#does this make sense with the lyrics? BARELY

[definedareasofuncertainty]

Hi friend, how are you 😙

I have some lyrics for yooooooou 💕

They shake their heads saying: God, help her, when I tell 'em he's my man But your good Lord doesn't need to lift a finger I can fix him, no, really, I can And only I can

“Caroline, you can’t go after him! He will kill you!” Elena yelled, grabbing hold of her arm to stop her.

Her words barely registered. Not when the searing pain in Caroline’s chest kept flaring up, accompanied a perhaps inexplicable anger. How could they have done this without telling her? If they had just said something- if they had just remembered to include her for once, then she could’ve made them see reason. She could have prevented all of this.

A body was laid on Elena’s living room; it looked half destroyed and ashen. She could still recognize it as Kol’s.

She’d never interacted with him much, and, truth be told, she hadn’t exactly been planning on extending her time in his company. And yet- a knot formed in her throat anyway. Where was Klaus?

“He will be back any time to kill you all! You murdered his brother. One he actually cared about. This is not like anything else- He will not let this go, Elena. I have to- if I talk to him, maybe I can convince him to let you go. Or at least buy you time. I-“

Her voice broke off. What was that conversation going to be like? How could she convince him not to avenge his little brother’s death? But if she didn’t say anything… He would come after her friends. She was the only one who could prevent more bloodshed. Would he even listen to her? Would he believe her when she told him she hadn’t known?

Klaus knows you, a voice whispered in the back of her mine. He had always been able to tell when she was telling the truth. Had always been able to see through her, to see her entirely. It would have to be enough. It would be enough.

“Why do you think he will listen to you? He is murderous, Caroline. You can’t distract him this time. I won’t let you put yourself in danger so that-

“I will not be in danger,” she said firmly. Too firmly. With too much certainty.

Elena faltered. Eyes widening in surprise then brows furrowing. “How do you know that?”

Caroline felt her heart racing. Her lips parted and closed twice, as she tried to find the words to form a confession. Her eloquence fell short for once, and she was left in silence, staring at her friend as her face betrayed far too much emotion. Guilt at secret she had been hiding. Hurt. Anger. And something that was beginning to look a lot like love.

“Elena.” It was Stefan who broke the silence. The look in his eyes too understanding.

Elena’s face crumbled, her mouth opening as understanding dawned upon her. “Oh, no. Care. What have you done?”

Caroline squared back her shoulders. “He won’t hurt me.”

send me lyrics from ttpd and i’ll write a minidrabble 🤍🖤

[nattikay]

A few favorite tracks from various Avatar media!

[tubbytarchia]

My Vocaloid phase was half a decade ago but h.... fish Pearl... Deep Sea Girl Pearl..... GemPearl... hh

[dapper-shipping-forever]

I tried to make Lyric's actions make sense and show why he's like that

That underneath everything though he presents as though humans mean little to him that he's simply scared of himself being hurt again, but unable to help that he focuses on his love for Gill and has turned her into an idol and he does want to protect her but also he rationalizes a lot of selfish things he does by saying it's for her safety and happiness.

He's a young boy who's terrified of having the one thing that kept him, mostly, sane while being experimented on taken from him. She was his only friend and he is too scared to follow her lead in loving freely and thus to mature in the same way she has after living together.

She was his first and only source of kindness and his only friend and all they had for that were each other and he's just scared that her giving anybody else more attention means shes going to stop giving him any and won't love him. He's got attachment issues and is displaying them in an extreme way.

I have said before that Gill represents love but Lyric does too. Gill is the pure love for all and the good that love can perform to uplift people, Lyric is what love can turn into and when it darkens into obsession and become about possession.

[unboundprompts]

hi! i wanted to ask how could i write a scene of a band performing and make it flow smoothly? Reactions to it and inner dialogue of the leader singer while performing?

I hope that makes sense!

Thank you :)

How to Write a Band Performance

Set the Atmosphere with Sound and Sensory Details

Use sensory language to capture the energy of the music, the movement on stage, and the audience’s reaction. Think about the sounds of instruments, the lights, the thrum of bass vibrating through the floor, or how the crowd looks.

Example: The drums kicked in, a thunderous heartbeat that pulsed through the packed venue. Strings followed, filling the air with an electric charge, and the lights dimmed just enough for the crowd to lean in, hungry for the next note.

Anchor the Lead Singer’s Focus

The lead singer might catch moments in the crowd, like a fan mouthing every lyric, someone laughing, or even seeing familiar faces in the sea of people. These little connections add a human touch and make the performance feel alive.

Example: He spotted a girl in the front row, eyes closed, every word leaving her lips like a prayer. She knew each lyric by heart, maybe better than he did. That look kept him grounded—kept him singing.

Use Inner Dialogue to Show Nerves, Confidence, or Distraction

Let the lead singer’s mind wander a bit, but keep it tethered to the music. They might think of something unrelated that they suppress to stay focused, or maybe they reflect on what this song means to them, especially if it’s deeply personal or symbolic.

Example: Here we go. Breathe. Just like rehearsal. But it was never just like rehearsal. Each word brought him back to the night he wrote it—a night he barely survived. He shook off the thought. No. Tonight, it’s just for them.

Describe Body Movements and How They Connect to Emotion

Physical sensations can be as telling as dialogue. The lead singer might feel the warmth of the spotlight, the stickiness of sweat on their skin, or the way their voice feels strong, raw, or strained.

Example: He gripped the mic stand, fingers tight, and leaned forward. His voice cracked on a high note, but he let it, gave it to the crowd raw. They wanted his truth, his realness. That was all he had to give.

Show the Crowd’s Reaction

Describe reactions like a wave, where energy ebbs and flows. The crowd might sway during slower parts, roar during the chorus, or go silent in the song’s more intimate moments. This back-and-forth dance adds rhythm to the scene.

Example: As the first chorus hit, the crowd became a sea of outstretched hands, fingers clawing for a piece of the music. A roar rose, then softened as they sang with him, their voices tangling with his own, something fragile and fierce all at once.

Balance Between Action and Inner Thoughts

To keep the scene flowing, alternate between what the singer does (interacting with the mic, moving on stage) and what they think. Too much inner dialogue could slow down the scene, so give action and reaction space to keep the reader engaged.

Example: He took a step back, holding the last note, letting it resonate through the space. He stole a glance at his bandmates. They were lost in the music too, faces set, eyes closed. It felt like the old days—a secret between them, shared with everyone.

End with a Climactic Moment or a Release of Tension

End the scene with a dramatic finish, like a powerful note, a burst of applause, or even silence if it’s an emotional song. The lead singer could feel relieved, drained, or exhilarated by the end.

Example: As the last chord faded, a brief silence hung over the crowd—a pause, a heartbeat—before it shattered with applause. He closed his eyes, letting it wash over him, knowing that for now, the song was enough.

[passmethatcokezero]

hot and bothered... (18+ // woozi!friends with benefits au) pt. 2

- jihoon x fem!reader - 4.4k words - warnings: smut. minors dni! bff!woozi is hot and bothered at work so bff!you came to the rescue, here comes the hoo-haa!, penetration, mention of pills (ALWAYS use protection!), overstimulation, loud af on bed!jihoon (we love a moaning and whimpering man) goshwhy is needy Jihoon so hot, friends-to-lovers (almost), some fluff here and there. enjoy! - tagging: @cherrylovescheol @syluslittlecrows

[ part one ]

The clothes that once added a sense of thrill to your heated session were now flying across the room. No more game-changers or whatnot, there is a mutual craving to be satisfied and you both wanted it now.

Albeit having your patience tested by the journey home, the kiss you two shared has never been this innocent and slow (not like you two have had so many.) This time felt like something in the air had just shifted, and you two were savoring the newfound connection. His weight on top of yours, lightly, careful not to crush you. Slightly suffocating as your mouth is being occupied but still bearable, it even makes you feel safe and comfortable. Your hands softly treading through his hair until you found a spot to tug onto as he deepens the kiss, dipping his now bare hips to the bare yours.

The hint of contact of his hardened cock to your dripping pussy had you arching your back, almost pulling his hair as you unintentionally broke the kiss. He smirked, trying to hide the hiss he just made and how the contact almost had him exploding as well. You were too wet for his sanity, and he knows it’s because of him, and now only for him.

“So… how would you like to be fucked tonight, princess?”

You choked, almost wanting to slap him for making you laugh, or maybe you weren’t used to him actually calling you princess in ways other than snarky, when he only called you that to mock you for your bratty tendencies.

“I’d like to make it quits. You made me feel like royalty earlier.” He kisses your neck down to your chest.

“Actually, I don’t mind the tempo right now.” You had your eyes close, trying to feel the trail of kisses his supple lips leave onto your shivering skin. “Just don’t tease too much or—”

“Or what?” he smirks once again, this time being a full-time menace, rubbing his dripping tip against your wet folds.

“Fuck you,” you glared at him with hooded eyes, brows furrowed from annoyance mixed with lust. “Fuck you, Jihoon.”

“My pleasure, princess.”

Jihoon cannot stop thinking, does edging turn you on? Or you just wanted to take your time? He knows he isn't your first. You had told him about the guy you met in college, a total bastard who left some cash the next morning and a rather sweet note of thanks as if it could console your shattered ego. Or that selfish one who only fucked you for quick satisfaction. And this woman who made you feel so good you almost had a thing for scissors until you realized it was just a spur of the libido confusing your sexuality.

But Jihoon, he never told you he actually never had sex. The workaholic never had a relationship, but somehow you had always thought he must have been getting laid because how on earth could he subtly refer to making love on some of his lyrics if has not had one? The only thing you knew about his sex life was how he actually had his own moments most of the time, just like how he confessed in the studio earlier. Oh and that one time you gifted him a fleshlight as a payback for gifting you a vibrator on your eighteenth birthday because you imposed on him and your group of friends that you will only be accepting useful things for your birthday from then on (that was the first time he called you princess, by the way).

His hand made its way to your abdomen down to your mound, even though his dick was itching to just finish the night off. But like what he said, it’s his pleasure to give you a royalty treatment tonight.

His finger did not need much time to tease your opening, and slips right into your hole with ease. “Jihoon-ah…” you whimpered his name, as his mouth met yours after telling you how tight you were.

His slender finger creating friction with your hole was enough to send you into a moaning mess while his mouth conquers your chest, giving both nipples attention as equals as he can.

“So wet, for me.” Indeed, he was right. You must like edging and keeping your release until you cannot anymore. What a naughty princess, he thinks. Another finger joins in, knowing one cannot stretch you out to his size. 

Jihoon’s is thick, there’s no denying you had your fair share of curiosity about it since you have seen a hint of it when he wears his favorite sweatpants. But of course, you wanted to remain wholesome so you just shrug away some unthinkable thoughts that once crossed your mind, at least that was before the first kiss you two shared. Ever since then, there had been a few times you allowed yourself to think about him when you were horny because, how would it feel, having that kind of feisty relationship with someone you hold close?

“Aren’t you a little too tight?” Beads of sweat were already forming on his forehead and you were unsure if he was just exerting a lot of effort fingering you, or maybe holding himself from jumping into you. He retracts his hand and kisses you again, before slipping his fingers coated in your juice straight into his mouth. He moaned into a lip bite. How come you tasted so sweet, just like how he must have imagined?

He was really down bad and aching for you he did not have any idea he just said that out loud.

“You’ve thought of me?”

“What? Did I…?”

You chuckled at how his eyes went wide, “Yes, you just said that out loud.”

“God I’m fucked…” He mumbled under his breath.

“You can have more,” you told him, widening your legs which signalled him to get in between and he did not waste time thinking if you really just said that, just like how he did not catch himself saying his thoughts out loud.

His mouth was warm, making you feel things and even questioning yourself if you’re doing something so sinful right now, having someone not your boyfriend eating you out while you were arching your back and moaning his name out loud for your neighbors to hear. You can’t help it, his tongue was so good flicking your clit and playing with your hole while sending vibrations through his moans, all the while staring at you with hooded eyes like was trying to engrave that image of you writhing under his spell in his mind to become a memory he would like to go back to anytime he wanted to. Oh, you’re just so glad he is just married to his work and nobody else. 

There were tears in your eyes already, trying to hold back the impending release. He was just so naturally talented at eating you out that you did not realize you were humping his mouth wanting for more. Jihoon, who has been really attentive throughout the night, tried to increase intensity when he heard your moans pitching higher, turned airy as if you were losing your voice to the nirvana you surrendered yourself into.

“Jihoon, I’m close… fuck…” his fingers once again made contact with your hole, fucking your spot as his tongue focused its pressure on your clit. The stimulation was too much taht you began seeing white at the back of your eyes, and not long enough you were clenching around his fingers.

“Go on, come for me,” amid the clouding of your hearing, you heard Jihoon’s voice sounded hoarse, which made you feel even hotter causing you to squirm and finally release your cum.

He was quick to slurp you clean of your release, humming at every sip as if it was his favorite drink. Not even coke zero can make him moan the way your taste quenches his thirst for you.

He then wipes his mouth with his arm, “I can have that all day,” he hisses and proceeds to make your mouth his again, tasting yourself in the process. It was wild, you thought, you’ve never really tasted your own even though you had been curious before. And now you just had to, straight from your friend’s delectable tongue.

The kiss once again turns somewhat slow, as you calm yourself from your high while he preserves his energy for perhaps another round if you’re not too tired enough. Anyway, his cock is still hard. It's like a never-ending cycle now because you wanted him to come, a testament to the kind of relationship you have—a very generous one. 

“I like how you kiss me…” you blurted all of a sudden. “They feel like… confessions I have never gotten.”

His eyes meet yours, a gaze like a thousand stars have been sucked inside it. It was one you’ve rarely seen him with, one which only comes out when he talks about how proud he is of the current song he is working with, or that one time you two had hours of debate over the best animes you have ever watched.

“Never gotten? Or never taken?” he wanted to ask, rhetorically that is, but his lips never moved, nor his voice made even a minute of a sound. He’d rather kiss you again, and tell you more of the words that had stayed hidden behind the walls of his mouth. He’d rather have his tongue tied for now, if it means with yours and let his actions speak. Even if you won’t still get it.

He liked the way you kissed him too, if only he could tell. He liked how your mouth synchronizes with his, and moves in perfect harmony. He liked how you get sloppy sometimes when you are trying to catch your breath, or how you adjust when it is him who gets messy because his mind just can’t control his speed. Or how you moan inside his mouth, warm breath enveloping his wet cavern that sends electricity throughout his body. He liked the way his tongue fights for dominance with yours, but even more so when they’re just simply dancing to the rhythm of his heartbeats.

Lost in thoughts, he did not realize you had him toppled over until he felt your hand over his chest, and your damp folds grazing against his girth.  “Ah fuck…” both of you chorused, making him chuckle.

“If you want it so bad…”

“Yeah, acting as if you weren’t the one who almost broke my door coming here.” you rebutted, rolling your eyes.

“It got stuck!”

“It’s extra protection!”

“Oh shit, now that you said it” he suddenly perks up, “I almost forgot,” he says squandering about to get to his pants, flailing to the air a foil packet he had been keeping in his wallet. 

“Are you sure that thing is not expired?”

He scoffs as he makes his way back to bed, “actually, maybe.” he checks the packet and to his horror, it has been way past due. “Yeah yeah, way to slap me in the face. Thanks, universe.”

“Sorry I didn’t mean to laugh, oh my gosh.” you were almost brought to tears by the comedic timing of it all. He really had not gotten laid. Poor boy, everyone knows he very much deserved it considering he had been busy his entire life.

“I have pills, don’t worry.” his face lights up, but it is still evident how annoyed he was at the situation.

“I’m sorry, I… I won't forget next time…” and then his own words struck him. “Shit, I mean—”

You chuckled at the flushing of his face. He looked so embarrassed, you did not have the heart to tease him anymore assuming there would be more sexy encounters after today. Besides, you’ve been craving for some action now.

“You know I can always keep you company—that is until I get myself a boyfriend,” you pulled him close, as you settled underneath him, head nested in between his two arms that support his weight.

His eyes once again turned soft, as one hand began tracing your cheek, trailing to the back of your ear. “I think… I know someone,” nose scrunching while smiling ear to ear, his eyes turned crescent at his own words, cringing at what sounded like a hard-sell.

“Oooh, I’d like to meet him,” your smirk drowns in the kiss that once again began, while his body shifts so that his tip aligns with your entrance. Your knees instinctively wrap around his waist. 

“I’m going in, “ he says in courtesy when he had his head right in your opening, making both of you gasp for air. You didn’t even ask for it but nonetheless had you melting for his consideration, especially when he adds, “You wanted it slow, right?”

And with your nod, he goes in painfully slowly that gradually leaves you in pleasure. He was hard and thick, your hole contracting to his size as it delicately found its way inside. It was your first time for so long you forgot dicks can get this big. You clung onto him, while his mouth rested just by your ears, whispering sweet nothings to comfort you.

He kisses you passionately as your warmth envelopes him whole, taking time for you to adjust. He was a perfect fit inside, as if his cock was molded out of your hole, and it's driving you crazy the breathy moans just wont stop coming out of your lungs. You slowly opened your eyes and it was met by his, looking intently at your face with the same thought plastered on his face: you want him just as much as he wants you—both your eyes tell, no words needed. 

He began moving his hips in long thrusts to initiate his rhythm. Mouths hovering over another, catching each others’ breaths as your hips met his. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath as he increases his speed as well as the depth of his thrust. “You feel so, so good.”

Jihoon was just as loud as you are, if not louder. You kinda liked it, a man moaning to his pleasure, not afraid to admit how needy he can be nor stingy for reactions. And you had to admit, it just turned you on even more. 

“Jihoon… fuck… you’re so hot.” 

Jihoon, feeling the rush of wetness from inside you and also hearing his name through your whimpers, was going insane stopping himself not to pound onto you, drilling into your hole until you were begging for mercy. You were just so wet that it makes it so much easier to thrust inside deeper and faster, but he can save it for another time. For now, you were his princess, he keeps reminding himself. He’s got orders to fulfill, unless you amend it yourself, he will gladly obey.

“You’re so fucking wet… and tight… fuck.” he trailed the last word as he increased his intensity unknowingly, which you didn’t mind. 

“Harder… please…” 

He follows suit, pulling far and pushing deep into you in perfectly timed intervals. He definitely got rhythm, perks of being a composer, you thought, you have to tell him that later as a compliment.

“Like that, oh sh- ahh…” you cannot even form words anymore, the way he makes you feel so good was almost inconveniencing the wiring of your brain. Your body now sprawled on the bed, no other movements, just your back arching and…

And your fingers interlaced with his.

The scene felt like two passionately infatuated people making love. You two were connected south of your heated bodies, but that did not seem enough for him; he had to lock his free hand with yours just by his chest.  Heck you did not even notice how he planted kisses on the back of your hand when you were busy trying to savor how inch by inch your hole gets filled.

He is great in bed, you gotta admit, and he can be romantic as well. Why was he single again?

“I… I think I’m…” close. He knows. He felt you clenching around him.

“Yeah,” he speeds up, as he can feel him coming too. “Together?”

You nod mindlessly, gasping at the speed he is now going. The pitch ofn his moans went higher, almost sounding like a cry. The thrusting went on not long before both of you finally climaxed in unison. His forehead rests on yours, hand on your cheeks and weight slumped onto you as he rides out your high. He’d like to believe that got him tired, but not exhausted. He can definitely go for rounds given he gets rest for a while, if he gets permission that is.

He groans as he pulls himself out, a decision which gained a whine from you. The guy just chuckles as he pumps himself dry. The view looked mesmerizing, him with an afterglow, sweaty in full glory, and face contorting to pleasure accompanied by guttural moans he did not try to suppress even a bit. You imagined, does he look like that, flushed in red, shining from the little light inside the room, when he touches himself?  You thought there's nothing sexier than a JIhoon who is fully immersed in his projects. Well, you just have gotten corrected.

You leaned into him, feeling his breath touch your lips. Your eyes still hooded from your release, and you’re still a bit sensitive but damn, you’re craving for more.

“You look hot like that,” you just had to say it. There’s nothing to lose in being honest in words and in action, right?

“Uh-huh, how’s that for a boyfriend?”

“I’d love it,” You bit your lips, standing on your knees to straddle him in between. Your eyes are still hooded, and your hole sensitive. But damn, your friend over here just looked a little too irresistible and you just craved for more.

You sat on his thigh as your mouth found its way to his neck, hitting that sweet spot of his right off the bat. He was hissing at the contact, leaning backwards with support of his one arm. “No way… You’re going to make me hard again in no time.”

That’s exactly what you were aiming for. The night has just started anyway. Might as well spend the whole time enthusiastically riding out fantasies. Jihoon himself had too many of them. He got advantage, he need not think hard and just live the dream. Daydeams, rather.

The guy cannot believe he is not gonna touch his fleshlight tonight. You were here right on top of him, making out as you went down on him, reaching the twitching target that was just gaining filled up yet again.

Your tongue traced his shaft from its base, maintaining eye contact with him. He tried so hard to keep it, but failed because your naughty tongue makes it difficult for him to. The process was all too familiar, you had your own practices at this very mattress accompanied by your dildo when you’re alone. The fascinating thing now is that you witness it grow right in front of your eyes as you give your full attention to it.

“How are you so good at this—hmmphhfuck!” His brows are furrowed and mouth hanging wide, obviously having the time of his life watching your mouth take him in whole. He has gone full erect in no time after bucking his hips for a few seconds and then deciding he misses your pussy around him.

“Come here baby,” he pulls you for a kiss, with your knees automatically straddling him in between. It was like he had been away for a long time the way your arms wrapped around his shoulder, kissing him deeper. Your throbbing wet folds full of arousal was resting against his pulsating girth, making you moan in between kisses.

“Fuck, I can’t get enough of you,” his kisses went sloppy as he goes into your neck, and also your chest, giving your erect nipples more attention it deserves.

“God… I need you too, Jihoon-ah…. I need more please….”

You did not need to beg, but hearing it with your needy voice and lustful eyes had him acting from adrenaline, pulling your body closer, groping you as if you would even run away from his arms. His cock was poking your entrance by then, and you let yourself sink on it almost immediately without warning.

“Fuck!” screamed halfway through, when Jihoon himself thrusted up so he can fill you in, albeit he himself is still a bit sensitive.

The sting was quick to be washed out by sensual gratification as the overstimulation picked up your pace when you began riding him. 

“Holy shit,” tears well up in your eyes, as you writhe in pleasurable pain. Jihoon too was moaning out loud, gaining his momentum in thrusting upwards as fast as he could. Your bodies were clinging into each other, sweats mixing and skin slapping, but nothing matters. Not the sound of pattering rain drops outside the window, nor the volume of your moans that may have already reached the maximum your walls can hide, not even the creaking of the bed that has reached the floorboards. Only the pleasure you share is important right now, and nothing should come in between.

“Hold it, please…” Jihoon spoke in behind his gritted teeth when he felt you clenching around him. “Please… just….a little bit more…” He goes on thrusting, losing his rhythm once in a while due to his greed in taking his precious time with your clenched pussy.

You can feel him holding his release as well through his flexed thigh muscles and his eyes shut tight. “Fuck I dont wanna cum yet… i dont wanna cum… please….”

You were already shaking your head, arms hugging him tight to support yourself. His moans suddenly dips as he chokes on his own, and then gradually changes into whimpers like he is the neediest person in town.

“Ji… I can’t….hold it—” exhaling a breathy moan, you squirmed in his arms, head falling down his shoulder while panting heavily from your release. Jihoon came simultaneously, filling you up as he stayed inside for a while, catching his breath to its normality. Both pulsating and sensitive, no one dared to move a single muscle.

It took a while when one of you was consciously looking for the other’s lips. It was a simple kiss, a short one, but holds a lot of words he’s been meaning to tell you. He cooes, your name sweetly slipping off his drying throat.

“Hmm?” you hummed, as you rested your forehead against his, letting his hand cup your cheeks. 

“What do you think?”

You chuckled at his words. He is insufferable. He really can’t wait until you’re all cleaned up and cozy? 

“Actually, save it. I gotta clean up my princess before anything else.”

If there was an award for being the most outstanding service of an aftercare, Jihoon would have another plaque to be displayed somewhere not in his studio. It was a premium experience, even getting warm towels for the both of you before submerging you in a hot, bubble bath, complete with aromatherapy applying your lavender-scented lotion all over you right after. Stepping out of the bathroom in robes, he goes straight to your kitchen, you following him behind. He insisted actually, he wanted you to stay comfortable in your room, but you figured you did not need that right now. You just enjoyed his company way too much tonight, and you can’t seem to find another spot at home comfortable unless he was right beside you.

He prepares you a cup of warm tea just as how you preferred while he picks some drink available in your fridge.

“Banana milk? Are you sure? I’ve got juice over there.”

“Yeah, this is fine.”

“Sorry, no soda.” you shrugged with an apologetic smile.

You were sitting at the high chairs by your mini bar, with him by the edge as he pokes the carton with the straw. You stared at him for a moment, head full but no thoughts being formed.

“Ah, you were asking earlier,” you broke the stare before he senses it. “I’d be honest with you and say, that was probably the best sex I have ever had so far.”

“Pfft,” he laughs, without looking at you, trying to hid the blush forming on his cheeks. Too bad you can see his ears reddening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah…” at this point you were trying to calm the butterflies that started fluttering inside your stomach, distracting yourself as you dunk the teabag in the fully saturated cup of water. What is this sudden, stupid feeling in your gut? “Gotta give credit to your musicality. You’ve got a perfect rhythm. Oh and how your moans harmonized with mine. It literally sounded like music. You were also good with your mouth, and how you touch me. Attentive as well, the entire night. And the aftercare was a total royal treatment! And uhm…” you paused when you realized you were just babbling, staring at the ripples created by swirling the teaspoon in your tea. “Oh my gosh… sorry I got carried away.”

“No it was fine, I think I also wanted to hear that. Like a feedback you know,”

“for reference next time, huh?”

He chokes on his drink, dipping his head down in embarrassment. “No I mean…”

“I am looking forward to it,” you muttered cutting his words, as your eyelashes fluttered, feeling a bit tired yet relaxed.

He looks at you in full adoration, and a hint of boosted ego. God, why are you the most beautiful person in the world and why is he lucky to have you this close to him? Even looking forward to next time?

“I do too. I actually think we’re compatible in bed…” he says rather shyly in reference with what you told him earlier. 

“Right…” you trailed. He meets your eye almost a millisecond long (short), and goes to sip his beverage until it’s empty. He breathes deeply, as he disposes of the trash all the while avoiding any contact with your eyes as he came back, not able to hide how he suddenly feels so nervous around you right now. You can’t help but shake your head. Gosh, Jihoon, can’t you be any more dense than this?

“We do seem compatible, no?” you continued, waiting for him to look at you again. He does, revealing the blush that never left his face, and your next words deepens its hue even more.

“...how’s that for a girlfriend?”

hope you enjoyed this as much as i did writing it! ^^ here's the prequel because we need it!!!

[luveline]

Hellooo!! I saw your requests were open so I thought I'd ask if you could do singer/guitarist reader who fucked up on a gig (totally not self projecting here) and she like forgot some lyrics and stuff and she's just really upset and poly!marauders or really any of them comfort her

If not I totally get it and no worries!!

ty for requesting!! fem!reader, 1k

The best part about having more than one boyfriend is that one of them is bound to be good at something if the others aren’t. So while Remus can’t usually lift heavy things and Sirius doesn’t want to, James is more than happy to help your band pack up their things at the end of the night. 

It also helps that he’s a bit of a fanboy about it. He might jokingly ask you for your autograph from time to time, but he genuinely likes talking to your bandmates about the songs you play and the equipment. You can hear him talking someone’s ear off as the other boys in the band huff and puff as they lift the amps into the back of the van. 

“Why are you all silent?” Sirius asks, blowing a breath into your ear.

It’s not a very Sirius question. He sounds teasing, and his hand is playful as he pulls you into his side against the hood of his car, eyes on Remus where he chats across the car park to a friend. 

You look up into his face. “M’not.” 

“Ah, forgive me. I must be going deaf.” 

You press your cheek to his shoulder. “You are. Hope that helps.” 

“Of course it does.” 

He hooks your shirt with his pinky and slides his hand onto bare skin, scratching at your tummy and ribs with short nails. “You don’t want to tell me?” 

You turn further into him, hiding from his nagging questions, though you answer, because he’ll only find a way to drag it from you, and because you’d desperately like some reassurance. “I messed up really badly tonight. I ruined the set.” 

“You didn’t ruin the set. You did mess up, but really badly is subjective.” Sirius looks down at you on his shoulder, his breath warming your skin, strands of his hair falling onto your face softly, you’re that close. “Everyone messes up,” he murmurs, “doesn’t mean you ruined it.” 

Remus’ voice carries from a few feet away, “Where’s James?” 

“He’s still helping. Our poor angel can’t use her arms, it seems.” 

You and Remus wrinkle your noses simultaneously. “Her arms are fine,” he says. 

“James offered,” you butt in. 

“I’m joking,” Sirius says, touching his nose to your face, drawing a soft line before pulling away. He leans back casually. “It’s what people tend to do when their partners are upset.” 

You needle him with your arm. “Dick.” 

“You’re upset?” Remus asks. 

That’s exactly why Sirius is a dick. You step away from his arm in time for Remus to stop in front of you and look you over in concern. “What’s the matter?” Remus asks. 

“She’s embarrassed about forgetting the words earlier,” Sirius answers immediately. 

You glare at him. He lays back against the car with an arm behind his head, grinning. Makes sense for him to be sweet and kiss you like that just to chuck you into the deep end. 

“I didn’t want to say,” you mumble. 

Remus sidles up to you, and he’s taking the same stance as Sirius, a teasing lightness that colours his smile as he wraps his arms around you. These boys are always hugging you. 

“I don’t care if you want to say,” he murmurs, “you must tell me.” His hands clasp behind your back. “I won’t be left out.” 

His face works into your neck, breath warms and tickles your skin. 

He gives a scratch of kiss before he yanks away to meet your eyes. “Come on.” 

“Messed up. Everyone saw. Set ruined.” 

“Oh, oh,” he murmurs, “is that what you think happened?” 

“Don’t be a liar,” you say. 

“You forgot the words to one song. Everybody still had a good time, you looked amazing up there.” Remus leans far from you with his arms still braced behind your back, laughing as he says, “You were nearly perfect, and next time you’ll remember the embarrassment you’re feeling now and you won't forget the words.” 

He kisses your cheek.

“Can we not tell James?” you ask. 

“We have to.” 

“I know.” 

James is back sooner than you anticipated with a grin, the curls of his hair still perfect with pomade, not a drop of sweat on him. To your surprise, he doesn’t need to be told. “Oh, my girl,” he says proudly, jabbing your stomach with fake blows, “you did great! You only messed up one song!” 

Remus winces, but you think perhaps James’ way of looking at it is best of all. You could’ve messed up every song you performed tonight but it was just one.

“You’re amazing,” he furthers, taking your face into both hands. “Fuck, you look amazing when you’re up there with your guitar like that. I had a dream once we were in a band together. Remus got all handsy with you–”

“Are you sure you’ve got the right man?” Sirius asks, letting Remus pull him up from the hood.

“It might’ve been me,” James concedes. “I know it’s not like me to ask for something back, but I did all that heavy lifting for you shortcake, and I’m dying for an encore.” 

You’re not sure if he’s asking for something more than a show, your cheek turning hot in his hold. He encourages your face to his, his nose tapping yours up for a long, slow moving kiss, at odds with his flirtations but not his touches. His hands drag sluggishly down to your shoulders, the breath he takes on your lips like a happy sigh. 

“Get off of her, pervert,” Sirius says, jostling you both apart. “We’re in public.” 

“It’s just a kiss. I’m very proud of her, Sirius. She deserves a good kiss.” 

You fluster in his hands. 

[riddlerosehearts]

thinking about how people who watch the emperor's new groove and somehow come out of it shipping pacha and kuzco, or thinking yzma only became evil when kuzco fired her and that she would've been a better ruler than him, are both so wrong in so many different ways and are also missing one of the things that i absolutely love about the movie. which is that, the way i see it, pacha and yzma are counterparts. as parental figures to kuzco.

like, just to get this out of the way first, yzma was a dismissive asshole to a peasant whose family was starving. and yeah, if kuzco had been in her place he definitely would've also done that, which... is why she would not be a better ruler than him. she'd just be the same because they're both horrible people in the exact same ways. her reaction to being fired is to plot murder, and as soon as his funeral is over she sets everyone to work on replacing paintings of kuzco with paintings of herself and covering the palace with imagery that makes it clear that it's all about her now. i'm not even sure why this is a discussion tbh.

and also, kuzco is literally a teenager. he's barely 18 years old. source: in the movie, yzma says at his funeral that kuzco was "taken from us so tragically on the very eve of his eighteenth birthday." she also claims in the movie to have "practically raised" him, to which kronk replies "yeah, you'd think he would've turned out better". and sure, she could be exaggerating, but what evidence do we have that she is? we learn absolutely nothing of his parents, who are never mentioned even once in the movie, or of anyone else who could've raised him, and she's his advisor who for some reason sees no problem with attending to royal duties in his place. most likely because she's his regent. also, i'm not exactly a fan of the sequel tv series "the emperor's new school" but it does have something that backs up my point: kuzco is revealed to be an orphan and just before his father went and got lost at sea, he asked yzma (who was also his advisor) to take care of kuzco if anything happened to him. so, yeah, the writers who worked on the series clearly thought that yzma genuinely did raise kuzco, and nothing in the movie contradicts this.

and i find the idea of her being his only parental figure for pretty much his whole childhood incredibly interesting because, and this also goes back into why she wouldn't be a better ruler than him--she mirrors him as a reflection of what would've become of him if he'd never met pacha. they're both incredibly arrogant, power-hungry, selfish, and cruel, with a tendency to blame their problems on everyone but themselves. yzma was even originally going to have her own reprise of kuzco's theme song "perfect world", which i really wish had been kept:

[ID: Lyrics that read:

I'Il be the sovereign queen of the nation And the chicest chick in creation I'm the cat with all the cream and ooh-la-la This deadly concentration Will put an end to my frustration Now this perfect world begins and ends with moi

What's my name? Yzma, Yzma, Yzma Yzma (what's my name?) Yzma, Yzma (What'd you say?) Yzma (Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!) Yzma. End ID]

(this song can be fully heard in "the sweatbox", the documentary about the making of the movie, and is also on youtube btw)

anyway, i'm sure yzma would not exactly have been the most nurturing or hands-on guardian, especially given that she and kuzco don't exactly treat each other like family. but it makes a lot of sense to think that her behavior influened kuzco's throughout the years. and for the entire movie, she remains determined to kill him. when he tries to reason with her and admits that he should've been nicer, she says the same thing to him that he originally said when he fired her. she never grows or changes and in the end, she hurts the one person who was willing to stand by her (and even then, kronk had never fully been on board with her plan) and he ends up trying to crush her with a chandelier. kuzco on the other hand is able to realize the error of his ways, come to regret who he was in the past, and start taking steps toward being a better person. his theme song gets a reprise where it's changed from a song about one person being the center of the world to a Power Of Friendship song. why? because, as i've already mentioned, he has pacha.

pacha, who similarly to both yzma and kuzco is in a position of authority as the leader of the village but unlike either of them is gentle and humble. who isn't afraid to stand up to kuzco and be honest with him even though he's the emperor, who agrees to take him back to the palace but has no obligation to be so helpful, kind, and caring toward him--and just about every reason not to be--and still chooses to be anyway. pacha who is 45 years old (also stated in the sweatbox documentary) and can see that kuzco is practically still a kid, not a single day over 18, who has time to grow and change. pacha, who already has a wife and two kids with another on the way, but practically treats kuzco like one of his own. who acknowledges that if kuzco dies all his problems will be gone and then still worries about him and goes out of his way to rescue him after he wanders into the jungle. who sees kuzco shivering at night and covers him with his poncho, who carries him when he's genuinely too weak to keep walking, who refuses to give up on him even after repeatedly being betrayed by him because he believes there's good in everyone.

also, while yzma ends up repeating kuzco's harsh words of dismissal as she tells him of her plans to kill him, kuzco had previously repeated pacha's words that "nobody's that heartless" after he saved pacha's life. and as the movie progresses kuzco and pacha's relationship becomes more and more equal and is constantly contrasted by moments of yzma being cruel and unappreciative of kronk's kindness. a good example of this is how kronk is constantly being forced to carry yzma everywhere on his back while yzma literally walks all over him and steps on his hands when she gets down, whereas when pacha briefly carries kuzco after the latter collapses he tells him he'll have to walk the rest of the way later and kuzco doesn't even protest.

idk if i'm even explaining well what i'm trying to say here. but basically, if yzma actually raised kuzco and contributed to his current behavior, then she and pacha both are figures who guided him and helped him grow. only yzma helped him become the tyrant that he was at the start of the movie, who was selfish and callous and saw everyone else as beneath him. whereas pacha helped him see the value in being selfless and considerate of others. and in the end, yzma is stuck as a cat and nobody is concerned about her. kronk has found a new job that makes him genuinely happy, while kuzco has decided to build a hut on the hill next to pacha's and effectively joined his family. in the sweatbox documentary it's even mentioned that chicha and the kids were at risk of being removed from the film, but it was decided that they needed to be there because having just pacha as a single guy who lived alone wasn't interesting enough--kuzco needed to go from having basically an empty world where he had nobody to being able to come together with pacha's whole family. and i just think that's incredibly satisfying and beautiful. it also leads up to one of the few things i really do enjoy about the emperor's new school, which is the fact that during the show kuzco moves in with pacha and chicha and pretty explicitly thinks of them as basically his parents while he's like a son to them.

idk. i feel like my mind went in a million different directions while i was writing all this. but i guess i just think that for all of the praise the emperor's new groove gets for its comedy and for how hilarious yzma and kronk in particular are as a duo, the movie also has a lot of genuine heart that gets overlooked. kuzco's character growth and his unique dynamic with pacha is, for me, really what elevates the movie from just a funny movie that i like to one of my favorite disney movies. and i wish more people appreciated that aspect of it and saw it as a found family story in the same way that treasure planet, brother bear, and lilo and stitch are all found family stories.

[babydollslibrary]

THE GREAT WAR — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem!reader

published: March 17th, 2023

summary: in which y/n sees a picture of Jack talking to a girl at a bar and her insecurities come to light. // the night y/n accuses Jack of cheating and they almost break up.

specific lyrics: “and maybe it’s the past that’s talking, screaming from the crypt. telling me to punish you for things you never did.” and “somewhere in the haze, got a sense i’ve been betrayed.” and “that was the night i nearly lost you. i really thought i’d lost you.”

warnings: past relationship trauma, mentions of cheating (but no actual cheating), not proofread.

GIF by nicodaws

my past relationships were a graveyard of toxicity. full of cheating exes, manipulation, and verbal abuse. i accepted the love i thought i deserved. i would stay with these guys for months or possibly longer before being convinced by my friends to break up with them. but the cycle came to an end when i met Jack.

he’s kind, caring, loyal, loving, and always made sure that i knew how much he appreciated me. maybe that’s why i had so much trust in him. it’s why i never felt the need to check his snap map and find out where he was, or file through his instagram dm’s to see if he was talking to other girls. it’s why i felt comfortable and content staying at home if he wanted to go out and celebrate a win with his team; like tonight.

but somewhere in the haze of love and admiration, i’ve got a sense that i’ve been led astray and possibly betrayed. maybe it’s my past sneaking up on me and placing doubts in my head, maybe it’s insecurities overtaking my mind. all i know is that in this moment, laying in our bed, time has frozen as i’m locked on a picture of him talking to a girl at a club. with the Devils winning their game tonight, he had told me he would be going out with a few of the guys to celebrate, even offered for me to come, but i had a migraine and i didn’t feel like partying tonight, so i had given him the go ahead to go without me. i trusted him, i figured he would go out and have some drinks and then come home and slip in bed with me. but with this picture posted five minutes ago by a fan account claiming he was spotted flirting in a club in Hoboken, all my worst fears have come to light.

logically, i know i shouldn’t jump to conclusions. that the account could be wrong and that i should trust my boyfriend more than to assume he would try and cheat on me. but i’m here, and they’re there. i have no idea what could’ve been happening, maybe they’re right. this girl is definitely prettier than me by a tenfold, i can’t even blame him. maybe she doesn’t have the relationship trauma that i do, maybe she’s better than me in every inconceivable way. i don’t know, but now he does.

turning off my phone and dropping it on my nightstand, i spend the next hour tossing and turning. my mind constantly drifting to where my boyfriend may be, what he might be doing. and when it passed twelve thirty and he still wasn’t home like he usually would be, i immediately jump to the conclusion that i was right. he cheated on me. all my previous boyfriends have, so why wouldn’t he? there’s something wrong with me. i’m not enough. i’m not worthy of one of the great loves. this is what i must come to accept.

it’s around one thirty in the morning when i finally hear the distant sound of the front door opening and closing, Jack’s footsteps quiet once he’s taken off his shoes and i know he’s tiptoeing in order to avoid waking me. but i’m already awake. which he discovers when he opens our bedroom door.

“hey, baby.” he gives me a soft smile, making his way over to press a kiss to my forehead. “what are you doing awake?”

his clothes aren’t disheveled like my previous lovers would’ve been after a rendezvous, and he doesn’t smell like perfume.

maybe she doesn’t wear perfume.

“who is she?” my voice is barely above a whisper, but he makes out what i said. his brows furrow in confusion, and i have to hand it to him, he does look genuinely confused.

“who?” he asks. i grab my phone, pulling the picture back up. shoving the device into his hands.

“her.”

“oh. i don’t know.” he shrugs, turning the phone off and placing it back on my nightstand. “she came up to me and said she was at the game. congratulated me on the win. why? do you know her?”

“no. i figured you did. the caption said you were flirting with her.” i shrug, trying to feign indifference. he huffs out a laugh, stripping down to change into his pajamas.

“flirting with her? i think i spoke about five words to her before i went back to the guys.” he tells me, pulling his pj pants on. his brows form a ‘v’ and he looks back at me. “wait- do you think i was cheating on you? or even trying to?”

i shrug, not giving him a proper response, and it only seems to frustrate him.

“what the hell, y/n?” his voice is a mix of anger and hurt.

“what?” i mumble.

“when have i ever given the impression that i want anyone else?” he asks.

“none of the others gave the impression.” i explain. “they just, did it.”

“well i’m not your exes, y/n/n. i’m not the self-centered assholes that you used to date.” his words are harsh, and finger pointing. sounding like he’s putting blame more on me for dating them in the first place than the actual guys who used me. “i thought we established that a long time ago.”

“all i know is i’ve been in this position before and they were lying.” i rise from the bed now, sick of feeling lower than him in more ways than one.

“so you think i’m lying? is that it?” he raises his voice, obviously not happy with my accusations.

he’s deflecting.

“i don’t know!” i yell back. “i don’t know anymore!”

“right.” his one worded response is spoken scarily calm, joined by a nod of his head. he wanders around the room, slipping a t-shirt on and grabbing clothes off of wire hangers from our closet, stuffing them in a duffle bag.

“what are you doing?” i ask him, frantic and nervous.

“i’m not staying here while you accuse me of things i haven’t done. i’m going to sleep at Nico’s.” he tells me.

“you’re just gonna leave?” he zips up the bag, walking out of our bedroom. i follow him down the hall like a shadow, attached to him.

“i don’t know how we’re gonna work if you can’t trust me.” he says, slipping his shoes back on. he grabs his keys from the hook and turns back to me. “i love you. but i can’t be with you if you’re not gonna at least try and trust me. you asked me who she was, i told you the truth, and you still can’t accept that someone might love you enough to choose you.”

i don’t even get to respond before he leaves, too frozen to form words. my lips are parted and i stand in the entryway for a good five minutes before the weight of what just happened finally falls on me. crumpling to the floor in a mess of sobs and useless pleas for him to come back. Nico’s apartment is only a couple floors above our own, he must already be there, so my words are worthless now.

this has never happened before. he was telling the truth and i couldn’t even believe him because i’m so broken by my previous experiences. i knew that he didn’t do anything. i knew that he loves me and he would never do anything to purposefully hurt me, but my past was screaming at me not to listen to him, not to believe him because we’ve seen this before. but i was right this time. not my past. me.

i’ve lost him. i lost him because i couldn’t believe that he would choose me over another girl.

it feels like years before i’m able to move myself to our bedroom, when in reality it was probably more like twenty minutes. in bed, curled into the fetal position with tears still streaming down my face, i’m unable to fall asleep once more. tossing and turning for the second time tonight, only this time, due to my own actions.

**

i’ve lost track of the time. the sun beams in through the open window blinds now, but i’ve yet to sleep. i ran out of tears hours ago, now just blankly staring at the wall as i replay the events of last night in my head for what must be the millionth time. my heart aches in my chest and my head hurts from all the crying and the lack of sleep.

i’m zoned out. apparently enough that i don’t hear the sound of the front door or the footsteps echoing through the apartment. i don’t notice the dip of the bed or someone else’s breathing. it isn’t until i feel an arm snake around my waist that i know Jack has returned. i jolt in surprise when his skin presses against mine, and i turn over to look at his face. he looks just as rough as i feel.

“you left.” i state, my voice raspy from disuse and the sobs i let out mere hours ago.

“and i came back.” he whispers, tucking an awry strand of hair behind my ear. “i just needed some time to think.”

“oh.”

“Nico helped me realize that i need to be patient. you’ve trusted me this long, and i can’t expect everything to be sunshine and rainbows. you’ve been through hell. you’re so strong for putting up with what you went through, and i can understand now why you might have some doubts. because, i’m not your exes, but you didn’t think they were who they were either. they led you to believe they were amazing people and then called you crazy for thinking they were with other women. but you weren’t. and i’m not them, but i need to let you figure that out on your own. you saw something and it triggered you, it made you think of your past. i should’ve been more understanding about that instead of blowing up at you.”

“no. i should’ve been more trusting. i know you, and i know you would never hurt me. i just had this voice in my head telling me that you were like them and in order to protect myself, i listened to it. but, you’re not like them, and i only ended up hurting us both. you’ve proven time and time again that you aren’t them. i just- i need to remember that. you’re so good to me, and you’re such an amazing guy, and i think i just thought you might be too good to be true, so i was searching for something wrong. but i’m sorry, Jack. i’m so sorry for not believing you.”

his lips press against mine, soft and slow, pouring all his love into a sweet and tender kiss. pulling away, he lays his forehead against mine.

“i love you. it’ll be a process; having to unlearn all your overly-defensive mechanisms. you were trying to protect yourself, and that’s understandable, but i’m never going to hurt you. at least, not on purpose. but, i’ll be here every step of the way until you realize just how important you are to me. i don’t need anyone else. i have you.” his voice is soft, his words spoken gently and yet confidently.

“i really thought i lost you.” i murmur, burying my head into his neck and i cling to him tightly, refusing to let him go again.

“never.”

-

[fortisseto]

Hi, bisexual here, and I've HAD IT. With you bisexual Marvin believers. Let me go down the list of reasons why he can't be bisexual AND why it isn't bi erasure if someone says he isn't!

Marvin is stubborn, and that's exactly why he's put up with trying to like women so hard. Because he thought that he was supposed to. He thought that was the way it was supposed to be because at the time, you weren't taught that being gay was normal. You barely are now. If you've listened to The Nausea Before the Game, you would understand that he doesn't like women specifically the lyric, "It's anxiety that you recall / Girls who touch you when you're walking down the hall." The entirety of The Nausea Before the Game is Marvin convincing himself that he just so often gets cold feet when doing anything slightly intimate with a woman! He's convinced himself that these pre-intimacy-jitters are just a natural thing he experiences, but he literally doesn't find women attractive in the slightest. Emotionally, romantically, or sexually. He doesn't want that, which is why he calls his disinterest towards "the game" (aka intimacy with women that he has to force himself to indulge in) nausea instead. (EDIT: To add to this point, you also could take Marvin saying "you" instead of "I" in The Nausea Before the Game as him explaining these things as if it happens to everyone. You included. He is making sense of it and himself by inserting himself into "the rest of society" by inserting the rest of society into his situation. Get it?)

It isn't just The Nausea Before the Game. It's High-school Ladies at Five O'clock ("Does he like (does he like) / Does he like to screw?" Marvin is screaming "Does he???") and literally the entirety of In Trousers. There is so much evidence that Marvin just wasn't interested in women. It's not that he didn't find "the right woman," he just didn't like him whatsoever. If he did, he wouldn't have left Trina— which leads me to my next point.

My boyfriend @morphean42 made a really good point saying Trina was everything he wanted (as she says in Love is Blind, "I'm everything he wanted / It's time I put it all together"). Or, at least, she was everything but a man. She did everything right, and she tried to do things even more right until she found Marvin and Whizzer having sex and found out he was gay all along. She knew he was probably sleeping with someone, but not a man. That's why I'm Breaking Down isn't just about him cheating on her and her being distraught. It's an exploration of her character and part of how she perceives herself in the eyes of men whilst also trying to hold it together because she's also trying to be an okay mother. "I hope that Whizzer don't fulfill his needs" is said because Trina couldn't. Not because she wasn't good enough, but because she was a woman. She couldn't give him everything he wanted, and what makes it worse is that she was so close yet so far.

Calling Marvin bisexual is making him out to be more of a dick than he actually was. It's adding an unnecessary layer to the musical. The man was not at all bisexual and just didn't like Trina enough— no? You're completely missing the point of everything that musical is about. As bisexuals, we have the ability to love both genders as equal. Romantically and/or sexually. Marvin's problem was that he couldn't. He just wished he could. He tried, and tried, and failed, and tried forcing the first boyfriend he got to make him feel like I was being queer in a not-queer way. Doing how he thought things should've been than what was right so he could uphold that standard. That's the point of act one.

Bisexuals are real. Hell, I'm bisexual. My boyfriend is a gay man. We are two men who perceive sexuality differently because we experience it differently. He experiences it more like Marvin because they're both gay, and I don't.

That's all. Please don't say he's not gay or someone might have to face my wrath oh my gosh

[zo2mess]

Laundry girl

Summary: Laundromat is usually empty so late at night except for Adrian, until it isn’t. But there is no reason for him to get nervous around his new laundry buddy, right?

Warnings: mentions of violence, mention of death, mention of period blood, foul language and that’s all? If you notice something that might be triggering, just let me know. Also female reader and no use Y/N as far as I remember.

Word count: 3.8K

Extra songs for this fic

Masterlist of my works

Note: My ongoing brain rot with Vigilante, inspiration from the song Laundry Girl from Ludo (I politely stole a lot from their lyrics) and need to practice my English before test somehow escalated into this. This is a mess, nothing makes sense idk. Honestly, I have no idea why I decided to make it public, but hey, bad content is still content right? English is not my first language, so if you see any grammar mistakes or weird words, just ignore them. However every criticism is welcomed and appreciated.

Oh, the sweet contrast of late spring. Days warm enough to let bare skin be caressed by heating sun, yet cold nights leave shivers down the spine, a fleeting reminder that the carelessness of summer is not entirely there yet.

Exactly on one of those nights, Adrian found himself in a 24-hour laundromat down the street from his small apartment. Neon lights from the sign were illuminating dark streets as well as the faint lights from inside.

He didn’t like that smell that lingered in the air. Fragrances from detergents that are far too strong and mix in an unpleasant whiff, plus the disinfection and the smell from forgotten socks that got stuck somewhere between a wall and washing machine. No, thanks. He could buy his own washing machine, which would be much more practical, but why make anything easy when you can make it difficult.

When Adrian entered the familiar environment, he sighed at the strong smell hitting his nose. Temperature in the laundromat was slightly warmer than the one outside, but not enough for him to take off his hoodie. Adrian settled his bag with dirty clothes on a scraped metal table in the middle of the cramped room.

There was one thing he liked about this laundromat, even though it was open almost nonstop, no one was ever there late at night like he was.

Usually.

Sometimes few drunks were sleeping peacefully in the corner, desperately seeking just a tad bit of warmth, but as long they didn’t do anything, Adrian had no reason to pay any attention to them.

Tonight was different, his regular loneliness and peace was disturbed by another person entering the room. However screeching of old doors, quick gust of cold air and heavy tired footsteps did not alert him at all.

"Do you need help with that?" you asked with a soft voice, a smile on your face while you looked at the stranger in front of you expectantly "I don’t want to call myself a professional, but I can pretty much clean every stain. Or at least I haven’t been defeated so far,"

His mind was too focused on a single task before him, getting rid of dried blood that was plastered on his black undershirt. The one he wears under his chest plate, one that was stitched up too many times from all the slashing and tearing.

Will he ever buy a new one? Of course not.

Not until he finds a shirt that looks and feels the same as this one. Adrian cursed the guy that got his suit in such disheveled state. That bastard deserved a bullet to his head even before he managed to get Vigilante’s suit all messy and sticky with blood.

Your question caught him off guard, his hands wincing a little. Green eyes glancing up at you with startled expression. When did you get here? Were you watching him the whole time? Crouched up above his shirt, scrubbing away with bile soap, tip of his tongue stuck out in concentration. You leaned across the table, examining his work. "Ketchup?"

"Blood actually," Why would it be ketchup? He doesn’t even like ketchup. It does not taste like tomatoes at all! Goddamn lying sauce. "I got a really bad nosebleed. I get that a lot, that’s why my clothes are always bloody." No other reason of course.

"If your clothes are always bloody you should have no problem with cleaning them right? But I gotta admit blood is a hell of an enemy when it dries and sits on the fabric for a while. Just put it in cold water to soak off, that should do it."

"Why do you know so much about cleaning blood?" Adrian asked with suspicion in his voice. Eyebrows furrowed under his glasses and his eyes stared at you intently. Paranoia creeping up on him again.

"Well I don’t know if you noticed but I’m a woman. Periods teach you a lot. I’m not some blood-stained killer I swear." You said the last sentence with a wide smile, shaking your head before returning to your own work. Throwing dirty laundry into the washing machine without even glancing back at Adrian. He was standing there with fingers tapping on the metal table, burning a hole in the back of your skull with his stare. Yeah, you better not be. He thought to himself.

He forced a smile and went back to scrubbing, he did not have the time to soak it off, he needed it ready for tomorrow, preferably without blood. You paid him no mind and pushed the button to start the cycle. With a sigh you took out a small book from the laundry basket you brought with you and sat down on a screeching chair nestled between other washing machines. If you have to sit it out here you might as well do something productive.

"Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy," his voice made you flinch and you glanced at him absentmindedly "I love that movie!"

"Book’s even better." You acknowledged his giddiness with simple words. The truth is you enjoyed reading books after you watched movies that were based on them. Sometimes they were better, sometimes worse, but they always expanded the story and the universe.

"Reading is for nerds plus it can’t be that much better." Doubting Thomas, of course. Adrian quickly waved off the idea that books can be better than movies.

"There is extremely many things that did not make it in the movie, not gonna mention directive changes. But go on, live your life without all the great details." You returned to your reading, barely registering quiet mumbling coming from Adrian’s direction.

"My washing machine broke and I don’t have spare money to buy a new one. I’ll be coming here until my next salary" The other option was attempting to fix it yourself, that would be a death sentence for the washing machine and you as well.

"What are you doing here anyway? I come here almost every Saturday and I am alone here." He wouldn't drop it, curiosity gets the better of him most of the time, why would this be any different? It was suspicious that another girl is washing her laundry in the middle of the night.

The fact he was currently getting rid of blood from the undershirt he wears out to kill criminals is an entirely different story.

"But why so late? It’s way past midnight."

"Couldn’t sleep." You just shrugged. You did not care if he believed you or not, it was true. Your new neighbors were blasting music practically all evening, it was better to wait it out elsewhere. "It seems we will be meeting each other more often. I didn’t catch your name."

The more time you spent together in the chilly room, words drowned out by buzzing washing machines, the more you got along. Starting off with awkward small talk, through petty debate whenever books are better than movies, all the way to wishing each other goodnight as well as Adrian wishing you had a monster under your bed and parting ways. Only if he knew monster wasn’t the one creeping up on you in your sleep. Thoughts of tonight busying your mind.  

"It’s Adrian." His voice was hesitant, suspicion rising and falling with each word you said. He’s not sure if you are a poor soul with dirty laundry or a spy hired to watch the infamous Vigilante.

How would you even know his secret identity? He had no idea, but sometimes it is better to account for all possibilities.

You nodded at his answer and told him your name in return. Little something he burned into the back of his mind.

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

The second time he met you was two weeks from the last encounter, just the way he mentioned previously. This time you were there first, already occupying one machine with white clothes while the other part of your laundry sat in a basket nearby. You quickly shot him a smile and he greeted you in return.

"You’re here early." Adrian commented almost under his breath as he put full duffel bag on the table and began sorting his clothes by colors.

"Yeah well, no reason for it really. Maybe curiosity got the best of me and I got here earlier just to see if you would came like you said you would." It seems that old habits die hard. Unknown to you, Adrian was always on time in his routines. Even if he wanted to do his laundry on a different day or at a different time, his body would urge him to do things in the exact same way.

She’s joking, Adrian, don’t sweat it out. There is no way she could kill anyone. His inner thoughts creep up to him again. From time to time, he would appreciate if his Vigilante mind left Adrian alone. "So uhhh… You don’t like cheesy jokes?" Yeah, great save, do not mention hanging Debbie.

The conversation went on quite smoothly, like good old friends meeting. Usual chatter about their days, unnecessary details of “total baller” breakfast from Adrian’s side, gossip about migraine-inducing coworkers from yours.

Adrian attention was glued to every word you said, piece by piece putting together a bigger picture. He can’t even remember the last time someone actually wanted to talk with him and not just wave him off with dismissive answers.

"- And then she put a fucking poster on our shared fridge. That stupid one with cat on a tree with “Hang in there” under it. And I thought our office could not get any more stereotypical," you were throwing your hands around, visibly stating your annoyance at your coworker Debbie.

"I don’t want to “Hang in there” I would much rather hang myself and I swear to God I will hang her in janitor’s closet if she puts another poster on the fridge or tells me a cheesy joke about how much she hates her husband, it’s not funny"

"I like jokes, just not stupid ones. To be honest I can’t remember the last time someone told me a funny joke. I guess it is a curse of modern times, humor changed." You shrugged your shoulders and walked around the crumpled room, looking around and taking in details you missed on your first visit.

"I could tell you a funny joke. I know plenty of them!" Adrian’s enthusiasm made you stop in your tracks. He’s just standing there, a wide smile forming on his face, fingers fidgeting with hem of dirty shirt that laid in mountain of laundry on the table in front of him.

Even if you told him no, Adrian had decided to recite every joke he knew. Some of them were horrible, some of them were… better. Yet it did not made you laugh.

It was a fun game to pass the time, he told you lousy jokes and after each one he patiently waited for your reaction with puppy eyes.

You, on the other hand, had tried so hard to not even let a corner of your mouth turn upwards. The bigger satisfaction it brought the more he stammered as he tried to remember another joke. Adrian could not let himself be a loser in this situation. He will not give up.

"Knock knock," he started again, determined to win this imaginary joke war.

Not laughing at his jokes should be illegal. And that would make you a criminal. In that case, he would not feel bad if he had to take you out as Vigilante.

And maybe if he got rid of you, he wouldn’t feel that irritating need late at night, body itching to go to the laundromat near his apartment to see if you couldn’t sleep either.

If you’re scrubbing spilled wine from your shirt with cheap detergent before throwing it in a washing machine with the rest of your clothes.

If you’re waiting patiently not only for your clothes to dry but also for that funny stranger with curly hair and a dorky smile to show up.

Maybe then his mind would calm down again. He doesn’t need any more distractions in his head.

"Knock knock," a firmer repetition. He’s not going to get discouraged.

"Come in," you retorted while a chuckle was threatening to slip from your lips. Adrian’s arms slouched down his body, enthusiasm transforming into…

Annoyance?

He so desperately wanted to see you smile, why couldn't you comply?

People usually laugh at his jokes, or more like they laugh at him. No matter the reason, people occasionally laugh in his presence alongside constant eye rolls. You haven’t done either and it is messing with him.

"Who’s there?" this time you decided to go along with his joke. These types of jokes are… foul, but you just want to see where he will land with it.

Determination is admirable in certain situations, in others it just leads to doom.  Like that one time when Adrian was chasing a thief down the street, low on bullets, ringing in his ears, lungs burning, but he could not forgive himself if that rat got away. All his attention was set on the dark figure way ahead of him that he did not notice a car when he sprinted across a badly lit street, ultimately knocking him down. Heavens were on his side that night, nothing serious happened except for a few nasty bruises and unrelenting remorse that haunted him following weeks.

But the good kind of determination? That’s gonna win him a smile from a pretty girl in the laundromat.

"Honey bee,"

"Honey bee who?"

"Honey bee a dear and get that for me please?" Adrian said it with a wide smile and excitement in his voice. He pointed at your laundry beads that boost the scent. "It smells so good when you open it, can I try it?"

You laughed just a bit. Fucking finally.

Now Adrian felt like at the top of the world. He made you laugh, no matter if it was just a pitying laugh to get him to shut up, he decided to believe you actually found him funny and no one could take that from him.

You noticed the dreamy look that plastered his face, especially when you let him borrow scented beads. Part of you cherished the fact he liked the ones you washed your clothes with every time and part of Adrian cherished the fact that now his clothes will smell like you before it wears out.

That his sleeping shirt will carry part of you on those nights that he doesn’t see you here.

Wait, when did that happen?

Smell of another person on his clothes should weird him out, it should give him goosebumps all over his pale skin. Why does it sound so comforting this time? Why does he want to keep part of you close?

The last time he felt something similar was when his brother Gut died. They weren’t super close, but his death hit him like a train and he quite literally became a trainwreck. Adrian sat in his brother’s childhood room for hours, taking notes of all the small details, remembering the exact position of each and every piece of furniture. And at times when he felt close to breaking into tears, he took out his brother’s shirts. The familiarity and memories brought comfort. Comfort that disappeared as fast as it came.

This time he was not mourning death of someone close to him, this time he did not miss the feeling of adrenaline that he felt with Peacemaker when they shot appliances in forest or when they killed criminals together before he got locked up.

This time Adrian felt a need to be close to someone he met just a few weeks ago, someone who barely knew him and had not gotten the chance to be taken back by his weirdness.

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

These thoughts and confusion followed him home that night. Not even the cold air could not break him out of trance. The way you laughed, the way you softly wished him goodnight when you parted ways, skin illuminated by purple neon light hanging above laundromat, and the way his now clean laundry smells like you since he begged for your scented beads.

Pull yourself together Adrian.

"I don’t understand how you might think Fargo is better than the Office or Better Call Saul for example. Saying it is the best show ever made is crazy" Friendly banter about TV series was accompanied by clicking of your flip-flops as you made your way towards your apartment complex just a couple blocks away from the laundromat.

Adrian had insisted that he walks you home this time, apparently he was afraid you might "fall asleep on your way home" since you two spent almost the whole night in the laundromat.

Sun was lazily rising, yellow painted the sky but few dark clouds were spoiling the otherwise beautiful picture. The smell of rain was in the air, you both knew there was a storm coming on a calm Sunday morning. Few joggers passed you in a hurry. Early birds. Psychopaths. Not like Adrian wasn’t psychotic at least a bit, but he wasn’t that mad to get up so early to run in still-cold weather.

Not just doing laundry, you also brought your book, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and read out loud for him to hear the difference between book and movie.

While you waited for your clothes to dry you two sat on uncomfortable chairs, you with book wide open, pages visible for Adrian to peek from behind your shoulder whenever he wanted. Though most of the time he spent with his eyes closed, face leaning on a stock of washing machines next to him, listening to your reading like a bedtime story.

Even after your laundry was done you decided to stick around, competing who flicks quarters farthest, catching peanuts in your mouth and testing echo in every washing machine. Until you finally decided to head home and get at least few hours of sleep, by that time it was past 5 a.m.

"What do you think is the best show then?" he calmly asked and nudged your shoulder with his own, encouraging you to answer.

"That show is like 100 years old! Dinosaurs watched it!" Adrian shook his head with laughter. You didn’t find his jokes funny but you loved this out of all the shows. Unbelievable.

"Well… I think the best show is The Kids in the Hall, undying classic." You knew your walk slowly but surely reached its end. You could see your main entrance, the fact you were reaching your home was setting you aflame in the worst way possible.

Nonetheless, your eyelids grew heavy and you could not stop yourself from yawning every few seconds, an unavoidable need to fall into your bed and surrender to sweet slumber.

"Hey! If you call that show old, it is like you’re calling yourself old! Should I call nursing to pick you up?" You stopped in front of your apartment complex, not entirely sure if Adrian realized this is where your hangout ends. You turned around to face him and quickly jabbed him in the chest with your finger.

"Ha ha, very funny. But really? So many good shows and you pick this one? And call me out for liking Fargo? You have horrible taste." He couldn’t let this go now he saw how adorable you looked when you were angry. What is the worst that can happen if he teases you more, right?

"Shut it, Adrian. I’m serious." You said that so calmly it almost took him aback, however he could see the fire burning behind your eyes. It only riled him up more.

"You can’t make me-"

Oh, you could.

You grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him down swiftly. The best solution to shut him up was to press your lips against his. A firm, simple kiss that sent electricity through your body.

You felt a muffled yelp that escaped Adrian’s mouth when you surprised him in such an affectionate manner. And at that moment, when your lips touched his, for the first time in a while his mind was quiet, yet his soul was singing.

Time stopped, eyes were tightly shut, heart hammering inside, begging to jump out of his chest, one of his hands found its place on your forearm in uncertainty and took a step closer to get his body closer to you.

You, on the other hand, were fully aware of what was happening. The feeling of gratification that you “won” an argument was the last thing on your mind.

The only thing you could think of was acting up on your secret wishes that swam through your head every time you went to the laundromat to see him.

Suddenly aware of everything, you felt the heat that radiated from Adrian’s body, warming you up in cold air, a few raindrops making you shiver as they fell on your skin. Or were you shivering from the closeness of this intimate act? If anyone asked you would not be able to answer. It did not matter anyway, the only thing that mattered was you kissing him.

The kiss lasted only for a few seconds, but you would both swear it was an eternity. When you pulled away, slowly and delicately, Adrian still had eyes closed, hand hanging in the air where your arm used to be. You realized his mind was completely shut off. A smile formed on your lips at the thought of shutting Adrian up this way every time he brings up some stupid nonsensical squabble.

You left him standing there as rain started to fall on his hair, diamonds in those dark brown curls. And when he finally came to his senses and decided to open his eyes…

You were gone.

Coldness on his body where you were pressed together, sparks lingering on lips, sweet perfume filling his nose, those should be indicators that it was very much real, but his mind was not certain. How could it be, when the stupid brain ceased the second his dreams came true.

You quickly ran upstairs to your apartment, running up to the window in your kitchen and from behind a curtain you watched confused Adrian, who was walking in the opposite direction.

What other choice did you leave him than to head home and wonder.

Wonder about what you were doing when raindrops splattered on the sidewalk, sounding like your flip-flops.

Wonder if you’re already sleeping safe and sound in your bedroom like he will when he reaches his home.

Wonder if you kiss him again once you see each other next week in the laundromat.

Wonder if the laundry girl was real or just a dream.

[runraerun]

Heard a random 90s rock song & it legit got me thinking about Steve & Billy meeting again in their twenties... Like what if s3 never happened? After the fight at the Byers, Billy kept his head down & avoided Steve? I see him as being consumed by a sense of guilt/shame & yet still not being able to apologise until, that is, the day of their graduation when he's suddenly overcome with a need to just get it off his chest. He's been crushing on this guy since he got to Hawkins & he blew whatever chance he had of even just a friendship with him, but it doesn't matter now cos he's getting out of this shithole as quickly as possible, but he can't have this guilt gnawing at him any longer...So maybe he deliberately makes sure he bumps into steve at some point and mutters out a: "Harrington. We need to talk." And sucking on a cigarette like his life depends on it, hands shaking, barely making eye contact, Billy gives the world's shittiest apology. And it feels like his heart's gonna beat out of his chest & Steve's just standing there, staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face, before saying something like: "yeah, man. I'm sorry for that night too." (In my mind either Max let drop something about Billy's homelife or Steve has deduced something's not right). Anyway. Billy finally feels like he's able to breathe again for the first time in months UNTIL steve unknowingly utters the world's most devastating sentence: "I think we could've been friends if, y'know, shit hadn't gone down the way it did...oh well." And steve gives a sort of little grin and a laugh as if what he said wasn't a major deal. "Heard you're headed back to California?" Steve asks, and Billy's barely able to nod, still struck dumb by Steve's previous offhand comment. And maybe someone calls Steve's name and suddenly that's it. The moment is broken & Steve's leaving with a "Guess I'll see you around, Hargrove... or not" and a goofy little salute. And Billy thought he'd feel better. But in fact he feels worse. Because holy shit. Steve just said they could have been friends. And that's gonna haunt him for years....

Cue a few years later and they run into each other in Chicago (listen, the idea of Billy returning to California only to realise it no longer feels like home and maybe it never did consumes me), but yeah. They bump into each other accidentally and holy shit. Steve Harrington. He looks almost exactly the same. Other than the fact he's grown out the mullet and holy shit, are those highlights in his hair??? And billy's stunned by what looks like a genuine grin of delight that crosses Steve's face once he recognises who he's walked into. And maybe they chat for a little while; Billy doesn't even know what he's saying he's so in shock at meeting his highschool crush again. But just like the last time someone calls steve's name and of course steve has a girlfriend, of course he does (joke's on billy, cos it's just robin) and suddenly the moment's broken again and steve's walking away with a casual "it was good to see you again, billy" and billy is gripped with the thought that he can't let steve slip through his fingers again. how many people get a second chance like this? he can feel his old highschool crush flickering back to life where it's buried deep in his chest and maybe steve will never like billy like that but holy shit. billy still remembers the day steve said that maybe they could have been friends if things had been different and things are different now so why not take a chance??? and billy has never felt so brave or so fucking scared in his life as he does when he steps forward and calls after steve: "Hey Harrington! Wanna meet up and catch up properly some time?" and Steve's attention is back on him and goddamn. Billy didn't even realise how much he missed those eyes until now. ANyway!! This got away from me!! But 90s Harringrove pls and thank. Also the song i heard was lightning crashes by live. like the lyrics aren't even that appropriate but there's such a nostalgic feel to it.

oh my god. OH MY GOD.

Anon, this whole message has got me in a chokehold. Like, it’s such a direct hit. 🎯🎯🎯Billy choking on an apology because he’s so painfully unfamiliar with the very concept, the absolute devastation of hearing the potential of being friends with Steve was there, but he blew it, the PINING… urgh. How Steve can unknowingly fatally wound Billy just like that.

AND THEN THE HIGHLIGHTS ARE YOU JOKING?!

I hope that things get away from you many many more times, because this was incredible.

Okay okay. Now, if I may, I will now attempt to match your freak.

ahem

—

By some serendipitous fuckin’ miracle, Steve agrees to exchange digits with him. They couldn’t find a napkin or any other god forsaken scrap of paper to write on, so they just scribbled their numbers down onto each other's arm. Billy was so fucking on edge that when he was peering down at the pale expanse of Steve’s mole-speckled forearm he damn near forgot his own phone number. Jesus, he’s a wreck…

At least whenever it comes to Harrington, anyway. Dude has like, Billy’s own personal strain of kryptonite woven in through his DNA or some shit. It would explain why his hands always get clammy and his knees feel like they’re made of fucking jello every time Steve flashed those pearly whites his way.

Christ, Hargrove, get it together…

Billy had spent the rest of the week running a finger along the wobbly looking numbers, fading more and more every day. Before they fade completely through, he finally finds his balls and dials Steve’s number.

A girl picks up, which… well, Billy knows Steve has a girlfriend. He didn’t know they’re living together though… but whatever, it don’t change shit.

“Steve around?” He asks, clenching the receiver in his fist so tightly that he can hear the plastic creak.

“Who’s asking?” The girl says, sounding pleasant despite her words. Sandy-haired, freckles. Cute, Billy remembers. Harrington always did go for the cute ones.

“Billy,” he answers, “Billy Hargrove. He’ll know who I am.”

“Oh, Billy,” The girl’s voice draws out his name like it’s an answer to a question that she’d been stuck on. “It’s about time you called.”

Which. That…

What the hell does that mean?

While Billy’s puzzling it out, she hears the girl holler for Steve, telling him Billy is on the line. His name is said with a weird amount of familiarity.

Billy switches ears and shakes out the stiffness in his hand. Focuses on breathing evenly instead of the steady flow of questions suddenly piling up in his head.

“Billy?” Steve’s voice, clear as a bell, asks from the other line.

Billy clears his throat, “hey, man.”

“Hey. I was just about to call you.” Steve says, doing that thing where he so casually drops bombs onto Billy’s world, leveling his cities with a passing word.

“Beat you to it.” Billy grins, and hears the little huff of a laugh on the other line.

“Always so competitive,” Steve teases, and Billy can just hear the smile. It makes his chest ache. It’s the sweet kind of ache, though. “Haven’t you ever heard it’s not winning that matters, it’s taking part?”

Billy shakes his head even though Steve can’t see him and sneers, “sounds like some shit losers say to each other.”

That gets a genuine laugh from Steve, all breathy and sharp, and Billy feels himself laughing along from the sheer thrill of getting Steve going.

“Jesus, I forgot how much of an asshole you are.” Steve sighs, but there’s no heat behind it. Just shit talk. It’s fine. What guys do.

“Yeah yeah. Can’t change my spots, or whatever.” Billy mumbles as he scuffs his boot along the floor. Fucking antsy. Jonesing for a cigarette. Just get on with it you piece of shit. He takes a breath and then takes the plunge. “So listen, we should hang out this weekend. I know a few good bars where we could catch up. Maybe get into some trouble.”

Steve makes a scoffing sound, “what kind of trouble are we talking here, Hargrove?”

His heart jackrabbits in his chest. He loves this part. Billy brings the receiver just a little closer to his lips. “The fun kind, Harrington.” He murmurs, voice pitched low.

There’s a brief, unbearably tense couple of seconds where Steve doesn’t speak. He just lets Billy dangle like a hooked fish. Static from the line. He doesn’t breathe. Then.

“Friday at 8?” Steve tosses the offer out, real casual-like. And with it, Billy feels the muscles around his neck and shoulders relax, like he got shot with a tranquilizer dart. Steve continues, “You wanna meet at the same coffee shop from before? I live in the apartment building just across the street from it.”

Fancy, Billy thinks. Of fuckin’ course. All the buildings on that block are the high end kind; with door men and balconies and working elevators. Billy only ever finds himself in that leg of the city when a pipe bursts or a sink gets clogged and Billy gets called in to fix it. Of course Steve’s living in the lap of luxury here in Chicago. Mommy and Daddy’s only child. Not that it’s his fault, Billy supposed. Some people are just born luckier than others.

“Sure, rich boy,” Billy grins, “bring your appetite though, I’m buying nachos.”

Steve heartily agrees. Because obviously. Who the hell could say no to that? Rich or poor, nachos are nachos.

It ain’t a date. It ain’t. It’s just two guys hanging out, y’know, catching up. For old times sake. Getting into some trouble, like Billy said. It ain’t date.

So what if he calls and asks Heather to pre-approve his outfit when everything he owns suddenly looks stupid on him? And who cares that he dabs double the amount of cologne onto his chest and triple down his pants—Billy likes to smell good, it ain’t a big deal. He wears a silver chain around his neck, the one that matches his earring, and undoes a few more buttons than usual to show it off. It’s cold this time of year but he figures they’ll be inside for most of the night anyway. Drinking, shooting pool, tossing darts. Shit like that.

Billy chain smokes as he waits outside of the coffee shop, sucking back one cigarette after the other, trying not to think about how he’s about to see Steve fucking Harrington again; the one who got away. Or, one one Billy never even fucking had a chance with in the first place, more like. He keeps wondering if he’s making a mistake. If he should just go home, forget he ever ran into that long legged, poofy haired, Bambi-eyed—

But then Steve’s there, handing Billy some froo-froo drink from inside (somehow they’d missed each other???) before he starts giving Billy a hard time for still not having a proper winter coat. Steve’s got highlights in his hair and eyeliner on his lower lashline and a spot of foam from his drink on the tip of his nose and Jesus fuck.

Billy’s in trouble.

[yandereunsolved]

🗡 Yandere Javier Escuella (RDR2) 🗡

Javier's fingers deftly pluck at the strings of his own fervid longing, producing chords of pure yearning. The notes are overlaid with a lust-filled serenade, directed at the object of his passion—bordering on neurosis.

"Ángel de amor, tu pasión no la comprendo"

"Si la comprendo, no la puedo expresar"

He croons like the lovesick fool he is, every ounce of his soul begging for reciprocation on your end. Your name tugs at the edge of his lips after each word is sung. He doesn't―can't stop this—this ritual it has become, even after the day is done. His music attracts those in camp like moths to a bright flame, but you always stay just out of his light. It's like you can sense his intent, but you don't act nor acknowledge it.

He nearly screws up as he finishes Ángel de Amor. His fingertips itch to reach for one of his knives. His voice urges to dip into a more menacing tone. A certain undignified Irish cretin is flirting with his amar. And he's doing it near Javier.

Sean is leaning up against the side of a tree, flashing you one of his oh-so-forcibly charming smiles. El bastardo.

"The first time I saw ya MacGuire Junior jumped to attention, hard and ready for ah challenge. Me Da always said that'd happen if ah met da love of me life." Sean does his best to lay it on thick, thicker than his accent.

A whole-hearted, delicate laugh escapes you, lacking any animosity or mockery.

"Fuck off, Sean. A two dollar whore can flirt better than that."

'You're reciprocating.' Your conversation with Sean would go much better if half his head was blown off. Javier can correct that. 'Is he not better than Sean?' The thought is farcical.

"Ey! I take offense to dat," Sean mumbles flirtatiously, moving into your personal space, "You could get at least tree dollars for meh."

"You don't even know how to spell the word three."

You take a step closer to Sean, and his eyes widen slightly, pupils dilating.

"I do! I do! You start off with a... ah... t... then you go on to a―"

Javier punches Sean in the side of the head before he can finish, the impact resounding. The ginger's neck snaps at an angle so grotesque that Javier nearly succeeds in killing him. But alas, Sean falls into the dirt instead, right near your feet—and even that is far too kind of a fate for him in Javier's eyes. His guitar was discarded nearly instantaneously after seeing that―this―them.

"Instead of trying to fuck everything with a hole, you cocky, drunkard fuck, maybe you should actually contribute. Make some money for the gang," he vitriolically spits out, grinning slyly at the state of disorder he has put Sean in, "Heh, like you actually give two shits about anyone but yourself and your dick."

"What the hell, Javier?"

Those words… came from you. Javier can only roll his eyes.

"I thought better of you, ángel."

He is unable to meet your eyes, turning around and walking back to his place on a campfire log, tuning out Sean's angered shouts―your… words. Javier picks up his guitar reverently, admiring it for a moment before returning to his singing.

"La vida, sueño el porvenir, mentira" "La amistad y el amor, mentira son" "Y mentiras son también las ilusiones" "Que se forja delirante el corazón"

Members filter in and out of his vicinity, knowing better than to try and interact with him when he's in this state. He plays his fingers raw, the strings cutting into them, leaving the newly opened flesh to quietly wail in pain. Only when his voice begins to die out does he stop. Regaining his senses, the last lyric sung just barely audible.

"Ya cayó el que andaba ausente, ahora verán los cabrones."

The sun must have set a couple of hours ago. No one remains to listen to him but whatever creatures remain in the night. His head snaps up as he hears footsteps. Or maybe―you. You're leaving Sean's tent…

He could follow you and explain. Or he could eliminate a problem before it gets any worse―after all, that's what you do with weeds; you take them out.

[jamiepaige]

Constant Companions Closeup #2: NOT QUITE THERE

(also on spotify!)

b-b-back once again

Round two of the Constant Companions Closeups - a series of in-depth dives into the songs off of my latest album, Constant Companions! Yesterday was track one, Dyad - today is track two, Not Quite There, featuring the incomparable telebasher!

This one's a bit of a dark horse relative to the rest of the album, but it may very well be my personal favorite song on the entire thing so dammit let's Yap

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For the uninitiated, this song pulls heavily from a song off my previous album called Gummyworm, both in vibe and by very directly quoting its synth motif.

Both of these songs deal with two sides of the same emotional coin. I actually don't want to go into too much detail about it - I feel like the lyrics spell things out clearly enough - but I will say this:

When it's all you know, it's easy to believe that a love that isolates you, a love that doesn't respect you, a love that hurts is better than no love at all.

You deserve better. There are always people who genuinely want what's best for you, who want you to feel truly loved. It certainly isn't always easy - it's genuinely good if your interpersonal relationships have a little friction sometimes - but love should make your life brighter.

You deserve a love that's fair.

---

The original version of this song was actually intended to be on Bittersweet alongside Gummyworm. The original concept for that album had a whole heady concept involving duality, songs reflecting each other, the two halves basically being reprisals of each other... Ultimately, I'm glad I scrapped that idea, because it was waaaaaay too much for me to manage after a couple years of barely making music. Maybe I'll revisit it someday though?

The drums on this song are sampled from an Instagram post by Louis Cole, where he's doing this crazy one-handed hi-hat blast by holding a drumstick sideways. I'm a drummer and that shit genuinely scares me a little like i dont know how he does half the things he does its fucked BUT. I bring this up because he's one of my biggest inspirations as a musician! I'm really big on jazz in general, in case my love for spicy chords wasn't enough of an indication, but his specific brand of freaky hyperactive bullshit just does it for me.

Seriously, go watch his band KNOWER play their song Overtime. Absolutely insane performances across the board. also Clown Core

This whole song is really just my attempt at matching some of that hectic jazzy energy with my own style of music, so I figured it only made sense to make it another collab with another musician making delightfully frantic jazz bullshit - the legend herself, telebasher! I really am such a massive fan of her work, and I struggle to think of anyone who plays guitar quite like she does. We previously worked together on another Bittersweet track, Asemic Speech, and her guitar work is a major reason why that song is still one of my favorite I've ever released!! She's just built different like listen to this oh my god!!!!

Lastly, since this song was one of the first written for this entire project... it is admittedly a case of me shoehorning the album's leitmotif in after the fact. It's a little forced when it shows up in the backing vocals! But, the choir of vocal synths during the guitar solo served an additional purpose - my own voice doesn't show up on the album again for another four entire songs, and this would've otherwise been the only song on the entire album that didn't feature any vocal synths. Thus did I attempt to bridge the gap, as it were. Hopefully it makes the final product feel more natural!!

Either way, that's all for today's post.... i think.... which means that tomorrow.... we're gonna rot.... for clout

[brigdh]

I want to talk about Izzy's rant to Ed in episode 10, the one that brings out the Kraken. I've seen a lot of different descriptions of what is going on in this scene – death threat, homophobic slurs, etc – and I don't think either of those are what's actually what's happening.

Let's look at it closely, line by line, and the way Ed reacts, from the very beginning of the scene.

Ed: Well, feels nice to tidy up a little. Can't believe I was living like this. Can you, Iz? Izzy? Izzy: I'm going to speak plainly. Ed: Wonderful. You know we share our thoughts on this ship.

Izzy, cont: This, whatever it is that you've become... is a fate worse than death.

Okay. So there we've got what some have interpreted as a death threat. But does Ed seem threatened? He's startled, certainly, put on his back foot – literally – but he doesn't look afraid or alarmed to me. He draws in a slow breath, assessing the situation, but overall seems more confused than frightened.

In fact he laughs it off with his next line:

Izzy then escalates the level of aggression in the conversation:

But Ed, again, looks more confused than anything. Check out that furrowed brow, that head tilt! This is a man going "what is your deal?", not a man thinking "uh-oh, you might kill me!".

Extremely noticeably, even when Izzy storms right up into his face, Ed holds steady. He doesn't run, doesn't lean back, doesn't hunch his shoulders or drop eye contact – there is no vulnerability or defensiveness in Ed's body language at all. Ed is in supreme control of this confrontation – look at the slow way he deigns to turn back to the paper Izzy's holding! As though he's making the point that he chooses when to turn, not Izzy:

Then we have the "homophobic slur". But watch closely:

Ed does not react to "namby-pamby", "silk gown", or "pining" at all. He doesn't even blink. He barely seems like he's hearing Izzy. His entire attention is on the picture.

Ed's body language and behavior changes at one word and one word only, and that is "boyfriend". As soon as Izzy says it, Ed's furious:

(It's even easier to notice when you actually watch the scene instead of using gifs, because Izzy really draws out 'piiiiiiining', putting a lot of time between the first half of the sentence and 'boyfriend'.)

Why is the use of the word 'boyfriend' so important?

Well, what has Ed been doing all episode? He's been crying in a blanket fort and singing sad songs, yes, but he's been keeping a careful level of mystique about why he's doing it. Ed often uses distanced circumlocutions instead of directly acknowledging his emotions, but he's doing it in this episode even more so than usual:

Here are the lyrics to his song:

(Version one, with Lucius) Hanging on By a thread Hanging on Shouldn't let go If I let go, all will fall Fingers bleeding down to the bone now Can't let go Nothing makes sense Hold on Hold on Hold... on

(Version two, performed for the whole crew) Just let go Make yourself let go Make it go away Away, away today Life's a hard sad death And then you're Deaaad

Notice something? There is no mention of Stede, or love, or break-ups, or abandonments, or relationships in general. All Ed discusses is a vague life-sucks attitude, which could apply to basically anyone under any circumstances. He seems pretty okay with people knowing that Blackbeard is having some sort of weird emotional breakdown as long as he convinces himself that no one knows it's specifically from having his heart broken

This is true of everything Ed says and does for this entire episode. He never once even mentions Stede's name, unless "Farewell, Bonnet's playthings" at the very end counts. The only thing Ed openly admits to feeling bad about is a fictional character who's having a hard time "holding on" (holding on to what? he never says). There are no allusions to heartbreak or romance anywhere in his dialogue.

Now, Ed's not stupid. I'm sure he knows Izzy and Lucius and the rest of the crew can connect the dots and realize that something bad happened with Stede, even if Ed doesn't fill them in on the details. But Ed is also traumatized, and has a whole host of coping mechanisms set up to help him avoiding thinking about things that he doesn't want to think about. If he's not a murderer because "technically the fire killed those guys", then no one knows he's heartbroken because technically he hasn't acknowledged it.

Until Izzy says the word 'boyfriend'. Suddenly the secret is out, and Ed can't handle it. Izzy knows his weakness. That's why this word effects Ed more than anything else Izzy says in the whole scene.

At the end of the confrontation, he hears the crew calling for another song. Look at Ed here. He looks as haunted, as disturbed, in this moment as he does at any point in Izzy's rant.

This is an important part of the scene, not just a closing note. Because if Izzy (the Caribbean's most emotionally constipated man) can see through him, obviously the whole crew can too.

Obviously Lucius – who advised Ed on his and Stede's relationship, who played along with Ed's 'fictional character' claim, who wrote down Ed's lyrics – can do so most of all.

There's a direct emotional logic to Ed killing Lucius because he had a fight with Izzy, and it doesn't involve Ed having been threatened or hate crime'd at all. Ed doesn't deal well with his own feelings (from Stede), so he chooses to become Blackbeard/the Kraken and gets rid of all the witnesses who saw otherwise.

[cod-thoughts]

What about silly pricenik?

This is great i love sharing dumb headcanons ive got hehe. Heres some i have in my notes! These are most of them! Rest is under the cut there was...a lot 0_0

Nikolai

Despite being a fantastic pilot, Nik has a horrible sense of direction on the ground. He once got lost in a massive tesco's and refused to ask for help, claiming he was “scouting the exits.”

Nik insists on making every departure as dramatic as possible. Helicopter pickups? Cue the music. Leaving a room? He slams the door just right so it echoes.

Nik’s sense of humour is as dry as the desert, and he can deliver the most absurd statements with a completely straight face. Soap once believed for an entire day that Nik had a pet bear named Boris. Nik gifts Soap a stuffed bear with a note that says his name is Boris for secret santa two years later too.

Nik collects tiny, odd souvenirs from missions—a bottle cap, a rusty coin, a piece of scrap metal. His pockets are always jingling, and Price swears he’s part magpie.

Nik is surprisingly good at poker and never misses a chance to challenge the team. His poker face is so good that even Ghost has a hard time reading him.

He won’t admit it, but Nik has a soft spot for cheesy romantic comedies. He does drag Price to watch the opera, theatre or musicals and Price loves it because Nik is so happy there however, Price refuses to watch a single rom-com "Sorry, Nik, love can only do so much."

Nik can MacGyver his way out of almost anything. Once built a makeshift flare gun out of a broken torch and a rubber band. It worked—just barely.

Nik’s rucksack is always bursting with random things—extra batteries, half a loaf of bread, a flask, and tools for a job no one asked for. Somehow, it all ends up being useful.

He has an entire list of mission rituals he swears by, like tapping the side of the helicopter before takeoff or wearing the same lucky socks on dangerous ops.

His voice booms like he’s addressing a crowd. Gaz calls him “The Walking Megaphone.”

Nik has a habit of keeping little mementos—like the first time Price scrawled mission coordinates on a scrap of paper for him, which Nik still keeps in his jacket pocket.

He once made a playlist for Price that was entirely love songs in Russian, claiming, “It’s all about the vibe.” (yeah, sure nik. Price looked up some of the lyrics and blushed furiously before finding nik and making some of the lyrics come to life...)

Even in the worst situations, Nik finds a way to keep spirits up. He once cracked a joke mid-firefight that had even Ghost smirking.

Wherever they go, Nik seems to have a knack for charming the locals. Whether it’s his booming laugh or his easy smile, he somehow ends up with an invitation to dinner by the end of every mission.

NikPrice

Nik insists on picking Price up for missions in the most inconvenient places possible (when he can)—like rooftops, narrow alleyways, or middle-of-nowhere fields. Price grumbles about it every time, but Nik calls it “adventure pickup.” The boys love it just because it annoys Price.

They’ve worked together so long they don’t need words to communicate during a mission. Nik swears it’s because they’re “two halves of one operational brain,” to which Price always mutters, “God help us all.”

Nik once stole Price’s hat during a mission and refused to return it until Price called him “the best pilot in the world.” Price begrudgingly complied, but Nik still teases him about it.

Nik has a habit of doing absurdly dramatic favours for Price, like flying halfway across the world to deliver a forgotten map. When asked why, he always shrugs and says, “For you, John? Anything.” (Price eventually realises its not cause Nik can, its cause Nik wants to and he finally puts them both out of their misery and asks him out. Price thinks this will stop Nik, it in fact does not)

Their comms during missions are half professional, half flirting banter. Soap and Gaz are constantly muting their headsets to avoid laughing during stealth ops. Ghost is just used to it at this point.

Despite the chaos of missions, Nik has a way of carving out small, quiet moments with Price—whether it’s a cup of tea at dawn or sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in silence on a rooftop, sharing a flask.

Nik isn’t overly demonstrative in professional settings, but his gestures still speak volumes—brushing a speck of dust off Price’s shoulder without a pause from Price, straightening his collar too, or resting a hand on his lower back as they move through crowded spaces. When it's just them or them and the team though? Nik is all over Price, extremely touchy, does not care if Price is bright red or the team make fun of them for acting like teenagers. He is touching his Captain.

Nik knows every scar on Price’s body and has a story for each one. Price doesn’t like talking about his injuries, but with Nik, he doesn’t mind. Nik tells him his own tales in return, trading battle marks like old soldiers comparing medals.

Nik insists Price’s coat is impractical for cold weather and always drapes his heavier jacket over Price’s shoulders without asking. Price protests half-heartedly, but he never takes it off, it smells like Nik and leather, what's he supposed to do? Not tuck his nose into the collar and smell the familiar scent of his partner?

Their eyes do most of the talking. On missions, one look is all it takes to communicate everything—from reassurance to affection to, occasionally, “I’m going to kill you for that stunt later.”