your vision and causing the lights to disable it completely. You needed to put these pictures down. Throw them away, lock them up, anything. Anything to make you stop looking. The sad, sarcastic laugh escapes your throat and you feel weird the moment it comes out.

You jump as the doorbell rings. You don't know who it could be. Its raining outside, you can hardly see the streetlamps. Your wearing the same baggy, stained shirt you'd been wearing for the previous week and a half. It might have been hers, you honestly can't remember.

You stumble to the door, opening it and feeling your eyes widen.

I open up that door, see your brown eyes at the entrance You just wanna talk and I can't turn away a wet dog

"Tara." You say, a slight twinge of coldness to your tone, although you were too shocked and hurt to muster up enough to shoot at her.

"Y/n." She said softly, the same tone as yours but the coldness replaced with what normally you would label as guilt. But Tara doesn't feel guilty....does she?

"Can I..." You clear your throat, willing yourself not to shout or cry or blame her for everything. It takes a lot of strength to not shut the door in her face, but you've always had a soft spot for her. "Can I help you?"

"I just...I just want to talk." She stares at her feet.

"Oh."

"Okay."

But please don't ruin this for me Please don't make it harder than it already is I'm trying to get over this

You can't have this girl ruining everything. Barging back in, to 'talk'. But you knew. You knew how much you wanted her back. But you're working for it. Working on getting over it. You're trying, you really are, but fuck. It might not be working. She's making this harder by coming here, bugging you. If she'd let you be, you'd forget about her, at some point.

Right?

I wish that you would stay in my memories But you show up today, just to ruin things I wanna put you in the past 'cause I'm traumatized

You wanted to forget. Have it all gone. Burn those fucking photos. But she's here, and she's real, and she's talking about how sorry she is, how her life is a mess and she needs a place to stay. And you can't do it now, you couldn't do it before and certainly not when she's crying in your living room. But you needed to get over her. You were scared.

But you're not letting me do that, 'cause tonight You're all drunk in my kitchen, curled in the fetal position Too busy playing the victim to be listening to me when I say

She's been drinking. The daze in her eyes and her wobbly movements and speech would show that to anyone. She's crying, telling you she left you for your own sake, that she didn't mean it and she was just having a hard time with life.

But now you were having a hard time. Because of her. And here she was, drunkenly crying to you. And here you were, letting her back in, for what? What're you getting out of this?

But you just can't turn her away.

"I wish that you would stay in my memories" In my memories, stay in my memories

"Tara, it's not right. You should leave. You're in my past. Go."

"G-God, please Y/n...d-don't k-kick me out-t." She sniffled, and her big brown eyes filled with more tears and suddenly you felt guilty, like kicking a bird from it's nest. But this wasn't her place. She didn't live here, you weren't with her. She had no right to stay.

But for some crazy reason you'd definitely regret in a day, you let her stay.

Now I can't say goodbye if you stay here the whole night You see, it's hard to find an end to something that you keep beginning Over and over again

"Can I stay over?" She asked you softly, her eyes wide and you couldn't say no.

Why can't you ever say no?

You knew that you'd never leave her behind if she kept coming back, forcing her way back into your heart. You knew you'd never get over her when she's laying on you couch like she used to, eyes closed and a sweet, innocent aura surrounding her sleeping figure.

I promise that the ending always stays the same So there's no good reason in make believing that we could ever exist again

You weren't ever going to go back to the way it was. She needs to stop trying. There's nothing in your favor. In your relationships favor. There's nothing that makes you two an important couple. You were just two people. You couldn't be with her anymore. That ship had sailed, and relationships never last through the second round.

I can't be your friend, can't be your lover Can't be the reason we hold back each other from falling in love With somebody other than me

You couldn't be her friend, it's too much to bear. The knowledge that you'd been with her, felt her, held her and loved her was too much. And she knew that. You couldn't be her girlfriend again. That hadn't worked out the first round, why would you suffer to try to survive the second? But she can't feel a connection, no, because then, she'd be stuck pity filled and guilty, and she too, just like you, would never move on and never find love. But it can't be with you, and it will never be because god fucking dammit that didn't work out and you ruined your chance. She ruined your chance.

She ruined this for you, and there was no going back. There was no fixing what had been broken.

And for that, she deeply regretted.

I clearly cannot write sad stuff

please comment because those are my favorites <3

[fabiana-walles]

Emptiness Machine. This song is so special to me. Just the best reunion song you can imagine -- first we get the taste of Mike's solo singing and explore the feeling that something is missing, and then Emily's fire-driven vocals kick in to add more energy and color. "I only wanted to be part of something" is such a great lyric in the context of the song and whole situation, because it can be about how someone's dreams and feelings got exploited (by the emptiness machine) but also about a genuine wish to connect with others (the band, the fans) and with something greater.

Cut the Bridge. One of the songs that took time to grow on me for some reason. The chorus felt strange at first, but after a few listens I began to enjoy how everything works together. This song has great lyrics, too -- the meaning isn't particularly relatable to me, but the word/rhyme choices make it all sound really cool.

Heavy is the Crown. To me it's a loud, upbeat song to dance to, and very Linkin-Park-y for sure. There isn't much to say about this song, it just sounds very badass.

Over Each Other. To me it's one of the most emotional songs on the album -- Emily's vocal potential is used in a very right way, so you can hear some of the best qualities of her voice. The lyrics are my favorite mixture of simplicity and depth, even the title is a word play with both of its meanings present in the song.

Casualty. Such a fun song, I loved it immediately. Demonic Emily (you should definitely let her out and set her free) and Angry Mike (as he should be, it's only a matter of time) is a brilliant combination that hopefully will appear in more songs in the future. Talking about simplicity -- yes, the whole song is basically just screaming, but it's so cathartic that it becomes art.

Overflow. I think this song is the most beautiful on the album, a pure audio delight. And it's interesting that Overflow comes after Casualty, as both represent a perfect Mike-Emily duo, only from different sides of a spectrum, so to speak. The lyrics are so ambiguous that can be about everything and nothing, but my mind noticed a particular line -- "Ground is shakin' as it opens up to pull me in" -- that reminds me of Nothing Makes Sense Anymore, one of the darkest songs on Post Traumatic, and this thought kind of breaks my heart, but in a good way. And by this I mean that it's so fucking great to have new Linkin Park music in 2024; it's the best.

Two Faced. This song is somewhat similar to Heavy is the Crown in my mind -- it's loud, kinda badass, and has a messy dancing vibe to it. It took me some time and a few listens to fully appreciate it, but I still don't take it seriously, it still feels like some kind of parody of their Hybrid Theory era. Which isn't a bad thing, though.

Stained. This song didn't grow on me immediately, but when it did, it surely took a place in my heart. I love how Emily and Mike again make a great duo, creating a beautiful contrast with their voices and vocal techniques. I have a feeling that my relationship with this song is going to evolve even more in the future.

IGYEIH. The more I listen to this song, the more I like it. The vibe it gives me is something between Dead Sara and Linkin Park -- not like a mashup but like two worlds meeting. And the lyrics are so good, both in meaning and sounding. Again, like with Stained, I anticipate a longer future history.

Good Things Go. It's one of those songs that hit your heart effortlessly and just stay there, probably forever. I don't have anything else to say except it's my absolute favorite on the album.

_____________

To summarize: From Zero is a fantastic album. The more I listen to it, the more I like it. All the songs sound natural, having both familiar and new vibe to them. As someone said -- it's like going through the whole Linkin Park discography fit into ten songs.

My top-3 (in no particular order):

- Casualty

- Overflow

- Good Things Go

[finina-archives]

I Love You So

Your roommate finds you asleep on your desk.

[Modern AU!]

"Hey... Are you alright? You didn't come down for lunch today."

Your roommate knocked on your door, worry in his azure eyes present. The only response he received from you was pure humane silence, only the sound of a faint anguish filled song could be heard coming from your room.

"I'm coming in."

Gently opening your door, he was greeted with the sight of you soundly sleeping in front of your computer on your desk, pieces of damp tissue papers and traces of tears rolling down your face was evident.

He walked in and shut the door behind him gently, making sure not to wake you up. He then approached you and carefully lifted your sleeping form into his arms and laid you down on your bed before covering you with a blanket.

The boy looked at the screen of your computer, all he saw was the lyrics of a sad song that you were listening to. The same song that he heard playing from behind your door.

'I'm gonna pack my things and leave you behind.'

'This feeling's old and I know that I've made up my mind.'

'I hope you feel what I felt when you shattered my soul.'

'Cause you were cruel and I'm a fool.'

'So, please let me go.'

What was this song about again...? Oh right. The melancholic melody combined with such heartbreaking lyrics reminded him so much of a heartbreak.

Examining your desk, he saw the numerous pieces of tear stained tissue papers and some more tear stains on where you laid your arms and head on your desk.

It was obvious that you were crying, had it happened to you?

As far as he could remember, you had left the house a few hours ago to hang out with a so-called 'lover' of your's. And when you came back, you looked like a mess. Puffy eyes, messy hair and and you looked exhausted.

You were usually really cheerful, and being sad was something rare for you. And you would usually join him for lunch and dinner, but today you didn't. And that, was how he knew something was off, leading to him having to show up on the doorsteps of your room.

Just by hearing that song playing from your computer, he knew what had happened.

Turning off the song and your computer, he prepared to leave. But a bold thought had crossed his mind at that moment. He turned to look at you, soundly sleeping on your bed.

After what had happened today, it left you hurting and exhausted, and he knew that. Even though you didn't ask for it, he knew how badly you needed some comfort, some consolation. Some... Reminders that everything is gonna be okay soon. And that the pain you're experiencing now is only temporary.

Although you may not have known this, but ever since you moved in and you two started living together, he slowly developed feelings for you. But he was afraid that you wouldn't like him back, resulting in him hiding his feelings from you.

So just imagine how he felt when he found out that you were taken, and had a lover. He was happy for you, yes. But deep down, he felt like he lost his chance to be your's.

Lifting up the blanket, he slowly climbed into bed with you. He scooted closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close to him, allowing you to rest your head on his chest.

He felt sorry for what you've gone through. It was truly tough, he understands. But at the same time, he feels like this is a perfect time for him to take a step at winning your heart. He's determined this time, he was going to gain your love and affection to prevent you from getting your heart broken again.

Looking down at your sleeping form once more, he embraced you tighter and rested his chin on your head, keeping you warm. Whoever that broke your heart was a total jerk, they did not deserve you.

After all, he could treat you so much better.

[grizzlyofthesea]

Fun with a New Pen

I got a ten-color pen over the weekend, and I've loved using it so far. I wanted to show it off a bit, and I had an idea today.

I've been obsessing over mothy's Seven Deadly Sins series of Vocaloid songs, so I decided to draw all the sinners today.

Duke Cherubim "Sateriasis" Venomania

I want his outfit. Give me his outfit. Let me be fancy like him.

His song is catchy as all heck and is one of my favorites of the whole series (especially ryusouta's cover, holy crap it's good). Weird for a repulsed aroace, I know, but it is what it is.

Super sad backstory that I can relate to in some ways. I wasn't locked in a basement for all my childhood or anything, but I was teased for my appearance quite a bit, even by some of my loved ones.

He can fly???

Banica Conchita

Gorgeous design

Has awesome powers

Ate herself just to save her child and became the new demon of gluttony in the process. That's metal as all heck.

Her song has an awesome instrumental, and the lyrics are nice and subtly horrifying.

Riliane Lucifen d'Autriche

Needed her own page because of how stupid frilly her dress is

Seriously, we get it. You're royalty. But make yourself easier to draw.

Least favorite song in the series, but I don't hate it. I love ryusouta's cover of the Velvet Mix, though.

Another super sad story, especially with Servant of Evil for extra context. Who could've guessed? Poor Kagamines can't catch a break.

Margarita Blankenheim

I used to hate her song for some reason, but I love it now. Both the melody and the instrumental are gorgeous.

Didn't deserve such a crappy husband

She has a special gift for you.

Actually a doll possessed by Eve Moonlit for some reason? What even is this series??? (Even though I love it dearly)

Kayo Sudou

Scariest song in my opinion. It may go on a bit longer than I'd like, but the way the story builds is terrifying.

Color-changing scissors that totally aren't stained with blood

Was kind of doomed from the start since her mom was the demon of envy. I'll give her credit for trying, though.

Very talented tailor, for what it's worth

Gallerian Marlon

👌

Another song with an awesome instrumental. The key changes make me feel extra evil when I listen to it. And the gavels. Oh my gosh, the gavels.

Poor dude went crazy over a spoon.

We all know he's Nemesis' dad, but they're also half-siblings? And neither of them had any idea?? What the actual heck, Ma--???

Nemesis Sudou

Also has one of my favorite songs (no, I'm totally not biased toward the Internet Co. Vocaloids, what are you talking about--). It's super dramatic and bold, and the key change at the end really gives it--and the whole series--a sense of finality.

Didn't even want a contract with the demon of wrath, but hey, she got a cool pet octopus out of it.

Her backstory hits me right in the feels. Seriously, being ordered by your estranged father to kill your lover--and not even having any idea that he's your father until after the fact? Ouch.

Becoming a dictator may have been a bit much, though

And the moral of the story is: listen to ryusouta's covers of these songs. (No, but seriously, they're awesome.) And the Evillious Chronicles is a crazy series, but the Vocaloid fandom wouldn't be the same without it.

[jargyles]

jeddie - the one where they don't break up

j&e have an epic summer of love and can't wait to finish highschool together (au where the byers don't move to cali. yet), but jonathan's insecurities get in the way of their outness. they don't break up about it. | ship: jonathan byers/eddie munson | bg characters: will byers (mentioned), wayne munson (mentioned) | words: ~3.4k | warnings: mentions of drinking, recreational drug use, references past alcoholism, internalized homophobia, period-typical attitudes around queerness, jonathan-typical relationship problems. lotsa angst

summer happened.

jonathan and eddie kissed for the first time, a whip of teeth and tongue that left jonathan hopped up on a new strand of endorphins and eddie- well, the same, but back then- newly obsessed with his club member's brother. jonathan hadn't anticipated them kissing more after that, chalking it up to some hazy frolic into dying grass, a firework that left a smell. he figured that would be the case especially when the fourth of july came and eddie kissed him again, and a handful of times between then and their first kiss, and another handful of times after that.

jonathan didn't think anything of it; having eddie around, getting high, going to shows and kissing in the dark, getting drunk, kissing after long walks home, all of it seemed like something that fit into eddie's idea of "a summer you'll never forget, byers". he didn't think anything about the way eddie looked, or spoke, or played guitar, or even held him in between moments they weren't doing anything. he didn't think about any of that, but… there was something. something that drove them to where they are now, something that made jonathan fully aware of what they meant to each other, even if it took a while.

it'd be the way eddie beamed at him every time they met, thin lips brandishing wide smiles and folding into the slight chub of his cheeks. it'd be the way jonathan didn't understand what it meant to feel empty when he didn't see him smiling. it'd be the way his hair would fall in stringy curls in front of his big brown eyes during a show, or after, or before, when they'd spent a good thirty minutes trying to wrestle a blunt they were sharing away from one another. the way his eyes would linger on the bend of eddie's knuckles underneath his silver rings. sometimes it'd be his scent, his laugh, even his touch- but really it'd be the lack of it all that drove jonathan to places he never thought he'd park at. especially with eddie munson.

neither one of them expected the other to say 'i love you', but they both did, and they were both shocked and didn't know what would come after that, but then they just kind of dealt with it. they would kiss, and get high, and go to shows, and hold each other, and spend days with jonathan's family and wayne, or the party, or the rest of eddie's band, and they would smile and say 'i love you' somewhere in between all that. they didn't even question it, and after about two months or so, they just accepted it. they were dating. boyfriends, even.

summer happened and the rest of their relationship became interwoven with trips to scoops and reading comic books in the woods and making out while listening to queen, a middle ground. the theatrics and vibrato were for eddie, and the music, the lyrics, and the familiarity of it all were for jonathan. lyrics became dates of the week, and theatrics became sweat-stained t-shirts under fizzling leds. they were trapped there for a while.

eddie had to repeat his senior year (again), and jonathan was starting his. both of these milestones, so to speak, took place after summer, and they hadn't thought about that.

jonathan was mostly excited for will; getting to drive to school together, showing him where his classes were, helping him with extracurriculars and homework, not even thinking for a second that his little brother would be attending the same school as his boyfriend. eddie didn't think about that either; he was stoked to have his byers and his mini byers with him, rambling on about how 'awesome' hellfire campaigns would be, how they'd drive him to the hideout- to which jonathan immediately shot that down- and how will's freshman year would be his favorite year because 'me and big byers are gonna make you never forget it, kid' and that's all the two of them cared about, really.

they didn't think about what would happen after they showed up at school together.

will decided that he'd rather walk with the rest of his friends to school that day, and have a proper meet-up-and-recap before they all settled into new classes and opportunities, so jonathan and eddie rode to school together. in eddie's van.

the thing they don't tell most people about having a boyfriend in hawkins is that most people in hawkins who have boyfriends are girls, and most boys who date have girlfriends, and so little couple-y things like showing up to school in the same van and fixing each other's jackets would earn strange and unsettling looks from fellow student passersby. things like that, when done without a girl present or involved in the straightening or light dusting of jackets, often got someone spat on or shoved into a toilet or trash can or locker of some kind, accompanied with a brand new word for "gay" written in permanent marker somewhere on your exposed skin for everyone to see.

they have the same first period, but they don't walk to class together.

they have the same last period too, but eddie can't wait that long.

during lunch, when jonathan is washing his hands before making the trek to the parking lot to eat alone in his car, a handful of boys enter and exit their respective stalls. most of them ignore him (thankfully) and the ones that don't just stare, and it could be due to his brother- the zombie- attending school with him now, it could be the way some people definitely saw him exit the same van as eddie munson, and it could be the way it's taking him so long to raise his hands above the sink to dry them off. all in all, they're still staring. there's a rolodex of reasons to stare at jonathan byers, and none of them are good, and all of them make sense, to a certain degree.

at least jonathan can wash his hands about it. he's getting better at moving his arms past his elbows, and he's grateful for being able to wash his hands under five minutes, even if his fingers still jitter or the water feels like- something he's bound to wash away again, maybe, if he isn't careful about eddie. about will. at least he can look forward to walking by eddie's table with the rest of the hellfire club as he makes his way into peaceful (albeit, regretful) solitude. maybe eddie will shoot him a wink mid speech, or smile at him and act like he's smiling at someone else during one of his elaborate public disruptions.

instead, jonathan hears a loud, swinging screech and flinches, his arms tensing up down to the laddering of his spine, and his first instinct is to reach for something but instead he just ducks his head down and mutters an apology, as if he was the one barging in on an innocent sink-dweller. instead of barking back at him, or spitting a venom-slick synonym for 'queer' and shoving him into the nearest stall, the interrupter pulls him in for a tight hug. it startles jonathan, until he realizes the only person to hug him by lifting him a foot above the ground is-

"can't fucking do this-" and eddie’s wrapping constrictor-tight arms around him one moment, then pushing the two of them into the nearest stall the next, and holding him by the face with both hands to kiss him right after that, "can't fucking do this, byers- i can't-"

"hey, listen-" jonathan melts, and couldn't think of a way to reciprocate eddie's intensity if he tried, becoming fully swept up in words stitched in between layers of kissing, "listen, eds-"

eddie stops, because he knows when to stop, when jonathan feels like it's becoming too much, too much acting and not enough savoring, or too much closeness when he needs air. jonathan expected eddie to ramble himself into a corner, or have a smile cutting its way across his mouth, something familiar to soothe his yearning. what jonathan doesn't expect is eddie looking back at him with eyes so wet, so red, that it looks like he'd been punched everywhere but south from the time he swung that door open to the first kiss he planted on jonathan's face.

"do you- do you know?" eddie's hand is on the spot next to jonathan's head. he's practically hunched over, his lips scrunched into a frown. "do you know how hard it is to act like i don't fuckin' miss you like crazy?"

"i know, hey, i know-" and jonathan is cradling eddie's head in his shoulder like he did during the summer, when they'd open up about things like this, that left them hoveling and wrecked for hours on end. he smooths over his stringy mass of hair, pushing it out of his face while eddie tried to replace the air in his lungs with whatever jonathan had going on at the top of his neck.

"i can't fucking do this." he snaps, his voice as wet as his eyes when he yanks himself from underneath jonathan's hold.

"i know." jonathan is prepared for the worst; he's ready to kiss eddie one last time in that stall and walk out with a wrinkled shirt that's bound to turn heads. he figures it's the end of summer and eddie has a breakable heart, and it must break his heart to not be around jonathan like how he used to, so jonathan figures it's time. he sighs, putting on a brave, stoic face while giving eddie a firm squeeze on his shoulder.

eddie isn't having any of it.

"i can't fucking live like this, byers." eddie says it- live- in a way that jonathan would've easily missed had he been focused on the mess of teeth and tongue sliding its way up and down his neck, dancing just above his collarbone.

it weighs on him, the idea of eddie not being able to live without him, or the idea of eddie not being able to live without being with him, whichever idea made the most sense. jonathan knows this is nonsensical, from every angle, because eddie doesn't mean that, and jonathan shouldn't just assume things out of people he dates for a month or two, or three, or… however long it's been since their first kiss. just because eddie kissed him back then the exact same way he's kissing him now- sporadic movements and bumps of teeth, both of their skin clammy and sundried at the same time- doesn't mean they should exist in a world where hawkins isn't hawkins. it's hard for him to imagine it, a world where he and eddie could step out of the same van or even hold hands in the halls, and if he tries hard enough he can convince himself that that isn't actually what he wanted from all this, no way, no how. it's hard to convince himself of that when eddie is taking his zipper down.

"eddie, wait-" he manages to cough out, having had every cognitive thought kissed right out of him, and his featherlight wrist tries to pick at eddie's heavily accessorized one. "really, wait. c'mon, eds- we gotta- gotta talk this out, okay? talk."

eddie exhales, long and heavy through his nose, with a pleased chuckle rumbling somewhere underneath all that. jonathan is relieved, even if eddie starts pressing quiet kisses up his neck again, at least jonathan knows he's listening.

"i missed you too." jonathan leans into it, resting his palm on eddie's cheek. he does miss him, even now, but he won't say it. eddie doesn't have to know that this is hard for him too, that he wants to be doing this- kissing, no judgemental eyes or poisonous words- out in the open, with all their peers, with everyone and anyone who could see.

eddie makes a noise, disgruntled, perished, wrecked inside, and he’s pressing the flesh of his cheek into jonathan's hand, nuzzling him with a ferocity that shouldn't be described as a "nuzzle". his arms come around jonathan's waist, tight, like he's protesting the bulldozing of the place that doesn't card for cigarettes, or trying to break him in half.

"i'm serious, eds," jonathan hears himself break, for a second, in a voice crack that borders on a wheeze, "i missed you. a lot."

"yeah, no, i- i know." eddie closes his leaking eyes tight, breathing him in again. "which is why i- i can't. i can't not be with you, or around you, or act like i don't even… like we don't even… know each other? does that make sense? i don't- i don't know what i'm saying here, jonny. something in there might make sense-"

"eddie." jonathan scoffs with endearment, then his heart sinks when he thinks about not getting to hear his boyfriend ramble anymore. "i know what you mean."

they pause, silence wrapping around them like a wool blanket. they're just limbs at this point; eddie's lips still wandering aimlessly on however much skin he could find on jonathan's neck, jonathan's head curled towards him, both of their arms folded around each other as they breathed, speaking in bumps of noses and sighs of gratitude.

"we just have to be careful, okay?" jonathan is the first to pull them back to reality, as unwilling as he was. "just for the year, yeah? so people don't think… y’know."

"god," eddie groans, his forehead thumping against the wall behind them, and he chuckles again, until it bleeds into a whine. "since when do we care about what people think? since when did we have to start acting like fucking…" both of them know what that silence means, and both of them knew how to not get caught over the summer, except for when they didn't, "ugh! this fucking sucks. this sucks, byers. why do we have to pretend that we're-"

"we won't be pretending," jonathan's face feels blank, and he tightens his fingers around eddie's bicep, "we'd still be together, just… we won't tell anyone. not because of what they'll say, but because it isn't their business."

there were a lot of things jonathan was scared of, and a lot of reasons to be scared of them. for a long time, he was scared of having to hurt someone he loved, and he was prepared for the inevitability of it happening, because ever since will first went missing, he knew he'd shut himself off more. what he wasn't prepared for, in the event of letting down a person he loved, was for that person to be eddie. he especially, never in his life, would've thought to prepare for the look on eddie's face after he said that.

eddie backs off completely, unashamed tears fully streaming down his face, his hands forgetting jonathan's zipper entirely, latching onto his shoulders like jonathan would go missing without them being wound together. he shrugs, and then his head is down and jonathan hears the starts to a lot of sentences that never get finished, or even have a first word to begin with. his hands tremble, his ring-clad fingers digging dent marks into jonathan's bare ones. he sniffles, hard, and it breaks jonathan's heart right down the middle.

he knows he should say something. he knows he should pull eddie closer, tell him he didn't mean it, that they'll just float through their senior year together and it'll be a breeze, or the best year of will's life, or whatever else eddie said, but he can't. he can't bring himself to do anything when he knows that lunch period will be over soon, and someone might see them leave this stall together and assume the worst- the truth- and make their lives a living hell. eddie doesn't deserve that. he should be able to graduate in one piece without jonathan dragging him down.

"i didn't know you were-" eddie is the first to speak, because jonathan is busy holding in his own tears at seeing him like this, "i didn't think you still cared about this stuff, y'know?" he squeezes jonathan's hands in his palms, "other people seeing us, whatever, all that shit. i didn't know it mattered so much to you."

"it doesn't." jonathan's lips crinkle into a frown. eddie didn't know what he was talking about.

"yeah?" eddie meets his eyes, and they're worse than jonathan could've imagined them being. his face is flushed, and his lips are red from having kissed jonathan so much, and his mouth twitches as it opens and closes, words dying off his tongue before he could form them. "because you really seem to give a shit about being seen with me, or even fucking knowing me, actually, so what gives? what changed with you, byers? what made you make up this- this fucking game plan on how we're supposed to act now, huh?"

"nothing." jonathan's voice is tight, and his fingers feel small and dry in eddie's hands.

"bullshit." eddie's grip is more firm, more secure, but still soft. his eyes scan jonathan's face, and his eyebrows have that arch in them that jonathan had only seen when he was learning a new song on guitar. he used to admire it, found it cute, but now it terrifies him. "what, are you, like… embarrassed of me? ashamed or- or something?"

"that's not-" jonathan feels a single tear fall, and he realizes he might've been holding in a breath this entire time. he knew how eddie worked; all it took was one missed idea, or misconstrued thought, and eddie would be in his dark hole of self pity once again, and they'd done so well with his progressing sobriety over the summer that jonathan doesn't want to see what'll happen when eddie gets down there again. “i’m not.”

"you don't like me anymore, then?" that crack in his voice- jonathan hates it- makes eddie sound like a rejected kid, and even he starts to shake his head at how ridiculous it might sound. "are we not, like, clicking like we used to? is it someone else?"

"eddie-" jonathan knows he's helpless to stop this spiral, and he starts his own series of unfinished sentences that come out as shortenings of breath and hollow grunts.

"did i do something?" eddie has his shoulders fully slumped now. "i know i'm not, like, the best boyfriend in the world or anything, but, you- you gotta tell me if i mess up, y’know? so we can-"

the bell rings. jonathan swore he wouldn't miss lunch, swore to himself he wouldn't make a scene on the first day back, for everyone's sake, and here they were. eddie is stood frozen in front of him, his body solid in it's hunched stance while his eyes bug out, racing around every corner of their shared space. when jonathan snaps his fingers in front of his face, eddie heaves, his posture loosening almost instantly.

"go." jonathan wishes he didn't sound so quick to get eddie to leave, but he has to get them apart before people see, and eddie still isn't getting the picture. he grabs him by the arm, and the way eddie won't even look at him is blunt enough to crack a bone. "you have go, eds, right now, or-"

"yeah." eddie snatches his arm away, sniffs hard as he wipes his face with one hand, and pushes the stall door open to properly storm out. "already ahead of you."

jonathan watches him leave, knowing (or at least assuming to know) that they'll talk later, and that they both need to get a grip before shit gets heavier than it needs to be. it'd have to be at his trailer after school, without will tagging along or, hopefully, without wayne to mistakenly wander in on their conversation. jonathan would have to think, long and hard, about what that talk would even mean for them. worst case scenario, they break up and hate each other for the rest of their lives.

jonathan can't think of another scenario.

[luckyshotwrites]

have another idea

if you had to assign one parody/comedy/meme-ish song to a character what would it be? would it be because it matches their personality or just because they find it funny? (alternatively you could do some sort of audio or vine/tiktok)

could do just 1 character or as many as you can think of answers for no pressure!!

HA, yesssss~! (You have no idea how glad I am to see this...I LITERALLY HAVE JOKE SONGS FOR ALL OF THE MAIN CAST. I never had a reason to share them until now, THANK YOU!! Every song I put here, they would definitely vibe to them as well, or sing along so it's great)

Lynette: Wish you the worst - Ryan Mack (simply for the threat/line "When you're out on a date and you order dessert, I hope you spill and it stains on your favorite shirt. And when you're trying to pay I hope your card doesn't work. Yeah, I wish you the worst." I loved hearing this, because I'm like- that's probably the harshest she'd get with most people when threatening them. xD The other part, is a little iffy. Maybe she'd think that in her head. BUT yeah, you'll see.

Alexander and Drake: Thank God I'm not you - Himalayas. I imagine them doing Karaoke for the lyrical parts back and forth to each other. Unironically saying each line that represents how they feel about themselves or how they are seen by others. AND "I thank god that I'm not you!" To each other. I find it super hilarious. Lol

Lev: My Type - Saint Motel I didn't remove this from the list. BUT YES. I can see Lev singing along with this song, and I love the line, "I'm a man who's got very specific taste, you-you-you're just my type. Oh, you got a pulse and you're breathing!" xD Lev isn't too picky with his prey and I think it fits him well because of it.

Zilla: Deal with the Devil - withakgames This was also on the character songs, prior. BUT I have a perfect song for her now that matches her. I thought of this being funny for her given the line, "smile sweetly as I lie, who here has the strongest might." P.s. do not listen to this song without headphones or in a room with people. The beginning be WACK.

Claudia: Brain Fluid Explosion Girl - Will Stetson What's going on in her mind, the whole, the absolute chaos of the whole song gets me for her. I recently found her more serious song, so I'll be getting rid of it from their song list, BUT YES, imagine her brain full of ideas and this is how crazy it is, 24/7.

P.s.s. I've updated the song list with the more serious, songs that fit all of them better, except Lynette. I have a perfect song for her, but can't put it as one of the lines is a literal spoiler for something revealed later. xD

ANYWAY, THANK YOU AGAIN. I'm sorry these may be a little of repeats from before BUT these were their jokey songs. I hope you like them!

AND HAVE A SWEETIE BOBEANIE DAAAAAY!!!

[lunapaper]

Album Review: 'Being Funny in a Foreign Language' - The 1975

Is it time to complain about another 1975 album already?  

With moody album art and a piano-laden opening track, you’d be under the impression that Being Funny in a Foreign Language was marking a shift towards more dramatic fare or that it expands on the bloated self-indulgence of Notes on a Conditional Form and 2020’s A Brief Enquiry into Online Relationships. But instead, we get a general rehash of the glossy 80s sophistipop of earlier eras. 

The glassy pop funk of ‘Happiness’ recalls the bubbly California vibes of ‘Girls’ and ‘She’s American.’ The sweeping lounge jazz of ‘All I Need is You’ is eerily reminiscent of ‘If I Believe You.’ ‘When We Are Together’ has an earnest country-folk bent similar to ‘The Birthday Party,’ while ‘Oh Caroline’ echoes the shimmering coastal pop of ‘Settle Down’ off the band’s 2013 debut (one of their best tracks). Even the sax solos return with a vengeance, to the point of distraction. 

The second half of Being Funny in a Foreign Language feels particularly gloopy and saccharine.  

‘'Cause I don't need music in my ears/I don't need the crowds and the cheers/Oh, just tell me you love me/'Cause that's all that I need to hear,’ Healy cries on ‘All I Need to Hear,’ sitting alone in his kitchen utterly bereft with no food in the fridge. On ‘About You,’ he muses like a lovesick schoolboy, ‘I know a place/It's somewhere I go when I need to remember your face/We get married in our heads/Something to do while we try to recall how we met.’ ‘Wintering’ is destined to soundtrack a Netflix Christmas original, mark my words. Healy even manages to out-Healy himself with lines like: ‘Alex is a sculptor and Olivia’s been a vegan since 10/Vin wears dresses whilst Debbie coalesces in a fleece that doesn’t work.’ 

Parklife? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Sometimes the lyrics are just downright lazy. Healy even admits as such (‘I’ve tried to find another name a thousand times/But the only one that rhymes is ‘Oh Caroline’). 

‘I’m in Love with You,’ meanwhile, is cloying with its jangling guitars, ear-bleeding chorus and copious amount of shimmer (Dear God, this record has so much fucking shimmer). It’s doesn’t even sound particularly romantic: Healy appears dismissive at times to now-ex girlfriend FKA twigs, especially when it comes to some ‘black girl thing’ she’s doing. 

I get that he ends up apologising to her. But why put it in in the first place? I’ve said it time and time again, but if it was any other male artist, they would’ve been cancelled into oblivion for such a line, especially in this current climate. Even Harry would’ve copped a lot of shit, but he’d don a sparkly hat or something, and all would be forgiven. Healy, for some reason, always seems to survive the scrutiny, no matter how loud it gets online. Why is he so special?? 

Though he does reminisce with a girlfriend on final track ‘When We Were Together’ about the time they were both cancelled on the same day – him for being a ‘racist’ and her for being a ‘slag.’ But all Healy probably got was an angry Reddit thread and a few hundred tweets, so I’m sure he got off easy in the end... 

He also admits to gaslighting her (‘I didn't know that it had its own word’). Again, if it were anyone else, blah blah blah, is anyone even listening at this point? 

First single, ‘Part of the Band’ fulfils the Healy pseudo-intellectual nonsense quota, even if it is just a weak facsimile of their other zeitgeisty tracks like ‘PEOPLE’ and ‘Love It If We Made It.’ Earnest strums and disjointed orchestral tones provide a backdrop to the singer’s self-indulgent musings, cramming in every political talking point of the past couple of years in some vain attempt to provoke:  

‘I know some vaccinista tote bag chic baristas  Sitting in east on their communista keisters  Writing about their ejaculations  “I like my men like I like my coffee  Full of soy milk and so sweet, it won’t offend anybody”  Whilst staining the pages of The Nation.’ 

It’s total parody at this point. And yes, Stereogum, I am doing the jackoff motion with my hand. 

Then there’s ‘(Looking for) Somebody to Love,’ giving an incel school shooter fantasy a bouncy John Hughes-esque soundtrack. I’m not averse to deceptively poppy songs dealing with dark subject matter, but it’s got nothing on the eerie apathy of ‘Pumped Up Kicks.’  

When ‘Part of the Band’ was released last July, it seemed to confirm to even some of their most ardent fans that The 1975 aren’t quite as fascinating as we’ve been led us to believe over the years, and Being Funny in a Foreign Language only further proves it. Healy, as usual, is more preoccupied with buzzwords, cliches, and getting a rise out of people than putting any real emotional weight onto his words, while the production is strangely flat and tinny. Not even having Grammy Producer of the Year Jack Antonoff on board seems to make much of a difference. 

Being Funny in a Foreign Language was seemingly received with rather little fanfare. Singles came and went without a trace. Even four months on from its release, there’s more news devoted to Healy’s controversies than to the album itself. 

At least Notes on a Conditional Form had a bit of ambition and some variety (as messy as it was), along with a totally undeserved air of self-importance. But this? This... is just another 1975 record.  

And that’s the worst thing a 1975 record can possibly be: Boring. Even after (mostly) rejecting computers in favour of jam sessions, all they could manage to produce a bunch of mostly forgettable mid-tempo songs that sound a lot like their older ones. In the space of just a couple of years, the band has gone from pompous pop provocateurs to just plain dull.  

Like, what the fuck am I supposed to make fun of now?? 

- Bianca B. 

[justasimp1]

Thomas Hewitt/Leatherface x F! Reader

Ramble♡♡

My Jersey

You had seen him before–the brooding, thick shoulder, loose black curls, mystery face man. He made you curious, oddly warm, and bold–10x bolder.

"I think I left something" You tried to put on the most convincing tone towards your brother. He shrugged, shoving a cigarette in-between his lips. Smoke swirled into the air, mixing in with the pungent fumes from the factor.

"If you take forever, I'm leaving" He twirled the car keys in the air, walking to the car. You rushed back towards the doors, mud spreading underneath the hill of your boot. The doors let out a long groan, making the humid factor all the more eerie.

You walked past big greasy tubes, large freezers packed with various types of animal meat, and cupboards lined with dripping bloody knives. You made a beeline to a space in the factor, the sound of chopping bouncing off the walls.

Your hips buckled at the sight, his muscles flexing, sweat glistening on his exposed hands. His thick fingers smeared the leaking blood around the table. Oil and grime were disgusting but on him, it was all the more attractive.

"Excuse me," It was now or never...

His body went rigid, like the sound of your voice was a song you hadn't listened to in forever, and you doubted your ability to remember all the lyrics. He continued, moving his arm, the blade of the machete tearing down into the slab of meat.

You closed your eyes, bathing in the embarrassing silence. You didn't realize how much your feet were itching to take several steps back. "Sorry," You gulped, your hands fiddling with the fabric of your clothing. You looked up at the dull yellow lighting, hoping the rays would dry the wetness coating your lens.

"What?" It was barely soft and came out like a murmur. The space between your eyebrows crinkled, and you looked at the man's back. His movements slowed the weight of the knife releasing from his grip.

You smiled, replaying the small clip of his voice again. You giggled and twirled inside, your heart exploding with childish emotions. However, it was short-lived because fuck...you hadn't planned what to say if he responded.

You stammered over your words, making weird gestures with your hands. "Hi, I'm Y/N. My brother works here. So, one day I was looking for him but found you. And I asked around for your name—some people can be mean so I stopped but then I asked my brother. But he was curious and wouldn't tell me anything until I gave him a reason to and I couldn't tell him I wanted to get to know a cute guy..." You drifted off, listening to the silence that replaced your rambling.

He didn't say anything. The chopping reverberated once again. He didn't even tense or spare you a glance. The unresponsive long seconds sent you an obvious rejection.

"Sorry, I should leave" Your heart fell. You took a few steps back, hoping the walls could squeeze your figure, hiding you from any civilization. Your mind is filled with diseased thoughts. 'What if he thought I was weird? He's not talking for a reason, he thinks I'm disgusting, my voice sounds raspy'

You were sprinting at this point, your throat clenching for fresh air. "Fuck" You groaned, looking around, all the walls looked the same. You kicked the nearest beer bottle, sending it across the floor, the sound made you flinch.

Your fingers arched at your scalp, pathetic wetness blurring your vision. There were so many thoughts fleeting and stacking. You regretted stepping back into the building, your brother probably stranded you here, you embarrassed yourself greatly, and missed your last chance of finding a guy you liked.

Your brain started to pulse, an instant headache forming from the stomach-churning feeling. You rubbed your eyes, removing the tears staining your waterline. You slowly moved out of the humid room, retracing your steps, navigating to the entrance.

Your heart was too intertwined with your thoughts and your eyes were too focused on the ground. You didn't realize the mumbled—no grumble and stiff body blocking your way. You paused, your heart swirling around, burying itself into the ground.

You saw the light seeping in from the entrance behind his torso. He was tall in front of you, his body emitting a metallic smell. You studied his mask, the tuff material looping around his mouth. His lips were visible, they were parted but nothing came out.

You imagined a scenario where your hands could caress his face, lips grazing each other, foreheads bumping together. A rhythmic honk came from outside. "I have to go, my brother is waiting" You squirmed passed him, the words came out weakly.

His hand grabbed your arm, his palm gulped your limp. His grip was tight, a red irritation mark showing. You looked down at your feet, hesitant to make eye contact. He placed a crumpled parchment in your hand before walking off.

You turned around, rushing outside. Cold air filled your lungs, you let out a sasitified sigh. Running to your brother's car that was still beeping. You slowed down, to open your palm. The paper was oily and has a few specks of dirt on it.

You undid the many creases, stretching out the paper. "Thomas Hewitt..." You whispered to yourself, re-reading the paper again and analyzing each letter to make sure you read it right. You felt foolish for stopping dead in your tracks and slightly jumping up and down.

"Hurry the fuck up!" Your brother yelled, laying down on the horn again. So many questions and emotions were flying through your mind. You skipped over to the car, your eyes smashed against the words. You examined his handwriting and the small swirl on his last name.

Your brother moved the stick into a new gear. You leaned back in your seat, tracing over the words. "Tell me about Thomas Hewitt"

Masterlist

[babyboyxiao]

hi! could you do an aged up yatora yaguchi smut? i don’t have anything else specifically just stay true to his character. this is my first time requesting so sorry if i’m doing anything wrong!

thanks!!!

Yellow is the Colour of His Eyes | Yaguchi Yatora x Reader

AN: thank you so much for the request, i'm sorry this took so long! you're absolutely perfect and i'm so excited for my first Blue Period request! i really tried hard to write him in character but idek anymore, it's been a fat while since i last read bp tbh, and idek what that ending was i got hella tired at the end of writing this but i just hope you enjoy it,, i ended up really leaning into the idea of the reader being a fellow student so there's actually quite a bit of plot so i hope that's okay too,, i was also listening to soccer mommy's song of the same-ish name technically it's "her eyes" while writing this and, while the lyrics don't quite line up, i'd recommend listening to it while reading this bc idk it just fits for me :)

Summary: during a rough night pouring yourself into your final assignment of your second year at Geidai, Yatora finds you decrepit in your studio area. the weight of the mistakes in your work weighs heavy on your shoulders and you find yourself unable to hold back your feelings any longer.

CW: smut, nsfw (minors dni!), friends to lovers, angst with a bit of fluff, unprotected sex, gn! reader

As the end of the semester drew near, you found yourself gradually spending more and more time holed up in your studio working on your final assignment. Your hands stained with ink, paint caked underneath your chipped fingernails, and your eyes swelled with a lackluster enthusiasm as you stared at the canvas before you. It was completed, ready for submission and you were elated that you could finally call it a night... but then you spotted it, a dark smudge on the right edge of the canvas. No doubt it was made by your grimy hands as you'd absent-mindedly gripped the canvas while painting. It wasn't just there either, suddenly every imperfection stood out like a sore thumb and you groaned, tears threatening to spill over as you buried your face into your hands. You just sat there, shoulders slumped as you prepared yourself for another couple of hours of fixing all those blemishes. A gentle knock echoed from the door, platinum blonde wisps of hair peeking out between the frame and the door.

"Thought I'd find you here," Yatora huffed, "I've been calling you, y'know?" You didn't dare look at him, you didn't want one of your closest friends to see you in such a state.

"Oh, sorry... my phone's in my bag." You dejectedly reply. You heard the rustle of a plastic bag, then some rattling, and his footsteps drawing near. You furrowed your brows, you really weren't in the mood for this.

"It looks amazing, just a couple more touches here and there and you're almost done. I got you a couple of things to keep you going-" Yatora's rambling was cut short by the shrill screech of your stool. Keeping your head down, you marched over to him and began dragging him back towards the door.

"Yeah, thanks, really. Can you please leave now?" Your voice shook with every word, your fingers trembling as they gripped his biceps and legs wobbling with every step. The tremors in your voice sparking concern, Yatora spun around and clutched your shoulder, peering down to get a look at your face.

"Fuck, you don't look so good. Just- let's get some air, okay? I brought some snacks, you look like you're about to keel over." Yatora huffs, bringing an arm around your shoulder to lead your tired figure outside. You can't it back any longer, your frustration and exhaustion boiling over. You push his arm away, stumbling back towards your canvas. You know you're being dramatic but you can't waste any more time, and you know that if you went with him, you wouldn't want to leave.

"I can't! I have to finish this and, unlike you, I just- I can't work like you do! Constantly working, improving, like you know what you need to get better at a-and you just do it! It's like time doesn't slip away from you like it does for me, I just-" and then it hits you. You're knees crash into the vinyl beneath you, the air is abrasive in your lungs, probably from all the turpentine fumes, the dry skin of your hands absorbing your tears as they fall. The boy is stunned, his feet rigid but, in his stupor, he manages to walk towards you. Squatting beside you, he hesitantly places a hand on your head, ruffling your disheveled hair.

"Is that how you think of me?" he sighs, your outburst simultaneously empowered him yet pierced him. On one hand, the fact that someone like you saw how much he was improving made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, even if it was via some eruption of bitter emotions, and it wasn't like you never praised him, quite the opposite. However, there was something different about how you had said it, that was what was nagging at him; the fact that you seemed to put him on a pedestal like some prodigy when, for him, he was the one lagging behind.

"You're just so onto it," you sobbed, "half the time, I'm just fucking around, but you're constantly growing and doing something. And then shit like this happens and it's last minute and I'm falling over myself trying to finish." Yatora just snorts in response; he recalls all the times you spent sketching out ideas for all kinds of projects, when you'd meet up with him with some new idea just to abandon it an hour later when something new catches your eye. Sure, maybe he had a more consistent work ethic but that gleam in your eye and the hyper-intense passion that you and everyone else got with art was something that didn't really come naturally to him. But that wasn't really it, was it? You both were just seeing each other in those moments, only noticing the shadow the other person cast over you. He brings his hand down to pull you into an embrace, plopping his chin where his hand previously was.

"You know that's all bullshit, right?" Yatora huffs, burying his face into your hair, "you all are way ahead of me, I'm the one who's catching up. Fuck, I still don't know if I even get art yet. I only started a couple years ago now, but you've all been doing this for way longer than I have, you have it all down now but I've only just gotten the hang of it, to be honest." You're shaking in his arms, and you know he's right. All of his improvements were the same as yours however many years ago, but seeing his growth as an artist compared to your stagnation made you forget all that. Of course, how could you have been so blind?

"Fuck," you choke out, "you're right, I'm sorry." You pull away from him, his hand falling limply from your shoulder to your knee, rubbing small circles into your skin. "I didn't mean to say all that, I-I know you're working hard just to pass, we-we all are... I let the stress get to me, I'm really sorry, Yatora." You laugh, rubbing the tears from your eyes as you try to collect yourself, the embarrassment from your little outburst beginning to sink in.

"It's fine, besides, I kinda like the smudges..." he chuckles, his hand reaching around to rub the back of his neck. At this moment, a slight blush begins to creep onto his cheeks, realizing just how intimate the scene had been. You glance up at him, eyes wide and puffy, and he feels all the air leave his chest. He drops his head to avoid eye contact, his hands bashfully trying to hide his blush but you knew better than to let the moment end. Out of curiosity, you slink up to remove his hands from his face, and he loses balance, falling back onto the vinyl. You hover over him for a moment, taking in his flushed appearance before giggling. It wasn't exactly rare to see Yatora like this but, after such an emotionally charged moment, it was exactly what you needed to feel better.

"You know, Yatora, I think I could get used to a view like this." You giggle as he rises, his hand running through his hair as he propels himself forward to sit up properly. He mutters for you to shut up but the smile on his face speaks otherwise. Slowly, Yatora brings a finger up to stroke your cheek, collecting some stray tears. There's a fondness in his eyes that you can't help but shuffle closer to get a better look at. "Thank you Yatora, for checking up on me and dealing with... well, that."

"Don't worry about it..." He trails off, leaning towards you, his single finger turning into a hand cupping your cheek. Planting a hand on each of his sides, you rise up to meet his lips in a small kiss. Your heart is beating a million kilometers an hour, the cool vinyl the only thing keeping you grounded in the heat of the moment. His lips are soft if not a little dry, the faint taste of tobacco offset by whatever he'd been snacking on earlier but you didn't mind. You reached around to tangle your fingers in his hair, while his hands settled on your waist, dipping under your shirt to rub at your skin. You settled on his lap, gasping as he began to trail kisses from your lips to your jaw and down your neck. You thanked every deity that the studio was empty tonight, no one around to witness you grinding against his clothed erection. You didn't want Yatora's ministrations on your body to cease even for a second but, as you desperately began to claw at his shirt, he pulled away for a moment. His face flushed and chest heaving, he asked, "Here? Now?"

"You said I needed a break, right?"

"I said you needed air."

"Same difference." You shrugged, reattaching your lips to his. Despite his complaints, one hand continued to snake up your back while another plunged beneath the waistline of your pants. Meanwhile, yours trailed down his chest to the hem of his shirt, following his movements as you sucked on the skin of his neck. You both paused, desperately removing your bottoms to cut straight to where you needed each other most. His fingers descended right to your heat, clumsily rubbing and prodding at your entrance but, at this point, any stimulation was enough. You let out a small whine, hastily reaching for his cock and rubbing it against your hole.

"W-wait, don't we need a condo-" Yatora's plea was cut off when you sunk down onto his length, a groan was ripped from his lungs before you silenced him with another kiss. Your tongues danced in rhythm with your hips, nimbly rocking back and forth in his lap while the tip of his cock hit your most sensitive spot. Pulling back for air, Yatora immediately reattached his lips to your neck, continuing where he left off by sucking dark purple marks on your collarbone. Your nails dug into his scalp as you bounced up and down in his lap, the muscles in your legs taut and you didn't know how much longer you could keep up the pace you had set for yourself. Sensing your exhaustion, Yatora leaned back, pulling you down with him as he began to thrust upward into you. With your arms planted on either side of his head for support, you pressed your forehead against his, the knot in your core tightening with every lunge of his hips.

"Yatora~" you whimpered, your body overcome by pleasure. Yatora rolled over, capturing you beneath him as he continued to thrust into you. His hands came up to cradle your head while you pulled him down to your lips, drowning yourselves in another lustful kiss. As your ears were assaulted by the wild slapping of skin, you became hyper-aware of your lewd conduct in the middle of the studio. If anyone were to walk in at any moment... The thought alone was enough to send you over the edge, your legs binding themselves around his waist as your back curved up off the floor. As your insides clenched around his cock, Yatora couldn't help but also come undone inside you, the orgasm enough to cloud his better judgment of pulling out. You both remained in that position for a while, the remainder of your clothes clinging to your bodies, your bodies aching and begging for respite. Yatora's senses returned first, panic setting in as he pulled out.

"I- uh... Y/N?" Yatora whispered, you merely hummed in response, still dazed from your intense orgasm. Yatora sighed, pulling you up to settle in his lap, your hands resting on his biceps and head nestling into the crook of his neck. He pulled at one of your hands, holding it delicately in his own, fiddling with your fingers, and examining the blue and yellow stains across your hand. He looked at your painting, and then back at you before smiling. "You're fucking beautiful"

A giggle bubbled out of you, "so are you."

"But seriously, you need air and food, all the paint and turpentine fumes are probably fucking with your head."

© 2022 All rights reserved — do not modify, translate, repost or claim any of my work.

[the-hole-in-terzos-shoe]

If you had Life Eternal

Corny title, I KNOW ok? 🤪 I wrote this in like an hour at 1:00am! This started simply as a thought I had about a different take on the lyrics for this song. Just some angst that ends with Cardinal confessing his feelings for Reader.

Tw: the Papas are dead :/ Bonus tho: picture whichever Papa you'd like ❤️

• • •

"Cardinal?" you ask, gently pushing open his cracked office door.

"Ah, sì! Come in, Sorella!"

His cheery demeanor always made you feel welcome.

"Could I, uhhh... Could I show you something, Cardinal? I was wanting your opinion."

He could tell you were more nervous than usual, about what he couldn't guess, you had always been quite comfortable around one another since you'd started spending time together. You hadn't known him very well before... Well, before Sister Imperator had taken your beloved Papa from you.

"Of course, (Y/N), come, sit," he waves you towards the chair in front of his desk.

You quickly shut his office door and seat yourself opposite him. "Well, um, I'm sure you know it's coming up on another anniversary since..." The words die in your throat as you crinkle a piece of paper in your hands.

"Sì, mia cara, I know." The anniversary of the Papas' passing. Copia looks at you with genuine sympathy in his eyes; he couldn't imagine losing someone as close as you had.

"Well I wrote this for him. For Papa." You throw the paper on the desk.

The Cardinal awkwardly reaches out for it, somehow managing to stammer even in silence. His eyes carefully move over the tear stained scrawl on the delicate fibers.

"Can you hear me say your name forever?

Can you see me longing for you forever?

Would you let me touch your soul forever?

Can you feel me longing for you forever, forever?

I know the light grows darker down below

But in your eyes it's gone before you know

This is the moment of just letting go

If you had life eternal..."

Copia looks up at you when he finishes reading, "It's-"

"I know it's not much, but you're so good with words, Cop- I mean, Cardinal. I just thought you would know best," you blurt out.

"Cara, what I was going to say is that it is beautiful. I think it's a perfect dedication to your Papa."

"Well, he was everyone's Papa." You cast your eyes down at the floor.

"Sì, but you were especially close with him, and everyone knows how fondly he thought of you."

You're unable to look back up at him, knowing that if you do, you'll lose all composure. "Thank you, Cardinal." You quickly dismiss yourself from the room that suddenly felt so stuffy, leaving your note behind.

• • •

A few months later, you were invited to an open rehearsal for the Ghost Project. They're getting ready to leave for tour in a few weeks immediately following the release of the new album, so everything was pretty much polished; they just like to let the Siblings of Sin, high clergy, and any other ghouls and people belonging to the ministry hear their new music before everyone else.

You'd been lucky enough to get a preview of a few songs through the Cardinal, but you insisted he not give you too much special treatment, wanting to wait for their ministry gig.

The performance is so fun, as always, everyone singing along to songs that they already knew, and listening intently for the unfamiliar ones that they knew would become their new favorites! However, something strikes a cord when you heard your own words being belted by Cardinal Copia through the microphone.

As all the Siblings swooned over such a beautiful slow song, something Ghost didn't do often, you are seemingly frozen. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴? 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺? You feel beside yourself.

On the other hand, masked by his stage presence, Copia is so nervous to sing this song to you. And it is for you. He saw you pause upon hearing the first chorus, and he starts to worry when you don't move through the first verse.

Begging for you to look up at him, he gets his wish by the end of the second chorus. He meets your tear filled eyes; he had written a second verse just for you. As he serenades the crowd, his attention is on you; he could only hope you heard his thoughts, the meaning behind every line.

"We dance once more"

𝘐 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵.

"I feel your hands are cold"

𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘴, 𝘮𝘪𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

"Within your heart, a story to be told"

𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵, 𝘐'𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵.

"This is the moment of just letting go"

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.

"This is the moment of just letting go"

𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭.

By the third chorus, nothing feels real. Tears break past your waterline, and you feel like you might puke. You press your fingers to your mouth and quickly run from the room.

Luckily your stomach did not betray you, and you're able to calm your nerves by splashing cool water on your face in the bathroom. Not long after, you head back to your room, deciding it would be all too much to try to party any more tonight; you just need rest.

• • •

Hours pass and sleep never finds you. Frustration washes over you as you hear a knock on the door. Surely one of your fellow Sisters coming to drag you to a party.

"I'm asleep!!" you yell before throwing a pillow over your head.

"I, uhh, it doesn't sound like it, Sorella."

The Cardinal. Damn it. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 the person you wanted to see right now, not that you wanted to see anyone.

Begrudgingly, you trudge over to the door before cracking it open. "Topolino, are you alright? You seemed... unwell earlier. I was sad to see you leave so early."

You sigh, defeated, and open the door some more. "I'm fine, I just..." In your pause, the feelings bubble back up inside you, and it all comes gushing out, "I just can't believe you thought it was okay to do that!!! To make my words into a song! Private thoughts, my deepest feelings, and you just put it out there for everyone to hear!"

The Cardinal gently pushes you back into the room, closing the door behind you so no one would hear your tirade.

"I 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 you! And you used my feelings for your silly band!!! That second verse didn't even make sense!"

He stood there, and he took it until that last line. That's when he mumbled, "That was for you."

"What? What excuse could you possibly have for that?!" You didn't let up on him. You're mad and it's all spilling out now.

"𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶!" he boomed. "That second verse, I wrote it for you."

For the second time that night, your Cardinal had you speechless, frozen to the spot.

His voice comes much softer this time, "I know you wrote that first verse for your Papa, and so I sang it from your perspective, but the second verse is about how I see you..."

"Oh-" is all you can manage before his lips are on yours. Instinctively, you soften into his kiss; he's your Cardinal after all, you know he wouldn't do anything to hurt you on purpose. You know this just by the gentle way his hands caress your body, gracing the small of your back, your waist, your cheeks, and your hair as his lips write their own love letter against yours.

Both panting and dizzy from your heightened feelings, your apologize, "I'm so sorry, Copia. I really misinterpreted that whole thing..."

"Sì, I'm sorry too, mia bella. I should've discussed it with you. I'm sure it was a lot for you to take in," he hugs you to him tightly.

"Well... It was a beautiful arrangement. It would be a shame if the fans never got to hear it," you smile up at the man holding you so close.

"(Y/N), I will take it off the album if it displeases you."

"Cardi, what did I just say? Leave it on, let everyone know how much you love me," you grin at him.

"I 𝘥𝘰 love you, Sorella. Please let me love you."

Leaning up to him, you press another kiss to his lips, feeling his mustache tickle your nose.

"As you wish, my love."

That nickname coming from you was all he could ever ask for in this world.

[septembersghost]

I was a person who thought Maroon was about Harry on first listen and now feels dumb because the Jake of it all could not be more obvious lol

you're not dumb! first of all, the whole album was a lot to take in at first blush, and secondly she relies on some repeated themes in very different senses, so it requires some time and depth to unpack.

let's take dancing. our girl loves dancing as a theme ("and you know i wanna ask you to dance right there, in the middle of the parking lot!" "with you i'd dance, in a storm, in my best dress, fearless." "i'm wonderstruck, dancin' 'round all alone."), and in each context, it's different.

for example, we get dancing with joe j: "i'm not much for dancing, but for you i did." "tonight i'm gonna dance for all that we've been through, but i don't wanna dance if i'm not dancing with you." with him it's part of his charisma and even swagger ("the life of the party, you're showin' off again"), to where we also get, "sashay your way to your seat, it's the best seat in the best room."

we get dancing with jake, "we're dancing 'round the kitchen in the refrigerator light," and there it's a little about that love being hidden away, the nostalgia she's remembering before the crash and the heartbreak.

we get dancing with harry, "you moved the furniture so we could dance, baby like we had a chance," and it's the desperation for their love to not be splashed everywhere, the anxiety of everything swirling around them.

we get dancing WITHOUT calvin, both the entire theme of bejeweled and, "i was dancing around, dancing around it."

we get dancing with joe in dwoht and cowboy like me and glitch, dancing like it was the first time, dancing through an avalanche, swaying as the room burned down, dancing is a dangerous game, "i thought we had no chance, and that's romance, let's dance," and it's all her fear and worry of losing him, of being too much, of ruining things, of romance not lasting, and what happens is (in my interpretation), when the music stops and they're no longer dancing, he's still there. in the silences, in the stillness, painting maps on the ceiling, reaching out for her hand, asking for sweet nothing. the friction and the movement of the dancing can go quiet, and he's the constant. he doesn't drop her.

SO, this brings me to maroon.

"dancing with no shoes" is connected to dancing around in the refrigerator light to me, where they'd be barefoot in the kitchen (a place where, with joe, she found sacred new beginnings), and also, i think, it's a little bit of, "he didn't like it when i wore high heels."

then we get the reference to new york, which also recurs repeatedly with different people (holy ground/joe j: "first glance feeling on new york time;" atw10/jake: "your brooklyn broke my skin and bones;" cbbh/harry: "new york, be here, but you're in london...;" false god/joe: "i'm new york city" "you're the west village;" daylight/joe: "back and forth from new york, sneakin' in your bed;" hoax/imho regarding various heartbreaks and losses: "you know i left a part of me back in new york").

in maroon, it's connected to the dancing: "and i chose you, the one i was dancing with in new york, no shoes, looked up at the sky...and it was maroon," very much conjures the skyline at sunset, and the autumnal feel, and "getting lost upstate."

then there's the wine lyric: "the burgundy on my t-shirt when you splashed your wine into me," and its closest sister being, "you're still all over me like a wine-stained dress i can't wear anymore." the key here is context about clean - a lot of people think clean references harry, but i personally think it's about jake and her recovery from that situation (plus, she was nowhere CLOSE to clean from harry yet at that point aklsdkljfdg she wrote style after clean).

taylor's scarlet lips are very "red lip classic," but she was already wearing her signature red lips when she was with jake (the stain on his own lips that she called home is from her lipstick imo, although i've seen people say it could also be from the wine).

and then, of course, there's the biggest clue, because she is unhinged (affectionate), and it's that she was clearly and prominently wearing the red ring when she announced maroon's title, and the entire song is just varying shades and contours and depths of "red." loving him wasn't only burning red, it was splashes of burgundy wine, it was rosé, it was the bruising purplish red (in fact, the red of loving him mixed with the blue of losing him), the blood rushing to her cheeks, the rust between telephones (phone calls were a significant aspect of their relationship and are mentioned across red as an album), the carnations mistaken for roses (which is SUCH a metaphor, and i say this as someone who actually loves carnations haha, but it's like - i thought this was rare and valuable, when it was cheap to you). it was so red it was maroon. (red is track 2, maroon is track 2).

moreover, the legacy he left isn't only his memory hanging over her, it's also a literal legacy. it's red being the masterpiece it is and finally being recognized as such. it's all too well being considered the gem of her catalog, being so celebrated and beloved that it was TRANSFORMED for her. it's almost marveling that this is what all that pain became - a real fucking legacy.

all that said, mr. styles intentionally borrowed imagery from taylor when he wrote about her. "she's lying in bed with my t-shirt on, just thinking how i went about it wrong. this isn't the stain of a red wine, i'm bleeding love." "same lips red, same eyes blue." "the fridge light washes this room white." "that nice dress in my wildest dreams, lipstick stains you left still on my sheets." i could go on lol. so making the connection wasn't missing what she was saying, it only requires sorting out the varying details.

there's a difference in the sonic approach too - the longing and sad uneasiness in maroon versus the anxiety and even aggravation in question...? i think she wore the red ring for maroon and used the very obvious OOTW sample in question...? to make it certain we knew which stories she was approaching.

question...? is very much a conversation, whereas maroon is a recollection, and i think that's important too. she's not talking directly to jake, she's remembering. (there's also the fact that the cadence of question...? is not dissimilar from keep driving.) harry said, of both of their songs, "it's the most amazing unspoken dialogue ever." i honestly think question...? is taylor continuing it.

[anemoarchonhoe]

I've never been a huge Venti fan but you've convinced me lol. So to expand on the singing to Venti idea, I want to add a little spice if that's okay. So this would be after you confess your feelings to each other. Just imagine he's away one particular day and you miss him. Remember that the wind can tell him things and you decide to be a little playful and tease him. Whispering suggestive but tasteful song lyrics when a breeze passes by. Somewhere else in Mondstat, a certain bard is flushed as he listens to your voice tell him you want his kisses all over you, how you want to be in his arms and spend some time alone together, riling him up until he cracks and races back home to you to fulfill your request. Luckily for him the other tavern patrons just think he had a few too many.

ANON ANOOOON AAAAAS I LOVE THIS ASK SO MUCH I KINDA JUST WANNA HOARD THIS ALL FOR MYSELF. YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY EVIL (/j) AND ILY-

Yes also yes this is why I didn't answer it for a lil while because I wanted to keep this brainrot all to myself-

IMAGINE THIS:

His fingers suddenly stopped strumming the strings of his lyre, mouth agape as the winds whispered in his ears, the voice it brought belonging to you.

You prayed for him to come back home and kiss you like he hasn't seen you in a million years.

He recovers shortly, chuckling at the protesting audience with his signature "Ehe" and apologizing for the abrupt end of his song, sitting in front of Diluc and ordering a glass of dandelion wine.

My hands are shaking from holding back from you, Lord Barbatos.

Venti does a spit-take, the dandelion wine getting showered on the poor red-headed bartender's arm. He composes himself once more, and looks around like an idiot to see if anybody heard it, just to remember that no one except him could. He trembles, half anticipating another message from you.

I got that red lip classic thing that you like. Don't you want to see it?

He begins to sweat, imagining your lips stained with red lipstick. Oh Celestia, you must look divine with it on. He takes a huge swig of his drink.

Give me something that'll haunt me when you're not around.

Venti has never slammed his glass so hard on the counter. He throws a small bag of mora at Diluc so fast that the redhead failed to catch it, making the golden coins spill all over the floor. Angrily, Diluc looks up to snarl at the bard only to find him already gone.

You're in for a ride. But since you've been begging for his divine kisses, surely you won't mind getting smooched for the rest of the day? Yes, he'll kiss you so good that you'd fail to forget for the rest of time.

[cryptiql]

smoke signals

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of anxiety and abuse, but otherwise okay. please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 6.5k

a/n: this is my first ever mha fic and the fact that i decided to do dabi first shows i have some massive balls but i'm giving it a try! if he seems ooc at all or i get some facts wrong, please lmk and i'll fix them. (heavily inspired by smoke signals by phoebe bridgers—would recommend listening to it or any of her other songs while reading)

dabi found the meaning of life in a simple strum of chords; a melody twisted by melancholy tunes that resonated deep within the gates of his mind. they haunt him—either by breaking his conscious from a much needed rest to bring him tossing and turning in the damp air of the loft, or making sure that he stayed wide awake during the late hours of the night and well into the creeping day. the lyrics are so surreal that he has to sit down and contemplate their meaning like an english teacher would to the color red, but they're painted saccharine and drip with honey flowing from the mouth that sings them and he hates it. he hates that he's wasted moments better spent wrecking havoc just to understand that stupid little ditty that clings to his heart like a leech. but this song did not come from his own craft—no.

dabi had known the putrid stench of sweat and vermillion blood when the flames licked at his skin, breaching the coarse flesh of his palms to rain hellfire upon all those who dared oppress him. he could weave lies with knots that would take years to unravel, and set whole cities ablaze with a mere finger. clawing oneself from a well built to drown them in their trauma does tend to leave scars on ones hands, and dabi's body was practically a canvas for mutilation, so he could consider himself an expert on the matter. he could attempt to make such a song by strapping in with his many hours of free time and diligent persona, but his hands were not made for music; neither delicate, sonorous tunes or dark, grating strains. they were made for war.

so if anyone had asks, "no" is his answer. "i don't play." and yes, it is while he's drumming a rhythmic beat that he claims this to be true, but the last thing he thinks about is donning a set of drums during his free time. he's far too distracted by the image of your taper fingers curled around the neck of your guitar to consider anything else.

the gentle but keen plucking of chords startles him from yet another ridiculously long-winded spiel by shigaraki, and dabi swallows a strangled groan behind his grinding teeth. it's in his head, now, and so far the only thing that has succeeded in reaping it from his memory—if only for a few minutes—is the blood stained battlefield that he's found himself fighting on far too many times this month alone.

what's he complaining about, though? it's not as though he minds getting down in the dirt. in fact, he's ecstatic to dig his claws into any gruesome ordeal so long as it benefits him in some way, so why is he so invested in this little to and fro game of twenty questions with the likes of you; someone as significant in the world as a paperclip without paper to hold? why come back, despite there being nothing in it for him besides a series of migraines?

not from you, a voice answers from inside. you're an absolute pleasure.

dabi nearly snarls at the confirmation that his own mind is turning against him, and as he does this, a plume of smoke erupts from his lips, billowing and curving to create intricate patters before dissipating into the atmosphere. a second time. a third. a fourth drag from the cigarette has completely obscured his face from anyone's view, and he relishes in the instant of privacy it gives him. however, it has also blocked him from seeing everyone else in the room, and while he normally would have considered that a blessing, it appears tomura has had enough of it.

you get headaches because you smoke too much, comes a second voice; yours, scolding in a way he'd only expect from a worried mother. dabi only has a split second to register it before shigaraki's head pokes through the fumes, red eyes alight with rage and lips pulled back into a snarl.

"would you quit doing that inside? it's fogging up my brain and i can't think straight." he grates.

"strange—i assumed there wasn't a brain in there to fog up in the first place." tomura's nostrils flare and dabi's pride spikes.

"besides, you came in here and looked directly at me as i was smoking—why didn't you ask me to stop then?"

"i was telling you with my eyes, idiot. you should know when it's time to either take it outside or put the damn thing out. there are ashtrays for a reason, and not everyone here wants to inhale that shit." he interrupts their intense staring contest only to wave his hand to clear the smog. now he can see the rest of the league clearly (oh joy, he thinks) and gives an indignant grunt when spotting toga at the bar table, covering her mouth and nose as a pitiful aim to block her lungs from the smoke. twice, who had unfortunately used up the last pack of his own cigarettes that morning, leans forward to take a whiff, exhaling soon after with satisfaction.

kurogiri stands at his usual spot behind the bar, seemingly unaffected as he idly scrubs away at grime infested glasses, while sako lounges at the opposite end of the room. his mask is on, leaving dabi to wonder if it's been like that all day, or if he just recently put it on to better fend off the fumes. he doesn't really care, whatever the case.

after a beat of silence, dabi wets his lips to respond, a lopsided smirk growing on his features.

"oh, i'm sorry your frail body hasn't adapted to a bit of vapor in the air. and with that flakey skin of yours, it's no wonder you're extra sensitive—"

shigaraki's hands come flying through the next waft to slam against the tabletop where dabi's feet lie, causing it to wobble and creak in protest. the ravenette doesn't even flinch as the harsh, raspy words are spat in his face.

"if you're not going to pay attention, then leave. actually, i'd prefer you do that either way."

and dabi would have happily disregarded his request if not for the faint ringing in his ears, rising higher and higher before receding back into his skull like the tide. a scowl morphs its way onto his once vacant expression as he puts pressure on his temple, rubbing softly where his eyebrows knit together. just for today, he'll indulge his so-called boss's whims. the piercing screech that emits from below when he pushes his chair back does nothing to help with the ever-growing headache, but it hardly matters now that he's headed out the exit. he's able to catch the last fragments of shigaraki's raving before the door closes, leaving him to stand amid the tumult of the city in all of its glory.

the alleyway is dark with looming shadows, but people are still milling about, so dabi considers himself lucky for already being dressed in his disguise. he flips his hood up, pulls the surgical mask over his nose and quickly slides on his sunglasses for good measure before slipping out into the traffic, sometimes going with the flow and then weaving past those moving too slow for his liking.

right now, his patience is a mere thread; hair thin and on the edge of snapping whenever someone bumps his shoulder. their negligence is infuriating, and he's tempted to roast them into a charred, mangled mess then and there—the consequences of blowing his cover be damned—but by some miracle, he manages to refrain from doing so. it takes about five minutes for his temper to shorten to the length of a matchstick, and he knows that one more shove will be what strikes it. dabi pauses for a moment to crane his neck, allowing the sea of people to flow around him like a stream to a rock as he searches for an alternative route. it appears as though he'll have to take his chances with the crowd until he hears the repetitive ringing of a bell and a man's voice calling for passengers to board. public transport was risky, what with him being a menace to society, but he can't possibly be the single most shady dressing person on the train, right?

he wouldn't bother answering his own question when daylight was burning, so dabi pushes himself from the swarm and leaps for the streetcar just as it begins pulling away from the stop. there's a shuddering jolt before the passengers settle in for their departure, and as his palms squeeze the metal railing in response, he notices the peeling red paint clinging to the car's exterior and finds himself staring at it for a ludicrous amount of time, not thinking about anything in particular.

the rickety trolley is semi-packed with civilians, none of whom regard his presence with anything more than a noncommittal glance. good—that makes his job ten times easier. to his chagrin, it runs over more than a few opposing train tracks or crudely paved bumps in the road, and this causes the whole cart to jostle before stilling completely, the process repeating itself over and over.

the knowledge that his trip to the outskirts of town is a short one is the only thing that calms his nerves.

when dabi finally arrives at his destination, the sun is gradually descending from its peak in the sky, and the clouds are more like wispy tufts than the luscious, cotton candy lumps they were just hours earlier. overhead, the baby blue hues turn to shades of opal; a forewarning of rain. the feelings of irritation and malice from earlier are still bound to him like chains that threaten to snap him in half when drawn too tight. the crippling weight causes his feet to drag along the gravel path at a sluggish pace, his own hot breaths fanning against his face from behind the mask. if anyone actually lived out here and they were to see him, their first impression would be that a living corpse had just waltzed onto their property. it was just his luck, then, that you were the only person out here, and by extent, the only one not deterred by his appearance.

even so, dabi's mind kicks into gear. was this a good idea? he doesn't even know why he came here—he just needed a place to blow off steam and his body had already made the choice on its own. this isn't any different from all the other times, though, and he can't ignore the fact when it sits in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. you're always the first person he goes to at times like these (dabi subconsciously rules out the man working at the local 7/11 who sells his liquor cheap, though he's still appreciative of the bottle to numb his thoughts). that tells him more than he wants to know.

your house is quaint, like those old country cottages he sometimes sees pictures of, and squats on a large, grassy mound of earth surrounded by heaps of rocks and sand from the neighboring beach. it merges with a towering lighthouse, and dabi notes that there must not be any sailors due to make port yet, otherwise the light would be on. the second thing he takes in are the flowerbeds sitting under your two front windows, and how they look withered and close to death.

"i wanted to add some color, but i can't keep plants alive for shit." you had said, huffing in amusement to yourself as you tended to the weeping alliums. "succulents are the only exception."

a small pot of them sits on the windowsill, but they seem to have gotten to big for it; the rubbery leaves spilling over the cracked rim. he hardly registers how much of a stalker he must look like until he stands on your welcome mat, peering through the dirty glass panes to find you nowhere in sight. the lights aren't on, so he can only see the outlines of furniture when bands of light stream in to reveal them.

sitting back on the balls of his feet, dabi curses under his breath. it's not like he was expecting anything. how was he supposed to know whether or not you were home when you had no way of telling him?

"jesus, patch!" a shout startles him from his brooding, but he doesn't let it show as he looks towards to ocean. you're hauling yourself over a large rock to wave him over, wearing a familiar grin. so that's why he couldn't see you. dabi makes careful work of leaping over jagged stones and threatening to bake any nosy seagulls as he makes his way to where you sit, with your favored instrument slung over your shoulder. the ghost of a smile graces his lips when he recalls how you would have scolded him for being mean to the birds, but that was before last week.

"pesky fucking bastards—they keep shitting on my music sheets!" another seagull waddles into your vicinity, only to squawk in distress as you shoo it away with your foot. "i wonder if this is natures way of telling me to quit while i'm behind. . ."

after breaching the treacherous terrain and nearly scraping himself in the process, dabi squats on the stone beside yours, looking up at you with hooded eyes. you meet his gaze with nothing short of merriment and a shake of your head.

"if someone had seen you, you would have been arrested on the spot for being a peeping tom." you chuckle, combing a hand through your hair with a smirk. "what? you lookin' you catch me in the nude or something?"

dabi scowls, choosing to ignore the question rather than give into the bait. as if i would be satisfied by looking at anyone but you in that state. he swats the air as if it would drive the notion from his mind like a bothersome fly.

"in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere? i'd never get caught."

"aw, don't be like that. if you really wanted a peek you could've just asked." the mocking tone in your voice spurs him to smack your thigh, which earns a hearty laugh in reply.

"ooh, don't treat me so roughly, or i might begin to like it!"

dabi has had more than enough experience with your flirtatious tendencies, and he feels he should have gotten used to it by now, but his heart still clenches every damn time. the worse part? he can't say that he minds. you don't give him a chance to respond, but dabi hasn't a clue what he would have said, so he lets you continue, watching intently as you rifle through your bag to fish out a guitar pick. shifting into a crisscross position, you perch the guitar on your lap and begin tuning the strings, idly talking about how uneventful the past days have been. dabi pretends not to have heard that it was because he wasn't there to visit, and instead gives his attention to the lighthouse in hopes that you won't see the faintest of reds dusting his ears.

five minutes pass before you actually start playing, and even then, it's only a few experimental notes here and there that help you build towards the perfected melody.

it's too sweet for his taste; dabi swears that's why his stomach turns so ferociously and prompts him to lean against the boulder to his right for some sort of stability. he won't even humor the idea that it's because of the way your lips twitch into a near half-smile before melding back into a concentrated frown the moment you strike a wrong cord. an embarrassed flush captures your cheeks as you study the music sheets, briefly pressing down on them when a sudden breeze flutters the pages. the pencil that was once tucked behind your ear now sticks out from one corner of your mouth, a flash of pink and orange melding together when you go to absentmindedly gnaw on the wood.

many more minutes fly by, and you've long since abandoned the new tune just to pick up an old one. dabi's back straightens at the first set of strings you pluck, and he recognizes them as the same ones that have been playing on repeat in his head since the day you met.

dabi's heart hammers in tune with every footfall that slaps against the pavement, tearing through the small pools of water that grow with every second. it hasn't stopped raining since the chase began, and there isn't an inch of him that hasn't been soaked through. still, something good must come from this little dilemma—the burning sensation that clings to his arms has almost settled down. the silhouettes of trees merge with inky blackness when he blinks, and he reaches with trembling hands to wipe the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

a yellow square of what assumes to be light shines in the distance, contrasting wildly adverse to the darkness that sweeps him up from under his feet and pushes him forward. the sound of police sirens has been reduced to a mere memory in the time that was running, but he isn't about to risk going back to the league's base in fear of a stakeout waiting to get the jump on them. besides, why stop there when the possibility of shelter awaits him?

the bottoms of dabi's shoes are slick with mud, and blades of grass have snuck their way under the cuffs of his jeans to scratch at his skin. the sensations paired with the numbing cold are beyond uncomfortable, but he won't have to worry about that once he gets inside—that being if the person inside doesn't put up a fight.

he'd expect them to be mad if they did anything except that, no matter how welcoming the house looked. dabi's instincts tell him that someone out this far from the city doesn't a have a lot of connections, and thus killing them wouldn't cause an uprising if it were needed, but the minute he grips the doorknob, a thought occurs. if they have a quirk, its power could level my own or even surpass it. . . he grits his teeth. but like hell i'm going to let them win.

the hesitation vanishes in an instant as dabi turns the knob and thrusts himself inside, wielding a blue flame in his dominant hand to further illuminate the room. the wind is so fierce that it pulls the door shut for him, and the villain finds himself staring down the unperturbed figure of another man, perhaps around his age, hunched over a stove and glaring at a steaming kettle. they lock gazes, and almost immediately, the kettle gives a high pitched whistle. you look away first, lifting the pot and turning the burner off whilst opening the cupboard overhead to pull out two mugs, both of which adorn ugly christmas-themed patterns that dabi wishes he could forget ever seeing.

his glare hardens when you move to the table in the far corner and begin pouring what he assumes to be tea, taking one cup into your own grasp and leaving the other at his own disposal. your one mistake is grabbing your phone from the counter, but when dabi's flame enlarges, you hold your arms up in defense. then, before he can even formulate a proper threat, you toss the phone to him. he catches it easily and observes the dark screen, masking his astonishment with a more sinister expression.

the only other move you make is to drape yourself across a cushion on the window seat with an acoustic guitar in hand. you look more relaxed by the second despite being cornered by a dangerous criminal, and dabi has to refrain from voicing his shock when you address him with an almost bored tone.

"if the tea isn't to your taste, there's more in the cabinet. shower is down the hall to your left, and there's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right. do whatever the hell you want, just don't burn the place down or touch my freddie mercury records."

dabi is stuck to the spot for one of three reasons, he determines. one, your attitude has surprised him into a stupor that not even hiw own will can break. two, his refusal to believe that you're handling this situation in a calm manner is really just his defense mechanism kicking in, and he won't move until proven that you won't do anything when his back is turned. and three, you're quirk is similar to that of madusa's and you've successfully turned him into a fleshy mannequin.

"if you're worried about me calling the cops, what you're holding is the only working phone here. the power is out due to the storm, so my landline is dead, and the nearest form of help is a crippled old widow five miles west. i'm not going to risk running when i'm up against someone with a quirk."

dabi considers everything said, but never once allows his fire to dim. he took the surrounding area into account while making his escape, and he can see the landline is in fact out of service, so the male's assurances checked out. hell, the light source that guided him here was nothing but an old-timey oil lamp. the fact that you're quirkless does him a great amount of good as well.

with cautious steps, dabi makes a beeline for the bathroom, but he stops halfway to stare at you again. you respond by quirking a brow and kicking your feet up, something akin to mischief in your guise.

"i can take the shower with you since you're so afraid i'll make a break for it." you drawl, and dabi snarls, a fowl cuss bubbling in his throat as heat crawls its way up his neck.

"why, with a blush like that you might not need any drying off~."

dabi decides that he's had enough and storms down the hall, already peeling off his dripping clothes and and silently promising that he'll burn the guy to a crisp if he so much as tries to catch a peek. he can hear you calling out in hilarity even as he slinks into the shower and attempts to drown you out with the static-filled haze that captures his senses.

"the name's, y/n, by the way!"

try as he might, dabi had never been able to keep from coming back. now the reason why has been revealed to him on a silver platter, and he won't even spare it a glance.

your soft singing snaps him from his reminiscing as he stretches his legs, stifling a groan when something pops as not to disturb you. while digging through his pockets for a cigarette, he stops momentarily for fear of forgetting how to breathe when he lays his sights on you. you're in your own little world; everything else—him included— seems to have disappeared as you play from the heart. you need no standing ovation, no adoring fans or fantastic lightshows. you've said it once, that fame and glory mean nothing to you, and that you have all you could ever want or need right here, nestled in the beachside view of what you call home.

"and i have you." a cool breeze ruffles your dirt stained overalls as you reach up to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. the sun beats down on you, never shining half as bright as your smile, and the shore kisses the boulders with waxing and waning waves of aquamarine; frothy, foamy masses washing up with it to carry lone strands of seaweed. "otherwise i'd go mad without your company."

okay, that was lie. the truth is right there, practically spitting in his face how much of an idiot he is for trying to deny it, and dabi is glaring right back at it. he feels like an impatient kid on christmas eve, sneaking glimpses of gifts under the tree and feeling like he's committed a felony after getting caught. and you do catch him.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" there it is—that stupid nickname. it's always been laced with mirth when you call him as such, but now it's replaced by genuine curiosity. and is that a hit of concern he hears? you study him with pursed lips and stony features that gradually morphs into that of concern when the silence stretches on. dabi forces himself to sneer at you, and something stirs inside his chest when you don't flinch.

he hates it. he hates you.

dabi nods to the sky, a guarded noise building in the back of his throat as he tugs on his earlobe.

"s'gonna rain." your jaw visibly clenches, but you humor his evasive habits just like you always have, looking to the clouds, which have darkened considerably in the last hour or so. it's around this time that the weather patterns become more unpredictable, but you've noticed the distinct lack of rainfall in spite of the gathering storm brewing overhead. you could sit out here for a while longer without much activity in the sky, and it would take more than a little shower to drive you inside, especially when you finally had the chance to enjoy some quality time with dabi. you notice the way his shoulders droop and the tension from his facial muscles all but disappears when he sits amidst the smell of fresh salt water and unpolluted air—the weight of his past slowly but surely ebbing away. you'd like to hope you have some part in that. oh god, do you ever hope.

you plead to whatever omnipresent being above that he's not just here to hit a blunt without getting reprimanded for it, or that he's making these daily visits out of pity.

"nah. it's been like this for a little while—looks like a storm will hit, but then it passes before it even begins." you sling the guitar back over your shoulder and gather up your music sheets, eyeing dabi from your perch. you're challenging him now, and normally you would never dare force him to speak if he didn't want to, but something about his aura is off. you can sense it in his words; the very air he breathes; and it compels you to hold him close, if only he would let you.

"so, you gonna tell me why you're avoiding the ques—" a deep rumble interrupts you, and dabi lets out a sigh of relief that you're thankfully too distracted to hear. a single drop of water hits your nose, followed by another, and another, and—

"you were saying?"

"oh shut it." you don't get to finish speaking, for a crack of lightning strikes the far end of the beach, scattering sand in every direction. you just barely manage to scoop up your belongings before sliding from the rock, but your footing betrays you and send you stumbling to the ground. dabi is there to catch you, wasting no more time in hauling you to your feet and rushing you as carefully as possible through the jagged maze. he can't refrain from smiling when you splutter a string of profanities pass poorly hidden laughter, an unmistakable "FUCK ME!" spilling into the cold evening when you accidentally stub your toe on a particularly sharp stone. it's pouring within seconds, and no sooner do you reach the doorstep do you both realize how sopping wet you are.

the last thing you think of is your chattering teeth, however, when you see dabi's spiky tufts of hair dripping with residue and his electric blue eyes gazing into yours. what you do think is that for the first time in your painfully ordinary life; your twenty three years of mediocrity and progressive isolation from the world around you; you have found the single person who understands your struggles and has chosen—for some unfathomable reason—not to abandon you. you wish you could say your parents were the same, but you also have scars from a distant childhood that brought you to this place.

this old lighthouse is your home, yes, but dabi is your sanctuary. he might as well be a god by how often you worship him from afar, wondering if ever you'd be so lucky; so eternally blessed; as to call him yours.

you don't register that he's opened the door to let you both inside until a cozy warmth envelopes you. no, wait, that's dabi's fire. it should terrify you that the same man who threatened you with those flames is now at arms length, but you trust him not to hurt you in any way, and so you lean into the gentle licking of heat on your skin, humming in content as your shivering comes to a halt.

dabi's fear of burning you diminishes when you flash him a grateful smile, a whisper of thanks echoing across the walls and pummeling his heart without resistance. he averts his eyes with a curt nod, a feeling like molasses weighing down his tongue and drowning the words he wants to say.

"you're welcome." is all he can muster.

half an hour later, your guitar is drying by the hearth and the two of you are huddled on the window seat, nursing cups of coffee and watching the storm in a comfortable silence. you haven't blinked in a while, meaning you've wandered off the tracks of consciousness as suspected, and pretty soon, you start singing quietly to yourself; the deep crooning used as background noise to your aimless meditation. dabi nudges your calf with his foot and is rewarded with a brief quirk of your lips and a nudge back. he doesn't have the patience nor the brain power to decipher how long this goes on for, but it doesn't matter.

this is fine. the image of red hair and a tall, intimidating figure invades his train of thought, and dabi curls inwards on himself. this is fine.

but it's not.

trembling, he places his mug on the table before retracting back into his seat, clasping his hands together. he tries visualizing the ties of his life coming together to form a rope. the fingers on his left—memories from his past—linking together with those from his right—memories made with you. his palms connect, bringing instant relief with the knowledge that he's here now, practically nestled between your legs, out of harms way. you're both fine.

dabi takes the swelling anxiety and pretends to crush it within his fist; clenching and unclenching it until his peace of mind returns.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" you ask again, still in somewhat of a trance. this time, dabi answers.

"why do you call me that?"

you're caught of guard, half expecting him to ask why you haven't turned him in to the authorities. you've seen him without his disguise, you know his name, and for the past eight months you've been socializing with him like normal human beings do. that's more than both of you could have said in the past. of all the burning questions, he chose that one? "i've heard 'patchwork' and 'staples' and just about everything in between. why shorten it to patch?"

you gape at him, opening your mouth, then closing it, and so on. the pitter patter of rain against the window has ascended into relentless pelting. it sounds like gunfire to dabi; assaulting his ears in floods; but to you, it's nothing more than a waterfall hindering your view of the ocean. the deep breath you take seems to put more suspense in the atmosphere than needed, and it makes dabi's heartrate quicken for an entirely different reason, yet he makes no sign of stopping you.

"because my first thought whenever i see you is how much you remind me of a doll." oh. what?

you can tell by dabi's reaction that that wasn't what he was expecting, so you gesture for him to wait. he isn't sure he likes the forlorn expression you're wearing.

"typically, when kids first get a doll, they treat it like glass and make sure to tend to it with love. other times, doll owners are reckless and tear them apart just to stitch them back together like nothing happened. you use that camouflaged to blend in with the public, and i'm lucky enough to see what's under it. . .but sometimes i wish you'd keep the mask on so i don't have to see you upset."

upset? a fizzing sound erupts from his palms that he struggles to put out. he's not upset.

"don't try to hide it. you're always scowling when you think i'm not looking, or when you forget i'm even here, and i know it's because someone broke you without the intent of fixing you up."

once more, red clouds dabi's vision, and he moves to stand up.

"you had to clean up after their mistakes because no one else would, but instead of reusing the bits and pieces of your old self, you burned them. you destroyed any and all evidence of who you used to be and now you're patching yourself together with parts that aren't your own, because you don't want to hold onto what happened. though, something tells me you still haven't let go, otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

"you don't know that!" he snaps, but he knows it's not true.

your hand closes around his wrist, and dabi recoils with such strength that it yanks you from your seat. dabi doesn't want you to let go, no matter how much he thrashes in place, because the sensation of your skin on his grounds him. somehow you know this, and you give a comforting squeeze to his pulse.

"but that's not all i see. because dolls are beautiful, and it's the ones who still love them after they're broken that they need the most. no one's told you they think you're beautiful, have they?"

dabi shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze even when you cup his cheek with your free hand tilt it towards you. every touch is filled with hesitancy; feather light and more intimate than anything dabi has ever witnessed, let alone experienced personally. with the way you hold him like he's water in your hands, your eyes overflowing with a love he hasn't known in forever, dabi knows he won't find another feeling like it. you're not the embodiment of good—at least not by society's strict standards—but at least you can sit there and say you've committed a crime. you've never bloodied your hands by hurting others, much less gotten a thrill from doing so, and that's why he pulls away. he has to, because dabi is a harbinger of war, and if he holds you any closer it will only be to kill you.

he says something; a snarl mixed with a broken plea that he prays will make you stop; and you do. his silent victory doesn't last for long, though, because then you're using both hands to cradle his face and fuck, the pads of your thumbs grazing his scars feel like heaven. "won't you let me be the first?" how could he say no? how, when the taste of honey and whiskey is so addictive that he's already drooling into the kiss and willing to beg for more; when your mouth slots perfectly with his and dabi begins to wonder if he's stumbled right into the scene of a cliché wattpad story. the idea causes him to huff out a growl, and although neither of you can talk, he can imagine how strongly you must want to poke fun at him for the action. he can feel you smirking—the smug little bastard you are—and dabi ponders how long it will take to reduce that attitude of yours until you're submitting to him.

not yet. he chastises himself, completely unaware that you're currently thinking the same thing. dabi kneads the flesh of your hips through your jeans while you comb your fingers through his hair, gasping sharply between bruising, wet kisses and keening when he leans down to nurse your lips with soft pecks afterword. you're still trying to process the fact that you've coerced this devious criminal into making out with you in the pale glow of your seaside residence, but for the moment, you need not concern yourself with the details. you've forgotten all about dabi's ego and how this whole situation is no doubt feeding its flames. his grip on your waist is making you too delirious to care.

"fuck." dabi's breath is staggering when you finally pull back, an aura of clarity and desire hanging between the two of you.

"y-yeah. . .that was. . ." you can't produce a word, or even a paragraph to describe it. you know you're going to hit yourself later for admitting such a banal phrase in the midst of what could be classified as your very first kiss, but that is neither here nor there, and you would rather suffer an agonizing death than let dabi find out that he stole your first. you're too preoccupied envisioning all the other firsts to come, so you don't notice the way he stares at you like some precious jewel, but his fingertips brushing your bottom lip succeed in snapping you out of it.

"hm?"

dabi goes quiet, contemplating what to say as the thunder moves abroad and the rain comes to an end, leaving the house in a numbing state of tranquility.

"why not call me doll, then? it'd be easier."

you chuckle in response, playing with the hairs at the base of dabi's neck and making sure not to miss the way he melts into the affection. "i thought that'd be moving too fast." and dabi; still drugged from your kiss and what he can only hope is love; rasps out a genuine laugh, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

"you offered to take a shower with me the night we met, and you think a nickname is moving too fast?"

you stick your tongue out at him, and dabi resists the urge to grab it, even if it's just a bluff.

"would you have let me call you that anyways?" you ask, something hopeful ridden in your tone. dabi feigns consideration as he looks to the ceiling, snickering when you smack his chest. eventually, he murmurs what you audibly hear as "brat" before resting his forehead on yours, an impish glint in his gaze.

"no."

you turn your chin up at him, giggling when he nips at the skin. dabi knows just as well that your attempts at escaping him are halfhearted, so he encircles his arms around your waist tighter, delighting in the flush that paints your cheeks.

"then i think i'll settle for my love, or darling, if that's alright with you."

dabi can't fend off the blush for his life, but he's not afraid if you acknowledge it. he can get you back easily, and he plans to. "fine by me, doll."