#love songs in the key of loser minor

[abusedunicornia]

[sincerelyneo]

golden hour | l.mk

“i’ve got a really big problem…”

💿now playing: golden hour by mark

❯ summary: Mark’s got a really big problem; you. The pretty neighbour that shares a bedroom wall with him. You’re a night owl and you’re so loud and are you…listening to his music whilst masturbating…? Fuck now he’s hard. Guess he’s got two really big problems.

❯ pairings: mark x fem!reader

❯ genre: neighbours, smut

❯ words: 2.3k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, masturbation, mark’s a loser for the plot, very explicit details of sexual fantasies, reader uses she/her pronouns and female gendered terms, literally just mark being horny whilst reader gets off to his song.

Mark needs to move out. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take the old run-down building his apartment is located in having no working elevator. If you’d have told him two years ago when he signed his dream music contract with a real record label that he’d be climbing six flights of stairs after a long week of work he’d have called you a liar. But that’s what happens when people aren’t listening to your music. 

Maybe he's overreacting; the building isn’t that terrible. It has its perks—like the pretty view. And it’s usually quiet—well, it was until his lively new neighbor moved in. Mark might have thought of you as a perk when he first saw you, considering you’re exactly his type, so fucking beautiful. But you’re also so fucking loud.

You always seem to have something going on—plans, hobbies, parties, meetings, friends. Mark knows because the walls between you and him are thin, and you’re never quiet, never still. At first, he thought it was kind of cute, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realises he’s been so distracted by how attracted he is to you, he’s been letting your noisy lifestyle slide.

It’s not like he wants to knock on your door and ask you to keep it down; he’s too worried you’d think he’s some kind of loser. Even at twenty-five, he still craves female validation like he’s a high schooler—so he’s been putting up with the sleepless nights. Another reason why he needs to move asap. 

The lack of sleep, combined with the endless stairs, has left Mark drained this past month. He can practically hear his sofa calling his name, can taste the cold bottles of beer that sit in his fridge as he reaches the top step. He may be a tad out of breath and a little sweaty but he’s got the weekend off and that’s all he can think about. But unlike you, Mark’s life is boring. The most exciting thing about his weekend is the idea of not having to climb his complex’s stairs until Monday. 

Meh. He could dwell on the mundane schedule of his life for hours but he gets distracted. Distracted by his pretty little nightmare neighbour. 

You're all dressed up in a tight gold dress that clings to every inch of your body. Your hair falls down your back as you lock your door, tucking the keys into the tiny clutch hanging from your shoulder.

That’s when you notice him too.

“Oh, hey,” you greet him softly, offering a bright and friendly smile. 

Mark returns it, his chest swelling. There's no denying you’re a beautiful girl. And although he’s overheard your phone calls about parties through the thin walls, and the hum of your hair dryer as you get ready for nights out, he’s never actually seen you in anything other than jeans and a t-shirt. He’s never been given the opportunity to see you so dolled up, to notice the little love handles he can all of a sudden imagine himself gripping. He clears his throat and smiles wider.

“Hi Y/N…you look nice!” He compliments kindly, fingers fiddling with his own keys. 

Nice? 

The word replays in his mind. He’s spent endless nights thinking about how beautiful you are and now he’s finally got to feed his craving of seeing you in tight clothes but the only word he can muster up is nice? Oh he hates himself. 

But then he sees you blush at the comment, and he loves the way you purse your lips, trying to hide a shy smile. A part of him is annoyed that you’re blushing over something so simple—he thinks every man should be showering you with compliments, and you should expect more than nice. Still, there’s something about the way you squirm from his words that has his cock throbbing.

He wonders if it’s because you’re attracted to him too. It’s not completely out of the question. You know who he is, of course you do. You see each other in passing a lot but you’ve also spoken on the day you moved in. Mark remembers it like it was yesterday. 

He could hear you panting and cursing in the hall, hauling boxes up and down the stairs before he came out to help. You didn’t recognise him at first, not until he was in your apartment setting boxes down.

That’s when you turned to him with wide eyes and a breathy, “oh wow, aren’t you the dude that sang ‘Golden Hour’?”

Mark started blinking at you like a deer in the headlights. He’d never encountered a fan in person before, he had a small community online, but his music hadn’t exactly been taking off like he planned. So you can imagine his surprise when his new (extremely attractive) neighbour knew one of his songs. 

“Thank you,” your soft voice breaks him from his memory, and moves his focus. “Just a night out with the girls, been a long week,” you sigh. 

He wants to hear all about your long week, wants to be the one to make it better—maybe convince you to skip the girls’ night and spend it with him instead. But he doesn’t. He doesn't even let the thought linger for more than a moment before he’s nervously tapping his key against his thumb.

“Well have fun, and be safe,” he settles on tenderly. 

You nod with a small smile, giving a gentle wave before turning to leave. He watches you until you’ve rounded the corner, only then unlocking his door and kicking off his shoes with a sigh.

Mark grabs a bottle of beer from the kitchen, kicking the fridge door closed behind him. His entire apartment is dark and it reminds him of the loneliness he’s been feeling for the last six months. Mark never really thought about love and relationships before he met you. Sure, he likes to fool around as much as the next person, but he’s always been fine with being on his own. But you remind him of the lonely. 

He’s never longed for love and friendships but a secret part of him craves a woman by his side… craves the woman next door.

He wonders what it’d be like for you to be cuddled into his side as you watch a movie. Wonders if you’d laugh at certain parts and crane your neck up to pepper tender kisses to his soft lips. Mark squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, tries to rid the thoughts of you from his mind.

But it’s proven a little more difficult when he moves from the couch to take a shower and the water is running down his tense and naked body. He struggles to not think about you on your knees, touching his thick cock and kissing up his thighs.

He has to swallow back the lump in his throat and blinks away the urge to touch himself to the thought of you. He refuses to be that kind of guy. He’s not that kind of guy. So he gets out the shower and does the only thing he likes doing — music. 

Mark tries out new melodies on his guitar, humming broken lyrics and soft tunes he’ll be sure to show his producer on Monday. After a while he catches sight of the clock on the wall and it’s already a little past midnight. After locking his doors he’s crawling into bed and ready to sleep; but then he hears something. 

A soft giggle muffled from the wall behind his head. 

Mark’s fully aware the two of you share the same wall for your beds, rooms mirroring each other, but he’s never heard this kind of sweet giggle fall from your lips so late at night. He tries not to let the sound affect him, but there’s only one reason why a girl like you could be giggling at this hour after a night out. 

You’ve brought someone home? But Mark can’t hear a man’s voice, not even the slightest grunt or groan of male muttering. He can only hear soft giggling slipping from his favourite pair of lips.

And then he hears a robotic voice announcing that the Bluetooth is successfully connected and he knows he’s about to hear your fuck playlist. The thought sends a thrill through his body and he knows he’s unlikely going to get any sleep tonight.

He’s about to get up, to move to the sofa in the living room, to not be disrespectful and a perv by listening to you getting off, but he hears a familiar hammering of drums and a guitar muffled through the paper-thin walls and his eyes are bulging.

“Give me my A course, ice is so big like a glacier” 

You’re giggling again and he can hear your body fall against the sheets of the bed – the bed that’s very clearly pushed up against the same wall his is. It creaks under your weight, and Mark feels the wall tremble slightly as your bed frame knocks against his wall.

He’s tried so hard not to be that guy, but his hand finds its way in his boxers before he can fully comprehend what he’s doing. He’s rock fucking hard, red and veiny and he takes off his boxers, leaving him sprawled on his back, completely bare.

He hears your soft whimpers, can hear you hum in appreciation even over the buzzing of your vibrator and the thumping of his song. He doesn’t know what’s turning him on more; the fact that he can hear you getting off and moaning out, or that you’re listening to him while trying to cum. 

Either way, his hand is wrapped tight around his thick length, thumbing over his oozing tip. He thinks of how you must be, how you’d look completely whilst naked and sprawled out on the bed for him. Mark imagines himself on top of you, kissing your perky tits he loves to think about and wrapping his lips around your swollen nipples. His mind feels like it can taste you on his tongue, can feel your dainty fingers tugging at his hair as he laps you.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp loud enough for him to hear.  

It makes him imagine your eyes rolling back when he finally fucks himself inside your tight little cunt, he visions the look of ecstasy on your face when your jaw would become completely slack and your body quivers for him. He knows you’d feel him deep in your stomach. He knows he’d be so big for you. 

“Fuck,” he slips out in a desperate pant.

He’s completely breathless, tugging at his dick, spitting down on it to get it all wet for you. He knows you’re so much wetter on the other side of the damn wall, and that he’d rather be sinking into your wet pussy but his spit would have to do. 

He throws his head back in his pillow, eyes shut tight, allowing his mind to work over time. 

“Fuck, Mark… I need it.”

Everything feels surreal, like he’s in his own personal heaven with a touch of hell. You’re crying out for more, for him, begging for it deeper, harder, and he finds himself fucking into his fist just as desperately. Like his soft palm is your silky pussy.

Mark can’t focus on anything other than your sweet fucking cries that sound otherwordly against his song. It makes him think about how much he’d love to record your moans, use them in his next song. But then he’d never be able to release it — because they’re his to hear. 

It’s when the bridge starts that you really let yourself go, filthy fucking moans, the speed of the vibrator increasing, and God he wishes he could watch you right now. See you trembling and begging as the instrumental plays out loud and hard. 

He can’t handle it.

Gruff moans are slipping past his lips and he does nothing to try and conceal them. The muscles in his arm are burning but he fucks his cock harder, imaging what it’d be like to feel his balls slap against your ass as he pounds into you.

He can feel the coil tightening in his stomach, the way his cock starts to twitch. His imagination grows wild and filthy, every single fantasy he’s tried locking away to not be that guy now flooding his mind because you’re that girl. 

That girl that’s using his music to cum. That girl that wants to hear his voice as she gets off. That girl who’s doing it with no shame, no guilt. That girl that’s using him. 

The thought takes Mark’s mind to sinful places. “Take it,” he can hear himself seeth through gritted teeth. He imagines you begging for his cum, taking it like the good fucking girl you are.

“Ugh, fuuckk I’m cumming!” Mark cries out gruffly through strangled moans and he hears your screams follow.

Your bed is creaking louder than before and he knows your thighs have got to be trembling as you cum around your vibrator. Mark’s hand and thighs are covered in thick ribbons of white arousal and when his eyes flutter open, through his blotched vision, he imagines seeing you kneeling between his thighs and licking it up.

He’s completely fucked as he hears his song mellow out and you aren’t moaning anymore. Instead, he can hear  breathless little pants. He stays where he is for a second, eager to see what else he can hear. But there’s nothing — only complete and utter silence.

Mark doesn’t sleep the entire night. He can’t. He’s kept awake with the guilt of listening to his pretty neighbour. Or is it with the thrill of knowing it was his voice that got you off that's making him so restless? 

[jamminvroomvroom]

ruined.

LN x fem!reader - 4k celebration

based on this request!

in which, why wouldn’t they fall in love?

back with another celebration request! thank u anon, love this one sm! so tempted to make something longer form outta this one omg... lemme know what you think of this, hugs hugs hugs

i had to reupload this! sorry if you already interacted :(

songs to set the mood: let’s fall in love for the night by finneas, you are in love by taylor swift, sofia by clairo, till forever falls apart by ashe and finneas

warnings: 18+!! minors go away dni!! smut, fluff, swearing, alcohol consumption, voyeurism? kinda? friends to lovers, mutual pining

3.4k words

“i bring gifts!” you call out, throwing the keys on the side. you shuffle your feet against the doormat, awkwardly balancing the bottle of wine you hold in one hand and the box of pizza in the other. it doesn’t help that you feel like the michelin man, bundled up in a jacket and a scarf. you kick off your boots, leaving them haphazardly in the hallway.

“in the kitchen.” lando shouts back, and you trudge towards the sound of his voice, sliding around in your fluffy socks.

“i hate all of those stupid little cars that everyone in monaco seems to drive.” you tut, sliding the pizza box across the counter, the bottle of wine clinking against the granite.

“even my jolly?” lando pouts. he’s waiting with two wine glasses, even though you’ll drink most of the merlot while he scrunches his nose up in distaste, but this is routine, standard procedure.

“i do miss the jolly, to be fair.” you give him that much, grinning playfully.

five minutes later, your coat and scarf are long forgotten, slung over one of the high chairs that line his breakfast bar. you’re in the living room, sprawled on one end of the couch, him on the other. your feet rest in his lap and the pizza box rests across your knees. some series you’ve been trying to watch for weeks is playing on netflix, but you aren’t really paying much attention.

“so, you’re telling me,” you pause to take another bite of pizza, swallowing between giggles, “you’re telling me that you heard oscar through the wall?” you choke.

“yeah, i’m telling you! little oscar is definitely not… little, from what i heard.” he cackles. “and then afterwards, bless them, they were all dishevelled and he would not make eye contact with me.” lando explains, both of you a mess of giggles.

“oscar piastri, what a minx.” you shake your head in disbelief.

“as if that’s what i needed, by the way! the dry spell was not helped by whatever him and lily were getting at.”

“dry spell? you? don’t lie to me, norris.” you kick him gently.

“what? i’m serious! start of the season has been so busy, haven’t had time to… get busy.” he wiggles his eyebrows and you roll your eyes.

“welcome to my world, you prick.” you tease, kicking him again. you catch his ribs as you do, knowing full well you’ve hit the prime tickle spot.

“what’s your excuse?”

“excuse you, i’m a busy gal! we can’t all be famous jet-setting f1 drivers.” you feign offence, and he grins toothily.

“i meant,” he starts, speaking slowly as if you’re stupid, and for a third time, you kick him, a tad harder than the last two times. “you’re a catch, how are you not getting laid?”

you pray he can’t see the way you’ve gone pink.

truthfully, he’s the damn reason. how can any man live up to the one and only lando norris? how can anyone compare to your best friend? world famous, beautiful, down right hilarious, beautiful!

lando’s the guy that picks up the pieces every time some loser breaks your heart. he’s the guy who’s key you keep on your overflowing keychain, the guy who buys duplicates of the skincare products you use, so you can keep them at his place - you still laugh every time you remember the first time he tried to pronounce salicylic acid. he’s basically your guy, but after 10 years of friendship, you’re not willing to tell him that.

“just… not.” you shrug, tucking your hair behind your ear. he hums in response, sounds like he doesn’t believe you, but he drops it.

you sink three glasses of red, the pizza box is on the floor, and your eyes are drooping, heavy.

“bedtime for you, methinks.” lando whispers, gently shifting your feet from his lap. you frown, missing his touch already. you make grabby hands at him, too comfy to move on your own. “want me to carry you?” you nod lazily, a smile stretching across your face.

he slides one hand under your legs, the other under your back, and hoists you up. he holds you close to his chest, your head resting against his heart, so close that you can hear the soft thrum that keeps him warm.

“thank you.” you murmur as he places you softly on your- his guest bed.

“anytime, honey.” he smiles down at you. he thinks you’re so pretty like this, so sleepy and cosy. he fights the demons that tell him to crawl into the empty space beside you. “there’s some water here, sleep well, love.” he walks away, reaching the door when:

“love you.” you coo. he shivers. you always say it, and he always says it back, but lately, it pains him.

“yeah. love you too.”

lando pulls the door to quietly, leaning against the wood for a moment trying to compose himself.

-

it’s been an hour, and you’re sobered up, wide awake in the dark.

you try to fall asleep, really, you do, but your mind is moving a thousands miles an hour, and all you can think about is his dry spell. your dry spell.

how can you sleep when you know he’s on the other side of the wall, as needy as you are for a warm body. you also know that you’ve soaked through your underwear. you’re wildly uncomfortable, restless, desperate for a sweet release, whether that be of sleep, or something else.

you can’t ask him, it would be a step too far, despite how torturously close you already are. so instead, you drive yourself insane with the thought of him; the image of him, head thrown back, slick and sweaty, cock hard in his hand.

what’s the harm in helping yourself out?

you’re throbbing, hot all over. you lose the war with yourself and your hand trails shamelessly down your body. you’re so sensitive that you’re instantly stifling moans, hand slapped over your mouth. you can’t get the earlier image out of your head, and you pray he’s on the other side of the wall thinking about you. you’re desperate, bucking your hips into your hand, aching for a release. you wish your hands were lando’s, big and rough, toying with every quivering part of you.

you have an idea, a twisted one, the kind that almost sends you over the edge. what would happen if you let yourself be as loud as you wanted, if you tore your hand away and cried out like you wanted to? every shred of rationality leaves your needy body.

you’re whining, clear as day. your resist calling out his name as your high builds, tweaking your clit between your fingers. you’re so dangerously close, hovering right on the edge. that’s when you hear it.

on the other side of the wall, your vision of lando has become a reality. your faint whines through the wall have him rock hard, fucking his own hand. he wishes it could be yours, and with the way you’re crying out, he doesn’t think you’d oblige to sitting on his lap, wet and pretty, and letting him sink his cock nice and deep.

but he can’t cross that line. not with you. it doesn’t matter how badly he wants you, how he’d go to the ends of the earth for you. one night wasn’t worth ten years of friendship, washed down the drain.

his hand speeds up, his head thrown back, at the same time as you slip two fingers inside of yourself. you fingers curl, hitting deep when you hear a throaty groan sounding from the other side of the wall.

you’d think a millionaire would have thicker walls.

he hears the exact moment you cum, a noticeable change in your sounds. they’ve gone up an octave, breathless, and before he can even register, he’s spurting thick white ribbons that land hotly on his skin.

you clean yourselves up, rooms apart but the same exact things running through your minds.

i just got off to the sound of my best friend.

-

you nibble the crusts of your toast. the kitchen is quiet, painfully so, and the air is still.

lando has his back to you, making you another cup of coffee. he’s forgone a shirt and you try your absolute best to ignore the warm glow of his skin. he looks radiant. you know why; orgasms can do that.

“lando-“

“we don’t need to talk about it, honey.”

“um, i was just gonna tell you that you’re burning your toast.” you snicker.

“oh, fuck.” he slides along the floor to the toaster, burning his fingers on blackened bread.

when he turns to you, he’s tinged red, grinning bashfully.

“moving on.”

“i need to get home but dinner later? i won’t stay the night.” you wink. you crave the normalcy that once was, the light, teasing nature of your friendship.

“i’ll cook.” he’s still blushing.

“ooh, on second thought.” you suck air through your teeth, pulling a face.

“get outta here.” he sticks his tongue out at you.

-

dinner was… well, it was edible.

he made spaghetti and some kind of sauce, one that you couldn’t quite work out the contents of but it was good enough.

“thanks, lan.” you smile softly, helping him clear the few plates off the table.

“anytime, honey.” he replies.

you’re standing at the sink, placing the cutlery down when you feel him behind you. you spin around, instantly regretting it, because you’re caged in. he’s leaning up to reach into a cupboard, frozen. so, so close. his panicked breath fans your face and you can feel the heat of his body.

you lean in, because why wouldn’t you? and so does he, so, so close. your hand that rests on the edge of the sinks moves so that you can reach out and cup his disgustingly perfect face but then-

a knife that had been hovering between the counter and plunging into the soapy hot water gets nudged over the edge by your clumsy hand and clatters against into the bowl.

the irritating noise springs you both back to reality and he jumps away like an orange cat. you grimace at the awkward tension, and he scratches the back of his neck. and then you’re laughing, hard, and of course he joins in because this situation is utterly ridiculous and your laugh is so beautifully contagious.

“oh my god, what is wrong with us?” you wheeze through the laughter, leaning back against the counter.

“last night was… insane. and now everything feels weird so, let’s just go back to basics.” lando smiles gracefully. you nod.

“that sounds absolutely perfect.”

“netflix?”

“and chill?” you chime in sarcastically. he glares at you. “couldn’t help it.” you hold your hands up in faux surrender.

-

you don’t know when you fall asleep, but you conk out, head lulling against his shoulder when you do.

he haunts your dreams, fingers thick between your thighs while you whimper his name. you must be out of it, so deep in your slumber that it takes lando a good few coos of your name to draw you out of it.

when your eyes shoot open, he’s looking down at you, a single curl falling over his forehead, taunting you.

“you dreaming of me?” he grins, something in his eyes that snaps you out of your grogginess.

“wh-why?” you splutter, sitting up. he’s still so close to you, coy smile pulling at the corners of his pink lips,

“kept making these little sounds, panting my name. got me thinking.”

“about what?” you whisper.

“how much i wanted to pin you to that bed last night and make you cry for me.”

“is this gonna ruin us?” your voice trembles with a unique blend of fear and anticipation.

“after last night? baby, we’re already ruined.”

his lips meet yours, tentative for just a brief second, and then it’s passionate, warm, lightning. his hands are firm on your body, pulling you impossibly closer until there’s no other option but to clamber into his lap. your hands find his hair, tugging wildly until his curls are a disheveled mess, pulled every which way.

“you’re so beautiful. want to tell you all the time but-“ lando mumbles into your mouth, urgent and hushed.

“but friends don’t do that.” you cut him off.

he pulls away from you, his nose bumping yours. his eyes are so blue today, sparkly.

“i think we’re more than that.” he mutters, lips brushing yours. “i think we have been for a while.”

“yeah.” you pant. “yeah we have. yeah.” your eyes dart between his and his kiss swollen lips.

and then you’re licking into his mouth, sighing at the relief. he paws at your waist, warm hands sliding under your jumper, gliding over your hips and up, up, up, until he’s dragging the material over you head and tossing it carelessly to the side. he kisses over your collarbone, licking and nipping while his hands smooth over your bra. he plucks at the fasten, and you relax as it snaps open, and the straps slide over your shoulders.

“is this okay, angel?” he whispers.

“perfect.”

his thumbs trace over the curve of your breasts, teasing your nipples gently, enough to send shockwaves through your body. you’re subconsciously grinding down on him, dragging your hips over his crotch, mouth dropping open when you hear the way his breath catches in his throat.

“driving me insane, honey.” he gulps, rolling your nipples between his fingers. “need to get inside of you.”

“hurry up then.” you sound desperate to your ears, delicious to his.

“do you know how hard it was to stay in my room last night? when i could hear you making those pretty little noises? you’re so bad.” he tuts, lifting you off of his lap and laying you back against the couch.

nimble fingers undo your jeans and you jolt as he slides them down your thighs, intimate touches on intimate skin. you lace your fingers through his hair, pulling him down to kiss you, and you moan into his open mouth when his fingers trail beneath your underwear.

lando dips his fingers between your folds, groaning as soon as he feels where your wetness has pooled in your panties. you’re intoxicating, he thinks, and he’s starving for you. he pries his hand from between your legs, lapping at his soaked digits. his eyes fall shut, eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks.

your taste sparks something within him, and he wriggles onto his belly, resting in between your thighs. he toys with your panties, just for a second, and he can’t help but latch on. he laves his tongue over the growing wet patch, eyes fluttering shut. he drags your underwear to the side, lapping over your cunt messily.

“taste so good.” he slurs into your pussy, depraved and ravenous. you buck your hips, the sensation of his words sending rumbles of vibrations to every one of your nerve endings.

you writhe against the plush couch, sinking deeper between the cushions as he fucks his tongue deeper and deeper, burrowing his face as far between your thighs as he can go.

“lando, ‘m so close.” you gasp, tugging hard at his curls, taking your nails across his scalp. he whimpers, whimpers, at the sensation and that’s enough to finish you off.

he keeps going, kitten licking you through your orgasm and you pant, nothing but white behind your squeezed shut eyes. you have you drag him away, overstimulated and twitching against the silvery grey fabric of the sofa.

“fuck.” you laugh, breathless.

“good?” he smirks.

“shut up and come here.” you make grabby hands at him, and he clambers over you, smiling wide, his lips coated shiny and red.

“you’re pretty.” he coos, licking his lips clean.

“so are you.” you whisper.

he collapses on top of you, urgently slotting his lips over yours. he slides his hands all over your frame, memorising every dip and curve, while your hands find the waistband of his joggers. you push the material down his hips gently tracing his hip bone; he shudders at the graze, kicking the fabric away and wrapping his hand around his cock.

you glance down, taking in the sight before you. he’s thick in his own hand, red and slick already, as he runs his hand over himself.

“you want me?” he manages to ask through gritted teeth.

“please.” you whine, reaching to replace his hand, but he bats you away.

“patience, baby. wanted you like this for so long, you can wait a few seconds.” he scolds, condescendingly.

you don’t get a chance to talk back, because he’s sliding inside of you, nice and slow. your eyes roll back at the delectable stretch, he’s bigger than you’ve had in a while, and you hum lowly. he kisses over your throat and you can hear his shaky breath fanning your ear. you’re fluttering around him, adjusting to him with small circles of your hips.

“do something.” you beg, hushed and breathless.

“you think you can take it?” lando taunts, but you can hear the way his voice waivers as your walls spasm around him.

“can you?” you whisper, giving as good as you get. something inside of him snaps and pride kicks in, because before you can even truly gloat, he’s barrelling into you.

you cling onto his shoulders greedily, digging your fingertips in to whatever part of him you can get hold of. he thrusts so deep, all the way in, before dragging fully out, leaving you aching for him to fill you up again. he’s going quick enough that you can’t really complain, but slow enough to tease, to drive you insane beneath him. it feels too good to hurry him up, he knows what he’s doing and you want to take it, feel him like this. you’re quivering, his cock hitting every single spot that makes you tick and you think you can die happy now that you’ve had him.

“i’m so close.” you warn, overstimulated from your first orgasm. he ups his pace, just enough to send you spiralling, and you can’t keep your eyes open as you let go, your legs kicking out.

it’s too much when you open your eyes and find him staring down at you, sleepy and sweaty. he’s gorgeous like this, pupils blown, bronze skin glistening in the low light. he feels the way you throb around him, still buried so deep.

“not done with you yet, angel. c’mere.” lando sits back, pulling your limp body along with him until your right back where you started, sprawled over his lap.

he’s so close to his own release, pained and restless, and you can feel the head rubbing against your clit. even in your state of pure exhaustion, you can’t help but grind down against him, and he lifts your hips enough for you to sink down on him.

your sounds of pleasure ricochet off of one another’s, animalistic contentment spilling from between two sets of equally swollen lips. you’re so full like this, rocking tiredly, backwards and forwards.

“just like that, baby. just like that.” he’s breathing heavily, brows furrowed. his head tips back, neck thick and flexed, and you’re thrown back into the deep end of your fantasy.

“oh my god.” you choke, tears of satisfaction building. “lando!” you cry, meeting his shallow thrusts. he’s guiding your hips up and down, just enough to hammer against that special spot that makes you whine his name.

“cum for me, baby, last one. know you can do it pretty girl.” the praise knocks the last bits of air out of you and you collapse forwards into his arms. he holds you tight, groaning sweet nothings and your name like a prayer, right in your ear.

“you’re definitely staying tonight.” lando laughs softly, coming down. you think back to your earlier refusal, grinning lazily.

“guest room?” you joke, kissing his shoulder.

he pulls you back so that he can look at you, cupping your face.

“you’re never staying in that room ever again.”

he kisses you, then. soft. warm. home.

it’s natural, everything you’ve been missing, and somehow the only thing you’ve been missing in your relationship with him. he already gave you everything you could ever need, tonight was the cherry on top.

“are we gonna be okay?” you whisper, so quiet that you can barely hear yourself. fear pools in your belly.

“i hope so. ‘cause i’m never letting you go now.”

-

i feel so warm inside hehe

-

taglist

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lemme know if you wanna be added or removed :)

[miraclewoozi]

DO YOU DREAM OF ME? - c.hs

the first time you kiss your soulmate, you’ll open your eyes to a world of colour. the problem? vernon hates the thought that he might pull away from you and still see in monochrome.  or, five times he wanted to plant one on you, and the one time you beat him to it. 

pairing ; vernon x gn!reader.  content ; all the tropes. 5 times fic. soulmate au. slight college au if you squint. f2l. fluff, some angst. pining. one (1) hint of suggestiveness if u squint. MINORS STILL DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT.  content notes ; mentions of reader having a(n unnamed) partner & thereafter, going through a breakup due to said partner cheating. reader is maybe implied to be shorter than him but hopefully not too obviously or frequently. alcohol is mentioned & is a key theme in scene #3. pov switch for the final part (necessary for logistical reasons.) PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. w/c ; 9.6k note ; welcome to thee most self indulgent fic ever lmao. i hope u enjoy this slight break away from what i usually post here (as if my entire brand isn’t writing losers in love. ANYWAY) -- this was very fun and a little bit special for me! <3

“What was your first kiss like?”

Initially, Vernon swears he just didn’t hear you right. It’s dark up here, where you’re hiding away from a party on the roof of his university accommodation and he’s starting to get tired. There’s some sort of siren wailing away in the distance to his left, and on the street below, a gaggle of freshmen are cackling as they walk past the building. His ear closest to you is currently listening to your favourite song. 

All the signs suggest that he simply got it wrong. 

But he doesn’t know if he believes those signs, especially not seeing as when he looks over at you, you’re staring pointedly up at the stars overhead. He doesn’t doubt that you’re giving yourself an ache in your neck in the process, too.

“Hmm?” He asks, taking out the earphone that connects him to you. The other one is still nestled away in your ear and he reaches to gently pull it away. “What was that?”

You still don’t look at him, but you do repeat yourself. Quietly. “What… was your first kiss like?”

“Oh.” 

He was right. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” you hurry to say, hugging his jacket tighter around yourself to block out the cold air that blows across the rooftop. He shrugged it off and told you to take it the very moment your teeth started chattering — almost an hour ago now. His arms are bare, shoulders and biceps only covered by a t-shirt so thin it’s practically sheer, but he isn’t cold. He’s always run hotter than most. “Sorry.”

He nudges you with his knee, silently telling you that you don’t need to apologise. He doesn’t mind — you just caught him off guard; Vernon hasn’t given this any thought in a long time, and he has to really put his mind to coming up with an answer. It was forever ago — when he was eleven or twelve, maybe, with his first ever girlfriend. They dated for a whole two and a half weeks. He doesn’t know if it really counts: the kiss was a dare, after all. 

“Kinda…” He starts, trying to follow the line of your sight, wondering if he can find the exact stars you’re looking at. “She’d just put this weird lipgloss on. It was real tingly. And like, neither of us knew what we were doing? So it… got everywhere. I think I ended up swallowing some, I don’t know. My mouth felt weird after. Thought I was having an allergic reaction.”

You laugh softly at him. “I think that would put me off for the rest of my life,” you say. 

“It almost did,” he chuckles. You hum at him and lean back on your elbows, leaving Vernon more than a little bit confused. He readjusts his hold on his knees, bringing them closer to his chest as he tilts his head down at you in your new position. 

“…why?” He asks, just as you close your eyes and take a deep inhale of the cool air. 

You just shrug. “I guess I just… wondered.”

He nods, and it’s his turn to fall short of a response, but that’s okay. You’ve known each other for too long for these silences to feel uncomfortable. He grew up with you. In fact, he’s reasonably sure he’s told you this story before. He must have done. 

Then he realises, maybe he hasn’t. Because he doesn’t know the story behind yours, and maybe that’s just a line the two of you never came to crossing. He knows he told his other friends, back then, because he was the last one in his circle to have a first kiss and he felt like it made him more grown-up, or something. Naturally, he left out the more embarrassing details. But maybe you just told your other friends who weren’t him, and went on with your life. Maybe yours was just… normal. 

Either way, he’s interested now. And there’s no time to ask like the present. 

“What was yours like?” He asks, fiddling with the strap on his wristwatch. You don’t answer straight away; he doesn’t think anything of it, because neither did he, but when he’s still waiting for you to speak a small eternity later, he prompts you again. “Hey, it can't have been worse than mine.”

You snort. 

“You’ll laugh at me,” you say, shaking your head. Vernon furrows his brows and drops his legs flat, twisting to one side to look at you. 

He doesn’t know where you’d get that idea from, but he’s… almost a bit offended by it?

“No I won’t,” he tells you softly. Maybe at first, he might’ve laughed with you, if your story happened to be as dumb as his own. But not at you. Never at. Not when he’s been the butt of the joke in too many friendship circles, for about as long as he can remember. 

You take a shallow breath, pursing your lips. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not…” you start to say, before you clear your throat and try again, this time heading in a different direction. “I don’t know. It’s dumb, I guess.”

“Don’t make me come down there,” Vernon threatens playfully, poking you in your side. You squirm, giggling despite yourself, despite the serenity of the sanctuary you two have found, despite the fact that you, too, were on the edge of falling asleep before your question came out of nowhere.  

He pokes you again, and again, and then starts to tickle your ribs instead. You squeal, swatting his hands away to no avail and you move to sit up, grabbing him by the forearms to physically make him stop. The grin on Vernon’s face is wide and heart-shaped. A warm feeling spreads through him: it has everything to do with the sweet sounds of your slowly dissolving laughter. 

You sit cross-legged across from each other like this for a moment or two. Your knees are touching. Your hands move down his arms until you’re holding him firmly by the wrists. Your eyes lock together: his crease with the sheer force of his boyish smile, while yours are narrowed, daring him to try and wiggle free and attack you again. 

He doesn’t, but for the first time ever, he’s struck with the urge to do something maybe more scary. 

The urge to just… lean in to you. 

It makes his heart do a backflip, in a way that it hasn’t done since he had his last crush. His head goes empty, and he forgets what he was even asking you before: the only thoughts he can muster are ones regarding what your lips taste like, whether they’re half as soft as they look, if you’d lightly touch his shoulder or his arm or his chest or his cheek—

Do you smile when you kiss?, he wonders. Do you sigh? Do you—

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you answer, looking away now and letting go of him. He’s gone so loose in the moments since you grabbed hold of him that when you’re not supporting their weight, his arms fall like two cinder blocks onto his knees. 

True to his word, he doesn’t laugh. He’s surprised by your revelation, sure, but in no way humoured; actually, he feels a little saddened by it, for a reason he can’t put his finger to. He ends up not saying anything, just biting the inside of his cheek; he wants to ask why, but knows maybe that’s a bit of a dick move, and if it’s something you’re sensitive about he doesn’t want to risk hurting you.

But he’s watched people fawn over you for years, and he doesn’t think you’ve ever been short of attention from those who have thought you were attractive. So it can’t be that you’ve been lacking in chances? Surely?

“I thought… maybe I should save it,” you go on to explain. Your hands keep busy by playing with a thread at the cuff of his jacket sleeve, wrapping it around one finger until the skin beneath it pinches before you unravel it again. 

“Save it?” He asks. You nod your head.

“For when I thought I’d found them.” You pause, swallowing hard. “Like I said, it’s s—.”

“No it’s not,” Vernon says abruptly, shaking his head. He holds onto you now, one hand slipping around your back until it rests on the shoulder furthest away from him. You scoff. He squeezes you into his side. “Hey. It’s not stupid.”

He doesn’t like how this admission has, somehow, made his desire to kiss you stronger. He hates that he feels even more drawn to you, a magnet finally finding its opposing pole. It freaks him out a little. He’s never wanted to kiss anyone this badly. 

Red button theory, he tells himself to try and get back on the straight and narrow. If you hadn’t said anything, none of this would be happening.

“It’s romantic,” he says finally, swiping his thumb in small motions over the top of your shoulder. You nod, mumbling a ‘thank you’ (for what, he isn’t sure), and shiver. Vernon doesn’t know if that’s because of his proximity to you or because you’re finally starting to feel the cold. Either way, he takes the initiative to stand up and holds a hand out for you to take so he can tug you to your feet too. You get up with a little hop. 

It’s… devastatingly cute.

“Where are we going?” You ask, brushing off your jeans before shoving your hands into the jacket’s pockets. He’s already on the retreat, walking backwards towards the door that took you up here.

“To get food,” he tells you, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That party was dead, anyway.”

It doesn’t cross his mind again until your twenty-first birthday. 

He’s not your soulmate. He couldn’t be. The thought he had on the roof that autumnal night was little more than a passing fantasy; besides, he doesn’t have a thing for you. He doesn’t want to kiss you, or date you, or have you be his soulmate. The reason you work so well together is because you’re just friends; he thinks you’d drive each other crazy if things ever went romantic between you. You bicker with him for sport. He drowns away hours at a time with his headphones clamped over his ears and forgets to answer your texts. It would be a nightmare. 

Not that he’s ever thought about all that. Not actively, or even passively. Not when he should be listening to college lectures instead, for example. Not awake, nor in his dreams. He hasn’t. Not once. 

He swears. 

“You can save it ‘til tomorrow, if you want.”

Vernon bounces his leg nervously, fidgeting with the edge of your comforter as you sit on the floor in front of him, styling your hair for your party. He arrived half an hour ago while you were still waltzing around in your bathrobe, holding a small, neatly wrapped box in both of his hands. It’s several degrees too warm in your bedroom. He feels a bead of sweat roll down his back as you grumble what seems to be a threat at a strand that won’t cooperate. Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice his discomfort. (If you do, he’s grateful that you don’t say anything.)

“But it’s my birthday today,” you pouted, taking the box from him. “Let me finish getting ready, then I’ll open it. Come on.”

His wrist still aches with the pressure you held onto him with as you dragged him up the stairs. Your parents are away for the weekend and the house is all yours, so there’s a speaker blasting your favourite playlist full volume on your nightstand and there’s nobody to tell you to turn it down. He flits his attention between his phone and watching you, but he can’t fully concentrate on either; he’s too nervous that maybe you won’t like his gift, and he’s never been the type to splash out on birthday presents before but this… well, it burned a hole in his wallet, that’s for sure. 

“Okay. Wait here,” you tell him as you push up off the floor, limping on the leg that had started to fall asleep thanks to the way you were sitting. 

“All right,” he says back. As if he’d go anywhere, anyway. 

You grab a hanger from inside your closet and scurry off down the hall to the bathroom. For the first time, Vernon feels like he can actually breathe. He drops his phone onto the comforter between his crossed legs and cradles his head in his hands, telling himself that he needs to get it together. You’ve never not liked anything he’s given you, and you’ve known him now for more birthdays than you haven’t. 

Your friends said you’d love it. So did your mother, with a sparkle in her eye as she held it delicately in her fingers. He has nothing to worry about. It’s only you.

And yet—

“You’ll be honest if it looks bad?” You call from the other side of the door, interrupting how his lips move wordlessly in an endless mantra of self-reassurances. 

Vernon snaps his head up and he clears his throat, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Aren’t I always?” He answers.

You click your tongue, evidently disagreeing, but you pull the handle and take a step into the room anyway. When you see him, he looks exactly as he did when you left, no trace of his anxieties anywhere to be seen on his face or otherwise. 

When he sees you, he feels like the world could end any moment and he’d be okay with that. 

His mouth runs dry and his eyes seem to be stuck open, unblinking, fixated on you in your all black outfit as you stand still as a statue with your hands behind your back. You cough quietly, waiting for some kind of a response other than a dumb stare, but it doesn’t come. 

Eight seconds later… still nothing. 

“Do you hate it?” you fret, because Vernon is a very good hype-man and you’ve never known him struggle to find something positive to say. “All right, uh— okay—”

“No!” He rushes, almost shouting in his urgency to assure you that that’s not the case at all. He scrambles up to his feet, taking a breath, and pushes a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, and he kind of hates how his fingers catch on a tangle even though he brushed it meticulously before he left his apartment. You keep telling him it looks good, though, so he hasn’t been to get it cut. “God, no. I’m sorry. You look amazing.”

It doesn’t sound like much to the untrained ear, but the warmth of his compliments comes less in the words he says and more in the sincerity he says them with. Your face softens, and Vernon can see the way the thoughts of changing into something else fizzle out behind your eyes. He takes a backwards step to try and tempt you further into your own bedroom, and you move in tandem with him, closing that space and coming better into the light. 

“Wow,” he says, swallowing hard and looking you up and down. “I-… wow.”

It’s your turn to clam up, now. You look down at the floor, kicking at the carpet with your toes. “Shut up,” you say. “I’m not...”

“Yes, you are,” he protests, leaving no room for argument as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know who you’re trying to impress but… yeah, it’s gonna work.”

You walk past him with a scoff, barging against his shoulder on your way; he dramatically staggers to the side, rubbing at the impact site, laughing. When he faces you again, you’ve picked the gift up from the end of your bed and are moving to sit on the mattress yourself. Your eyes flicker between Vernon and the empty space in front of you. He takes the hint, settling back down with one foot tucked beneath him, the other still planted on your rug. 

His heart shoots back up into his throat and he stares down at the box, licking over his lips and frowning at how dry they feel. He glances away, lifting a hand to his mouth, running his fingertips over his lips. What would they feel like pressed against yours? He thinks, and then he cringes again. 

You misread his reaction and hesitate with your finger pressed underneath a strip of tape, tilting your head at him. “What’s going to jump out at me when I open this?” 

“Nothing,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. “What do you take me for?”

“The kind of guy who puts glitter in birthday cards because he thinks it’s funny,” you retort, earning a click of his tongue. 

“That was one time!”

“One time too many.”

“I swear,” he laughs, tight shoulders easing, both hands falling to his lap. “No sparkles, no loud noises, nothing jumpy. Cross my heart.“

You eye him a little suspiciously but eventually tug your finger beneath the wrapping and make the first rip in the paper, allowing you to tear into the gift after keeping Vernon on edge for almost an hour and a half. You peel it away and it falls to the bedsheets, in your hands now a small, square box not too dissimilar a shade to your comforter. You look from it, to him, and he thinks you notice how his cheeks are a little darker than they were before. 

He nods at you once and you slowly pull it open. On a plush, velvety bedding sits an elegant, dainty bracelet. A small gemstone is set in the metal of the bar in the middle of the chain. You skim a thumb over it, your breath held.

“Vernon,” you murmur, tearing your eyes away from the bracelet to look at him. Now, even the tips of his ears have grown flushed, but you’re kind enough not to comment on it to avoid spoiling the moment you’re in. “This is…”

“The lady in the store said it was your birthstone,” he says, twiddling his thumbs. “I mean… I’m really just taking her word for it, ‘cause they all look the same to me, but—”

He’s interrupted as all of your weight topples against him, arms thrown around his neck in a hug. He hesitates a moment before he wraps his own around your waist, drops his head to your shoulder and he smiles wider than he thinks he ever has. “Happy Birthday,” he says, dragging his thumb up and down over your hip. 

“Silly,” you scold him playfully, still pressing wholly against him and showing no signs of moving. Your voice sounds thick, a little like you’re tearing up, so Vernon squeezes you tighter. 

“I know you are,” he chuckles. “But what am I?”

You swallow hard, finally now pulling away from the hug but sitting entirely too close for comfort, one knee pressing into the outside of his thigh. 

Your surprise attack has left him dishevelled. With a quiet apology, your fingers innocently try to smooth everything back into place, but Vernon doesn’t hear you say you’re sorry. His pulse, thundering in his ears, drowns it out while also skipping a beat with each little touch. You’re not looking into his eyes as you shyly put him back to rights, too busy working to tame his — at the best of times — unruly hair. 

He’s looking into yours though, and he can’t stop. 

Your eyes, which dart all over to find strands out of place, so your hands can move them to where they ought to sit and lay them down flat. Your eyes, that drop down the length of his throat as you realign the neck of his t-shirt over his broad shoulders. 

Your eyes: the ones crinkled at the corners as you pick the bracelet back up from your bed and admire it under your bedroom light. Your eyes, landing on his, finally, in a silent plea for help. 

“The best?” you answer, now, extending your wrist to ask him to put it on you. He takes the chain from your fingers and unclasps it, slipping it beneath your hand and holding it in place. 

“I know you are,” he says again, but it’s quieter now as he concentrates on trying to reconnect the two pieces. “But what am I?”

When he successfully fastens your gift onto your arm, he looks up to see your watery eyes still staring down at it. He decides this is the time to reveal part two of the surprise. Pulling up the sleeve of his t-shirt, he reveals his own wrist to you, and you now see there’s a matching chain hanging off it. A little stone set in the metal. His stone, presumably. You choke out a laugh around your tears, shaking your head. 

“You got us friendship bracelets,” you giggle, holding your hand next to his and admiring them together. Your skin touches and he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach, which he hasn’t felt around you since…

He nods, breathing a chuckle too. “Yeah,” he says. His heart is pounding. “I guess I did. Is… that okay?”

“I love them,” you insist, leaning forward to affectionately press your lips to his cheek. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Your doorbell sounds downstairs and Vernon’s words die in his throat. Maybe that’s for the best, though; he’s got so much nervous energy rising up inside him and he’s scared it might accidentally force up something he’ll regret saying. You spring off the bed again, fussing in the mirror, and he watches you rush out the bedroom warbling about how you’re not ready for anyone to be here yet. It’s too early. What’s going on? Who is it?

He shifts his legs so both his feet are planted on the floor, letting out a breath he doesn’t remember sucking in. 

I love them. Thank you, you said. 

It’s perfect. 

He groans when he stands up, too, tugging his sleeve back down as he starts to follow after you.

“I know you are,” he mumbles under his breath, hearing your relieved laughter at it just being the FedEx man on your doorstep. It makes him feel warm. Everywhere. “But what am I?”

Five hours later, Vernon is seeing double. 

He has Seungkwan’s hands massaging the tops of his shoulders and there are two Juns sitting across from him at your dining table. He remembers feeling fine around 9pm, distinctly: like nothing he drank was having any kind of effect on him. Like he could walk home on his hands — like he was invincible. Now, after spending exactly five minutes out in the fresh air, he’s blinking four times for every breath he takes and his friends’ voices keep phasing in and out of focus.

“But what if they’re not?” Vernon stresses for the eighth time, fingers clumsily peeling at the label on his bottle.

“And what if they are?” Jun tries. Again. Also, for the eighth time, because apparently when Vernon gets tipsy, his skull gets really really thick and nothing in the world can penetrate it. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Vernon shakes his head, sitting back so heavily that his chair tips and he sends Seungkwan stumbling into the wall behind them. His friend gives up trying to rub the stupid out of him and settles into the chair at Vernon’s side instead. 

“I don’t know-…”

“If you’re about to say you don’t know what you’ll do if it isn’t them, I’m putting you in an Uber and sending you home.” Seungkwan claps his hand down onto Vernon’s knee for good measure. “It’s not even been a day.”

Vernon groans, threading his fingers into his hair and tipping his head back. “It hasn’t, though,” he whines. “What if it’s been like this since… and I just kept ignoring…”

Jun and Seungkwan exchange a look. An exhausted one. They both know Vernon turns into a complete baby when he’s had a drink and can just about manage a trip to the bathroom without somebody holding his hand, but neither of them have seen him like this before. Neither of them want to see him like this ever again.

Hell, neither of them want to be dealing with him like this right now.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Jun’s (remarkably) calm voice repeats as he pushes up from his seat and glances towards the doorway. His ears lock onto a voice just beyond it, and in an instant, the older man recognises his chance at an exit. He casts an apologetic glance at Seungkwan, who has resorted to rubbing Vernon’s earlobes to try and get him to stop stressing, and he dips out before either of them can argue. 

On his way, though, he throws in a sly little remark. One that raises Vernon’s– and Seungkwan’s– blood pressure to a level that would get them prescribed a week of strict bed rest.

“Besides – everyone can see the two of you were practically made for each other.”

Vernon whips around to face Seungkwan with shock written into every line of his face. It paints perfect full-signal WiFi creases on his forehead; it makes his jaw hang loose. 

“I– what?” Vernon splutters, shooting a hand to the back of his head. Seungkwan hasn’t taken his eyes off the doorway since Jun slipped through it. Vernon doesn’t notice the fact that his older friend’s full genetic line is currently being cursed out. “What does he mean?”

“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” Seungkwan tries, now acutely aware of the fact that Jun has just given Vernon a nudge he should never have. There’s a fine line between bolstering a friend and straight-up causing chaos. This could get messy. Seungkwan doesn’t like messy.

But… It's too late. 

Before Seungkwan can wrangle him back into his seat, Vernon has broken away from the table and is on the hunt for you. Seungkwan follows behind, doing his best to summon Vernon back, but he can’t. He’s on a mission now. And maybe that mission involves giving in to the thing that eats away at his brain when he should be waist-deep in music theory assignments. Maybe that mission is to finally, after two years, know what it feels like to kiss you. He’s going to find you, so help him God. He has to. 

And yes. He does. He finds you, eventually. As soon as he reaches the top of the staircase, there you are. 

Being pressed into the wood of your bedroom door, wrapped up in the arms of some pretentious looking art student in an oversized button-down and baggy, ripped jeans. Your mouth is covered by theirs, your fingers are threaded through those glossy fucking locks, both of you are laughing breathlessly as you drop one hand and it fumbles blindly to reach for the doorknob. 

Vernon spins away, turning his back as he hears the door click. At this exact moment, Seungkwan comes stumbling up the stairs too and plants his forehead into Vernon’s sternum. 

But his good friend’s skull is not the only thing Vernon is struck with, not the only thing knocking the wind out of him. 

Simultaneously, he’s swept up with the sobering realisations that either this guy is your soulmate, or you’re not the same person you were when you were nineteen. 

It’s eleven o’clock and two years later when he hears your secret knock on his apartment door. 

Maybe it’s luck. Maybe it’s fate. He only took his noise cancelling headphones off a few minutes ago before he washed up and settled into bed; his head has hardly even had time to make a dent in the pillows. But whichever force is at play, the thing that matters is that he hears you and he knows it’s you, straight away. He doesn’t remember how it started, exactly. He thinks it might have been while he was in his exam-season hermit stage in his first year of university and refused to come to the door unless it was something important. 

You’ve been knocking the same way for years now though, and he slides out of bed with creased brows at how desperate your fist sounds as it pounds against the wood. He pulls on an old t-shirt and perhaps the loosest fitting pair of shorts anyone’s ever owned, at least making himself decent before he answers. He’s still tying the drawstring when he gets to the door.

When he looks through the peep-hole to make sure he’s right, you’re drying your eyes on the back of your sweatshirt sleeve. You’re shivering quite violently, and you’ve got a bag on your shoulder that’s weighing you down on one side. Vernon’s heart sinks. He unbolts the door, pulling it open just as you lift your hand to knock again; your knuckles punch the air between you as your eyes land on him, and your bottom lip wobbles in despair. 

You fall into his chest with a sob. Tears start to soak their way through his shirt until it clings to the skin underneath. 

“Hey,” he soothes you, locking his arms so tight around you that there’s a strong chance they’re the only thing holding you upright. 

“I didn’t— know where else to go—” you choke out, your arm trapped between your chest and his as he rests his head on top of yours and pats your back softly. “I’m s-”

“Don’t you dare,” he murmurs, tilting his chin down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I’m here. You can always come to me.”

He holds you until your shakes start to subside, trying to talk you through whatever this is with soft reassurances and gentle shushing sounds. When you pull back from him, Vernon guides you into his apartment, flicking on the lamp in his living room so he can see to settle you down on his couch. He throws a blanket over your legs before he sits down himself, pulling your hand into his lap and holding it between both of his own, his thumb moving absently over your knuckles. You’re still crying, but when you shuffle against the seat to be a little more comfortable and finally turn to face him, he finds his voice long enough to ask you what happened. 

“He kissed— kissed someone else,” you tell him, sniffling and shaking your head. 

His blood reaches boiling point in what must be record time and he knows he accidentally starts to grip your hand tighter, but he can’t stop. 

“He what?”

Vernon knows this guy wasn’t your soulmate. You told him, a few days after your birthday. You said everything was still black and white when you pulled back from the first of — what you spared no detail in explaining was — many, many, many kisses with him that evening. But you didn’t care. Not then, and not for the whole time you’ve been together. 

He asked you about it once. About four months in (when he figured things were starting to get serious), late at night, if it bothered you. Whether you were going to keep seeing him. If you still thought about finding your soulmate. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget what your replying message said. 

I mean, sure, I’m curious. But maybe I don’t need to see in colour. I think being in love is enough :)

So… you were in love. 

With someone who wasn’t him. 

He didn’t speak to anyone — not even you — for two whole days after that. He felt like he’d gone ten rounds with a peak-form George Foreman. He felt like he’d never be able to get rid of the pit that had developed in the depths of his gut. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely eat, he couldn’t focus: it was the worst he’d ever felt.  And, well… Vernon knew it was immature. He knew he was acting like a child. If he could’ve shaken it off, the way he’s always done with so many of the things in his life that have bothered him, he’d have loved to. But he couldn’t.

Besides. Only about four people noticed his silence, anyway. You weren’t one of them; your boyfriend was keeping you plenty busy.

“He went to a club and got completely wasted and he— he—” you say, squeezing his hand even tighter than he’s holding yours. “But-… he says he-…” Hiccup. “Everything. Straight away — his…”

You don’t need to say it out loud; if anything, he’s a little disgusted with himself that he didn’t figure this out sooner. “His soulmate,” Vernon ruefully finishes for you. He groans the words out, feeling rotten to his core. “I’m so sorry…”

Your shoulders start to shake and he wastes no time in pulling you sideways against him, both his arms locked around you again, just like before. 

“It’s so stupid,” you cry, laughing emptily. His stomach turns; he hates this. Your anguish is an assault on his eardrums, especially when he’s got you so close, but he tries so hard not to flinch, not to move away. You need him, no matter how agonised it makes him feel. “I knew he wasn’t mine, but I thought-…”

Your voice fades away to nothing. You shake your head.

“You thought he was happy the same way you were,” he finishes again. You just nod, sobbing harder. “That's not—… stop saying the way you feel is stupid.”

Vernon doesn’t understand how that loser could ever not have been happy with you. How could he dream about going out in search of something more? Hell, Vernon doesn’t think there’s a soul alive better than you — how could anyone stand to just throw you away?

He wonders briefly if you can hear his heartbeat, thundering in his chest with the rage he feels all the way into his bones. You’ve always told him that you admire how chilled out, how collected he is, but Vernon has never felt less calm in his entire life. It’s only as he acknowledges that he has no right to feel like this, that he takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to bring his fever down. You mimic him, trying to do the same, and by the time his pulse starts to settle, you’re back to just sniffling against his shoulder. 

“Stay the night here,” he tells you. It isn’t a suggestion, or really even a request. It’s an order. There’s no room for negotiation. “We’ll go get your things in the morning. I’ll be right there with you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Vernon gets there before you do. Before you can protest the offers he’s made. Before you can ask him if he’s sure. He knows you, a little too well: he knows these are the words that are going to come out of your mouth next. “I’m with you, okay? Always.”

You sit back from him with a quiet chuckle, wiping your eyes again on your damp sleeve. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” you murmur. “You’re the best— the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He just rolls his eyes at you and shakes his head, standing up from the couch. (I know you are, he thinks. This isn’t the time for jokes, though.) He wishes you knew what you mean to him; how, in his eyes, you deserve the world, presented to you on a shining silver platter. Wishes you knew that he’d give it to you if thought he could carry it. 

“Go wash up,” he says, ignoring the ache in his chest at the way your watery lashes flutter when you look up at him. “I’ll find you something to sleep in.”

He locates a spare toothbrush from a travelling kit he’s never used and sets a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants on the heated towel rail, leaving you alone in the bathroom to go about your business. You emerge some fifteen minutes later to find Vernon perched on the edge of his bed, scrolling through an app on his phone. He can’t help but swallow at the way his clothes fit you. How the steam from your shower clings to your skin, casts a heavenly haze around you. He hopes it isn’t obvious. This is about more than his dumb little crush. 

“Were you asleep?” You ask him, nodding towards his comforter, still pushed back on one side. He turns to glance over his shoulder, following the line of your sight, before he looks back at you and shakes his head. 

“Not even close,” he says. “I’d just got into bed when you got here.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Vernon doesn't think you look totally convinced, but he can’t force you to believe him, even if it is the truth. 

It’s unspoken but accepted that you'll sleep in the bed with him; he’s never let you stay on his couch when you spend the night, and you never agree to displacing him even though he always tries to insist he doesn’t mind. You’ve been friends for enough time now that it’ll never be weird to crawl beneath the sheets with him, anyway. At first, he didn’t really like sharing (he’s a bit… particular with how he sleeps, after all), but he got used to your weight on the mattress beside him quite quickly and makes a point to say he always sleeps better with you. 

He hasn’t curled up next to you for the night in over two years. It’s awful, that that’s what he thinks about now as he turns off the lights and you settle down, shuffling under the comforter until he slides in next to you in the dark and you can lay your head on his chest. He knows it’s selfish. He thinks it probably makes him a bad person, too. 

“Do you think—” you start to say, cut off by a long, vocal yawn. Your breath feels so warm through his t-shirt. “If you fall out of love with them… do the colours go away?”

With his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling he can’t even see, Vernon feels his heart shatter beneath the soft cushion of your cheek. He’s suddenly grateful he’s still fully clothed, as if the cotton barrier is the only thing stopping you from getting scratched by the splinters beneath his skin. He wonders if you hear it. It would be an easier explanation for why he doesn’t say anything than whatever his mouth could come up with, that’s for sure. 

“I don’t know,” he says after a few seconds too long. The arm wrapped around your shoulders slips down to your waist and he squeezes you. Briefly, he wonders if it can force your broken pieces back together. 

Vernon knows he would never do this to you. He’d never hurt you this way. Out of everyone he’s ever met, he thinks you’re the sweetest, the kindest, the most thoughtful of them all. The last person he’d ever wish a heartbreak upon. He even used to joke that he’d go to war with anyone who dared to try. 

But now he’s seeing it happen? He feels as if he really could. 

“I just hope you never have to find out,” he follows up, blinking back the thoughts that start to bubble away as your breaths slow down. 

He wrapped a band-aid around your finger when you got a papercut once and you asked him, then, if he would kiss it better. 

When you bumped your head in the playground, the same. 

He’d kiss it all better now too, if he could. He’d show you how you deserve to be loved. 

And he doesn’t just think it, anymore; Vernon knows that this makes him a terrible person. 

“I hope you don’t, either,” you mumble back. “... and I hope we find them soon.”

He’s so proud of you.

Okay, it never took much. He’s been proud of you for every good grade you’ve ever achieved, every doctor's appointment you booked for yourself, every trip to the dentist you stressed over. He’s been proud of you for finishing projects you were struggling with. Proud of you for learning new recipes. For every milestone, personal or professional, it’s the first thing he makes sure to say. 

[ hey, look at u go!!! proud of u :) ]

Now? He’s seen you crawl from rock bottom to the top of the world. It hasn’t been easy. There have been hurdles and barriers and sometimes, sixty foot high walls you’ve had to climb up and over, but you’ve done it. You’re thriving. Every time he looks at you, these days, if you’re not wearing a smile there are at least traces of one in your eyes, on your face, in your voice. Happiness suits you, and he’s so, so proud of you for getting here. 

He knows you’re doing better, because between Christmas and New Year, you asked him if he wanted to come to a party with you. At first, he wasn’t sure; the holidays left his wallet feeling a little light and he’s been on a really good streak of not drinking anything lately, but when you promised that you’d stay sober too, he kind of couldn’t say no. 

[ i just wanna see in the new year with my favourite person ever <3 ]

[ ha. flattery will get u everywhere ]

So here he finds himself, out in the backyard of somebody he’s never met, a can of Coke in one hand and your gloved fingers holding tightly onto the other. You dragged him outside at five minutes to midnight and — though he doesn’t know why — you decided you didn’t want to let go. Vernon certainly wasn’t going to be the one to make you. Your warmth down his left side is settling the slight unease he’s felt all evening while also making him feel tipsier than he’s ever been under the influence of any amount of soju; he thinks maybe this should scare him, but he’s just… so glad he came.

With sixty seconds until the clock strikes twelve, somebody stands up on top of the picnic table in the yard and starts to try and coordinate a countdown. With forty-five, Vernon squeezes your hand, butterflies where his stomach ought to be. With thirty, he takes a long drain of his drink, finishing it as if it’ll give him some courage, maybe, or… he doesn’t know. Zero sugar, zero caffeine — there’s no logic behind his process, just a lot of bubbles and artificially sweetened syrup. All the same, he crushes the can against his thigh and slips it into his pocket to throw away later. That alone relieves a bit of his adrenaline. 

Not enough, but some. 

With ten seconds remaining, the first shout drowns out the white noise in his ears, the chaos of his thoughts. 10. He joins them. So do you. 9. 8. Your voice is the loudest, the most excited sounding. You want this year to be over. You want the rest of your life to begin. 

7. 6. 5.

The crackers are set. Flames dance at the end of the garden on fire lighters, ready to send rockets shooting into the sky. 

Some people here are going to see them as they truly are. Brilliant and vibrant and colourful against the black canvas of the midnight sky. Vernon won’t. Neither will you. But what was it you said to him once?

4. 3.

Maybe I don’t need to see in colour. 

2.

For the first time, he thinks he agrees. The feeling of loving you, even if he never knows green from red, blue from orange? He doesn’t care. He has you. He loves you. That’s enough. 

1.

Happy New Year. 

As if dawn has broken early, the world becomes impossibly bright, pyrotechnics bursting not only over your own heads but everywhere, as far as his eyes can see. After the first few, he permits himself a glance over at your face: there are tears running down it, and his heart stutters, but then he hears you laugh. Brightly, wetly, more resonant than any of the booms and crackles and cheers he can feel all the way down to his toes. 

For whatever reason, Vernon starts laughing with you. 

You pull him closer into a bone-crushing hug and blink your damp lashes against the side of his neck. “Thank you for being here with me,” you say to him, practically shouting to be heard. “I love you so much.”

“I’m always gonna be with you,” he says as you pull back a little. Your arms are still around him. The chain of the bracelet he bought you all those years ago is bitterly cold against the back of his neck. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, all he knows is that they’re resting on the curve of your spine. He thinks he can see something in the way you look at him, so softly and tenderly and yet, in the twitch of your brow… 

Like you’re searching for something that might not be there. 

He knows his gaze moves in a perfect triangle — from your left eye, to your slightly parted, wind-chapped lips, to your right. He knows he stops breathing. He swears you do, too. Something builds — a spark catches, an energy festers, egged on by the curious murmurs of the people around you. 

You could do it, his brain tells him. 

So what if he’s a few minutes late for it to be traditional? Does it really matter? 

But he’s reminded, again, this time with a whizz and a boom and a crackle, that you aren’t his to have this way. His storybook moment fizzles out, the final firework bursting into sparkles overhead. He sees every one of your perfect features brighten in wonder as you tilt your head back to look up at it. Sees it beautifully reflected in your glassy eyes. He has about enough time to commit the image to memory before you clear your throat and finally step away from him, losing all touch for the first time since you came outside. 

One of your friends comes and pulls you into an embrace, before passing you along to someone else, and then someone else again. He loses you in the crowd that rushes to get back in the warm, but he makes no effort to move with them. He just stays out in the dark for a while with his own thoughts for company, shoving his frigid hands into the pockets of his jeans.

He’s happy, though. It’s like you said. 

Being in love is enough.

“There’s just one more thing,” you say as the waitress returns with your bank card and a receipt. Vernon slides you a look as he stands, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair he’s been sitting in. 

He shakes his head at you. “Whatever it is, it better not be edible,” he laughs. “I think this is the most full I’ve ever been.”

In other words, you’ve done enough already. Stop spending money on me. Please. Thankfully, your final surprise is in-keeping with his unspoken rule. 

His birthday rolled around way too quickly. The start of the year has been so chaotically busy; you swear, you’ve hardly seen him since he dropped you off home after the party. You moved out of your parents’ house for the second time a few weeks ago and settling in, unpacking boxes, sorting through clothes and belongings and trinkets has taken you much longer than you care to admit. You’ve been busy at work, too. So has he. Your social calendars have barely lined up at all. 

But you were determined to make plenty of time for him on his birthday. 

To Vernon, this has always just been another day. He’s never cared too much about big celebrations: as long as he can spend some time with people he cares about, he’s happy, and this year he’s managed exactly that. He saw his family this morning, had some friends drop by his apartment later in the day, and now, he’s with you. 

You’ve never been great at the laid-back approach, though. Not with him. How could you be, when he does so much for you, always without even batting an eye? When he deserves to be doted on, and adored, and thoroughly spoiled? It’s the same every year. You make a fuss, he playfully scolds you for it; you and he are creatures of habit. It’ll probably never change. 

This year, you invited him to your new place to open the gifts you’d bought him: the new speaker he kept saying he couldn’t justify buying, a record he looked at in the store a few months ago but never bought, a sweatshirt to replace the one you stole off him on New Years Eve. Some candies he likes. Then, after he finally stopped pouting and sighing that you really didn’t need to go to all this effort, you took him out for dinner, making a reservation for two at his favourite restaurant. 

The pouting continued. 

Only up until your appetisers came out, though. The moment your food was placed down in front of you, his eyes doubled in size and his lips became a little too busy to stay pursed. Your own dinner almost went cold with how fondly you sat and watched him. This year, you even spared Vernon the embarrassment of having the restaurant staff sing at the side of your table. 

All right, you have an ulterior motive, but… it’s the thought that counts, right? 

He holds the door open for you now as you thank the waitress who served you one last time and without him lowering his arm, you step into place beneath it. Tucked up into Vernon’s side, you’re as happy as you’ve ever been. Nervous, too, but… you have a good feeling. 

“Where to?” He asks as you fall into step together. 

“This way.”

You emerge from the shelter of the canopy outside the restaurant’s front door and immediately feel the cool tickle of a snowflake landing on your cheek. They started to fall while you were eating and Vernon couldn’t stop watching through the window, small specks that grew over the hour into big clumps that tumbled towards the ground. He’s always loved the snow, and there’s no real destination for this gift, anyway. You guide him to the left and watch as peace takes its rightful home on his beautiful features. 

“We’ve walked in a perfect square three times now,” Vernon says after a little while of meandering about in the dark, making comfortable small talk and laughing as the champagne bubbles in your stomachs continue to fizz away. “Where are we supposed to be going?”

You wondered how long it was going to take him to notice, or even if he was going to realise at all. Looking up and down the street you’re on, you stop in your tracks, standing beneath the same flickering street lamp that you’ve passed twice already. Your footprints trail both behind and in front of you, neither quite covered yet by the snowfall. You break into a laugh when you notice that the convenience store on your left has closed since the last time you came down this road. 

“I can get a map open, if…” Vernon starts, reaching into his pocket. You stop him, stepping out from under his arm and wrapping your hand around his wrist instead.

“I might’ve told a little white lie,” you confess, 

He halts with his phone only half pulled out, pushing it into his hip for fear of it falling if either of you let go. “What do you mean?” He asks. 

You know he’s probably thinking back to your earlier conversations, trying to figure out which part exactly is the mistruth you’re now admitting to. But whether he gets there on his own or not, he waits for you to answer. 

“I had it with me this whole time,” you explain, readjusting your hold on his covered forearm. His eyes dart downwards, looking at the site of contact, but he quickly lifts them back up to your face. “I was just… waiting for… ”

“What are you talking about?” Vernon asks. 

“Close your eyes.”

You know.

Unfortunately for your best friend, as hush-hush as he’s managed to be all this time, the same can’t be said for the other person he entrusts all his secrets to. A few weeks ago, when you’d called Seungkwan to coordinate timings for Vernon’s birthday plans, he’d accidentally let something slip. It was your suggestion of taking Vernon to dinner that did the trick. 

“Oh, he’s going to love that,” Seungkwan had gushed. You could hear the breadth of his smile down the phone and felt yourself growing hot at the compliment.

“You really think so?”

“Pfft. You could take him to the Eiffel Tower or to a drive-through KFC, and he’d still have hearts in his eyes – because it’s you.”

Of course, he attempted to do some damage control immediately after. Make out that he meant it in strictly platonic terms. But once the idea planted itself in your head, it sort of… made sense. You mulled it over for a couple of days but when you finally asked Seungkwan, deathly serious, if he really thought you stood a chance with Vernon?

He practically screamed ‘yes’ down the phone. 

“The last time you asked me to do this, you killed me at laser-tag,” Vernon says, narrowing his eyes. He surely doesn’t think you’re hiding a plastic gun underneath the coat he literally just watched you don, but he doesn’t do as you ask and you suck your front teeth at him.

“Luckily for you, I left all my weapons at home,” you counter. “Come on, please. Just… trust me.”

“Said that last time, too,” he snickers. But, to his merit, he finally does it. He takes in a breath and follows your instruction. “I swear to God…”

Selfishly, you take a moment to bask in how handsome he really is. His eyes twitch underneath his lids and snowflakes cling to his lashes, moving with them. It’s in his hair, too. On his shoulders. Melting on his cheeks, leaving small wet spots on his face. One lands perfectly on the tip of his nose. You would immortalise this moment, if you could.

It made sense, when you found out, because thinking back? Nobody has ever loved you how Vernon does. He shows it in so many ways – he sends you the songs that he hears and thinks you’ll like, the pretty photographs that he takes when he’s away for work, some variant of a ‘good morning’ text, almost every day. He massages your shoulders, lets you fall asleep on his lap, follows you around like an obedient puppy when you have errands to run just so you don’t have to do them on your own. 

He tries, and often fails, to cook you breakfast when you stay over. He brings you coffees, or lunch. He looks at you like you’re the moon and the stars. People have teased for years that you could be psychically connected. That you were cosmically united. That it was fate for Vernon to move into the house down the street from you when you were nine. To be the only other child your age on the block. 

Two people, perfect for one another, lives intertwined eternally by fate. Or, in other words…

“Are you…?” He asks, breaking the quiet that has only been filled with your cloud-forming breaths. 

“Give me a second,” you breathe. There’s no doubt in your mind.

You lean forward to kiss him softly, free hand settling against the side of his neck. In the February chill, Vernon freezes, no part of his body reacting to you except for his lips. Though they twitch in a gasp, they press back against yours as if he isn’t even thinking about doing it. As if it’s instinctual. As if he was always supposed to kiss you – as if he’s your…

There it all is, when you finally pull away.

Brown eyes, framed by fluttering lashes that untangle from one another to finally see you, too. Brown, you know, because when you asked your mother to tell you about Vernon’s colours when you were younger, that was the only one she told you, saying everything else might change when he got older. Warm, brown eyes. Glistening with every blink, blink, blink of the bulb above you. Pupils slowly dilating, drowning the colours out of view. You see his lids shoot wide as he realises, as he glances left and right, as he takes this new world in for the first time, too. 

“I knew it,” you say on a stuttered breath, so overwhelmed you could cry. “My soulmate.”

A brilliant smile threatens to split Vernon’s features in two as he cups your cheeks and pulls you back to him, kissing you again, and again, and again. 

“I know you are,” he says against your lips, his bare thumbs pink and cold as they press into your skin. And, before you can kiss him quiet – “but what ‘m I?”

thank u so much for reading, i really hope you enjoyed this. as always, your likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated.<3

[simplegenius042]

Music Monday & Ship Aesthetics Template

Tagging @voidika @raresvtm @josephseedismyfather @noodlecupcakes @imogenkol @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @aceghosts @cloudofbutterflies92 @cassietrn @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @derelictheretic @icecutioner @shallow-gravy @strangefable @statichvm @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @alypink @shellibisshe @josephslittledeputy @skoll-sun-eater @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @florbelles @minilev @justasmolbard @yokobai and @seedsplease + anyone else who'd like to join.

Next trio of Hazbin Hotel songs is for Life, Despair & Monsters, A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore (TW for that) and The UnTitledverse as well as template for the two main protagonists of An Old Ballad Of Chance And Ember Hearts Trilogy. You can listen and view below the cut and find the blank template at the bottom:

[TW: Minor discussion of Fallout's in-game representation of substance abuse and addiction first up]

In my Fallout 4 WIP A Symbol For A Better World, there's a topic that I believe has never been handled properly (amongst many other topics) in majority of the Fallout games (but most especially those influenced by Todd Howard), and that is of addiction, and characters afflicted by addiction. It's something I noticed in Fallout New Vegas and had become evident to me in Fallout 4, and one of the many things I wanted to personally do justice in my A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore, especially when it comes to companion quests, most specifically Cait's. Her story ends with her addictions being magically cured by a machine that instantly gets rid of addictions, something that I've noticed had brought a sour taste in many people's mouths. Now I'm still working on the WIP, especially with Cait's story, so it's probably gonna be a while before that comes out. Here's "Poison", another Hazbin Hotel song that I think tackles the topics of substance abuse (including the victim often suffering under the people/supplier exploiting the victim's addictions), a few really unhealthy coping mechanisms for the addict themselves and the shitty experience of that in general rather well. I acknowledge it doesn't entirely encapsulates everyone's experiences with addiction but it is something that does happen. Listen below:

"I got so good at bein' untrue I got so good at tellin' you what you wanna hear I disassociate, disappear Yeah, yeah, yeah

So far beyond difficult To resist another gulp

Yeah, I know it's poison, you're feedin' me poison I'm chokin' from the taste and I can't help but swallow Up your poison, I made my choice And every night I'm wasted like there's no tomorrow

Oh-oh, oh-oh Any way you want me, baby That's the way you got me, I'll be yours My story's gonna end with me dead from your poison

Poison, I'm drownin' in poison I'm fillin' up my glass but it's always hollow Full of poison, I'm sick of the poison Wish I had somethin' to live for tomorrow."

Next song is my all-time favorite Hazbin Hotel song, "Loser, Baby", and even though I've done this from an older post, I'll do it again! One of the key relationships in my House Of The Dragon WIP The Thorned Crown Of Iron Thrones is between Prince Aegon II Targaryen and former assassin Okkotsu. Aegon and Okkotsu meet after the disastrous funeral for Laena where arguments were had and blood was spilled and fingers were pointed and family secrets emotionally damaged Aegon's older adopted brother Corvus. In the chaotic fray, Aegon runs off into the nearby woods to get some alone time, before bumping into Okkotsu, a rather infamous woman from a foreign land who attempted to assassinate the Targaryen royals several times before she gave up when it nearly costed her life one too many times. Aegon feels like a failure to his family, Okkotsu is a self-accepted failure, and they bond over this. This is a key canon-divergence, as unlike Viserys who mentally checked out on raising Alicent's children, as well as Rhaenyra, who wants nothing to do with her younger half-brother, Okkotsu, although she doesn't become his step-dad, instead she becomes the dad who steps up. And that's not hyperbole, I literally have a line saved for her where she more or less tells Aegon "don't worry, I'll be your dad from now on". And through the power of accepting themselves as poor sopping wet meow-meow pathetic blorbo screw-ups, she unknowingly changes the course of Aegon's future as he's no longer an unsympathetic piece of shit... he's just the first cringefailure loser in Westeros. "Loser, Baby" can be listened to below:

"So things look bad, and your back's against the wall Your whole existence seems fuckin' hopeless You're feelin' filthy as a dive bar bathroom stall Can't face the world sober and dopeless You've lost your way, you think your life is wrecked Well, let me just say you're correct!"

"Wait, what?"

"You're a loser, baby A loser, goddamn baby You're a fucked-up little whiny bitch! ("Hey!") You're a loser just like me!" ("Thanks, asshole!")

You're a screws-loose boozer An only one-star reviews-er You're a power-bottom at rock bottom But you got company! ("This supposed to make me feel better?")

There was a time I thought that no one could relate To the gruesome ways in which I'm damaged But lettin' walls down, it can sometimes set you straight We're all livin' in the same shit sandwich!"

"I've been born to high-borne royalty!" *

"Haha! And you think that makes you unique? Get outta here, man!

We're both losers, baby We're losers, it's okay to be a-" "Blitzed-out, booze-drinkin' ho?" * "...Baby, that's fine by me."

"I'm a loser, honey A schmoozer and a dummy But at least I know I'm not alone!" "You're a loser just like me!"

"I got an appetite for gamblin'!" "I got an appetite for samplin' every drug and fine wine I can find!" * "Go ahead, baby, sing that song!"

"I got no coin left to spend up!" * "I gave up my mission to save myself * Now I'm stuck on the run!" * "I'm trapped and it gets worse every hour!"

"You're a loser, baby!" "A loser, but just maybe if we-" "Eat shit together, things will end up differently!"

"It's time to lose your self-loathin' Excuse yourself, let hope in, baby Play your card, be who you are!"

"A loser just like me!"

[* First change, Aegon hasn't literally sold his soul to anyone specifically, so being born into royalty (and all the burdens and consequences that come with that) was an easier substitute. Second change, Aegon mostly drinks and hasn't been up to sexual activities at this time (or any time from that point on). Also I put Okkotsu's little "..." pause to that since while she's not exactly judgemental, she is a little concerned. Third change, there are drugs in Westeros I've managed to find out... and also sex toys don't exist at this stage so "fine wine" was a clear and effective substitute. Fourth change, again, as stated in the second change, Aegon hasn't been up to any sexual activities at this stage, so I alluded to his gambling problem instead. Fifth & sixth changes, since Okkotsu hasn't made a deal with any demons that make her obligated to follow their commands, I instead replaced those lyrics with the fact that Okkotsu's given up her assassin career which simultaneously lets her keep her own life but puts her on the other side of both the law and the royalty who sent her after the Targaryens.]

In my Hazbin Hotel WIP Smile Tunes, Alastor is still as mysterious as ever, and Lucifer still retains his goofball tendencies, and both still one-up the other when trying to impress on Charlie's daddy's girl status, but one thing that's changed in my WIP is Samuel's presence. Samuel does not trust Alastor at all, and in fact is the one person trying to investigate who exactly Alastor is, what his game is for the hotel, and why exactly he went missing seven years prior. Samuel also becomes a sort of solid rock presence for Lucifer (whose a second father to him) to rely on and a big hand in helping Lucifer with his depression. Samuel in fact is one of the few people in his inner-court that Lucifer trusts without question, hence why he has Samuel keep an eye out on Charlie because Lucifer trusts that Samuel can look out for her. On another note with Lucifer's involvement, the King of Hell himself is absolutely baffled by the presence of Kingsley (much like Vaggie, hint hint, nudge nudge) despite the fact Kingsley should be recognizable as an exorcist, or at least an angel, due to his close resemblance too them, which alarms Samuel (and Vaggie) on what exactly Kingsley could be. Because if he isn't recognizable as an angel to the most infamous fallen angel of all... than what is Kingsley? Anyway, time to bop to "Hell's Greatest Dad":

"Haha! Looks like you could use some help From the big boss of Hell himself Check out Daddy's glowing reviews on Yelp! ("Five stars! Flawless! Greater than great!") Oh, with the punch of a pentagram I wap-bam-boom, alakazam Usually, I charge a sacrificial lamb But you get the family rate!" "Thanks, Dad!"

"Who needs a busboy now that you've got the chef? ("Whoa-oh-oh!") Michelin-tasting menu, free à la carte I'll rig the game for you because I'm the ref Champagne fountains, caviar mountains, that's just the start!"

"Who's been here since day one? Who's been faithful as a nun? Who makes you chuckle with an old-timey pun? Your executive producer! ("That's true!") I'm your guy, your day-to-day Your chum, your steadfast hotelier Remember when I fixed that clog today?" "I was stuck, thank you, sir!" ("Oh, you!")

"I'm truly honored that we've built such a bond ("Aww!") You're like the child that I wish that I had ("Uh, what?") I care for you, just like a daughter I spawned ("Hold on now!") It's a little funny, you could almost call me dad!

They say when you're looking for assistance It's smart to pick the path of least resistance!" "Others say that in your needy hour There's no substitute for pure angelic power! Who just happens to also be your blood!" "Sadly, there are times a birth parent is a dud

They say the family you choose is better!" "What a bunch of losers!" "Can you butt out of my song?" "Your song? I started this!" "I'm singing it, I'll finish it!" "Oh, you tacky piece of-!"

And lastly a ship aesthetic template for the two now officially named main protagonists of An Old Ballad Of Chance And Ember Hearts Original Trilogy; Jade Smith and Jasmine Rafiq, including their faceclaims too! Read up on them below:

Blank Template below:

[speakofthedebbie]

ASK GAMES IN SESSION:

1 year tumblrversary

emoji ask game

moots on anon (debs original; moots go on anon, say a few things about them [usually 3] and i have to guess who they are)

some things of varying importance (<- my fav colour btw)

came for one. singular. fucking. post by @elsa-fogen, stayed for the hazbin brainrot

names debbie (read about why here), nicknames are any variation that suits you

she/they/he (in that order)

after much deliberation (thx for your insight @lifea16 <3) im a bisapphic quoisexual cuz i dont fucking know T-T

in a qpr with @lifea16 >:3

minor (not saying majors [literally why arent 18+ called that] cant interact, but watch yourself)

in regards to above: ♐ (december 14th) [have had 1 bday on tumblr]

no comm beggars/any asks relating to money. i am a minor, i cannot help you

#1 luci lover/defender

also #1 akito lover/defender (my little loser ginger <3)

also also #1 atsushi lover/defender (hes so baby)

started shipping radioapple as a joke but it becomes less of a joke each day (while i am now radioapple inclined, i am still a multishipper at heart)

priestess of @cali-and-chaos' radioapple cult (@manicali has deleted the blog but i will go on carrying out my duties as priestess and spread the word of radioapple far and wide)

almost certainly some flavour of neurodivergent

transphobes dont even look at this blog. me and my trans besties WILL beat you up and it WILL be embarrassing

same goes for racists, bigots and the like. do not test me

~fandoms~

currently:

hazbin hotel (wow who wouldve thunk it)

project SEKAI: COLORFUL STAGE! (feat. hatsune miku) [i have finally gotten the game and i get why my friend loves it sm its great {other than the fact that my gacha pulls are absolutely ass} my high key crush on akito has only gotten stronger 😍]

bungo stray dogs (atsushi is my son trust)

helluva boss (somewhat)

namesake (they get linked cuz the chances of anybody who follows me knowing what it is are slim) [you prolly wont see much content about it {for now >:)} but i do really love it and warrick is my pookie]

previously:

mystreet (may return when s7 comes out)

hermitcraft (im way too behind to catch up now)

percy jackson & the olympians (left off on titans curse)

murder drones (now that its done might come back to)

the promised neverland (i still like it, but i finished the manga)

heathers: the musical (i debated moving it down here but i dont care for it much anymore lol. like i still like the musical, i still really like the songs, and will probably make it my mission to memorize the entire thing one day but its impact is fading man)

unique tags:

#debs is a yapper (i talk about shit. usually hazbin shit. intersects way too much with-)

#debs is a memer (i make memes. usually hellaverse memes. intersects way too much with #debs is a yapper.)

#debs is an artist (i make art occasionally. so far 100% hazbin art.)

#debs is a writer (i post my hellaverse fics. either wip snippets or links to the ao3 page. previously under #debs is an artist.)

#debs is a responder (i respond to the [semi!]rare ask or two [used to be #debs is an answerer but it sounded too weird lol])

#debs is an original poster (i make original posts. opposite of-)

#debs is a reblogger (i reblog usually hellaverse shit, which for my apprehensiveness about it at first has become [more than] half my blog. opposite of #debs is an original poster.)

#debbie's never ending rivalry with her own fucking brain (i wage psychological warfare against my own brain. no one wins.)

#"for your queueing has just begun~" (i queue posts.)

look at the top 10 posts yourself lol

individual follower shout-out (hasnt been updated in a WHILE mb chat)

oh yeah i got a sideblog lol (high school advice)

also luci-centric sideblog lol im so predictable

[soggytapeworm]

blah blah blah summary

First Place (it gets a gold star):

Suburbia Overture / Greetings from Mary Bell Township! / (Vampire) Culture / Love Me, Normally my beloved🫶🫶

Second Place (I might give it a participation trophy idk):

Against The Kitchen Floor

Everything Is A Lot:

0 songs left

13 songs eliminated (6up 5oh Cop-Out (Pro / Con), ¡Aikido! (Neurotic / Erotic), White Knuckle Jerk (Where Do You Get Off?), Cover This Song (A Little Bit Mine), Thermodynamic Lawyer Esq, G.F.D., Red Moon, Lysergide Daydream, The First Step, Jimmy Mushrooms’ Last Drink: Bedtime in Wayne, NJ, Everything is a Lot, Skeleton Appreciation Day in Vestal, NY (Bones), Front Street, Chemical Overreaction / Compound Fracture)

SELF-iSH:

0 songs left

8 songs eliminated (Self-, 2012, Mr. Capgras Encounters a Secondhand Vanity: Tulpamancer's Prosopagnosia/Pareidolia (As Direct Result of Trauma to the Fusiform Gyrus), -Ish, Cotard’s Solution (Anatta, Dukkha, Anicca), Dr. Sunshine Is Dead, Hand Me My Shovel, I’m Going In!, The Song with Five Names, a.k.a. Soapbox Tao, a.k.a. Checkmate Atheists! a.k.a. Neospace Government, a.k.a. You Can Never Know)

The Normal Album:

1 song left (Suburbia Overture / Greetings from Mary Bell Township! / (Vampire) Culture / Love Me, Normally (winner))

9 songs eliminated (2econd 2ight 2eer (that was fun, goodbye.), I / Me / Myself, Outliars and Hyppocrates: a fun fact about apples, Marsha, Thankk You for the Dialectics, but I Need You to Leave, Memento Mori: the most important thing in the world, Love, Me Normally, …well, better than the alternative, BlackBoxWarrior - OKULTRA)

In Case I Make It:

0 songs left

16 songs eliminated (Tomcat Disposables, Becoming the Lastnames, Euthanasia, Falling Up, Um, it’s Kind of a Lot, Half-Decade Hangover, You Liked This (Okay, Computer!), The Main Character, Sex, Drugs, Rock 'n' Roll, Big Fat Bitchie’s Blueberry Pie, Christmas Tree, and Recreational Jell-o Emporium a.k.a. “Mr. Boy is on the Roof Again” (Feat. Pasta by Sneakers McSqueakers) [From “B.F.B.’s B-Sides: Bagel Batches, Marsh-Mallows, & Barsh-Mallows”], Willard!, White Noise, Vampire Reference in a Minor Key, Cicada Days, Against The Kitchen Floor (more like uhh LOSER!!))

Camp Here & There:

0 songs left

13 songs eliminated (Welcome to Camp Here & There, Morning Announcements, Venetian Blind Man (Song), Good Morning, Campers!, The Rhumba of Death, Yes, to Err is Human, So Don’t Be One. (Song), Under A Technicolor Sky, Afternoon Announcements, Under A Monochromatic Sky, Evening Announcements, When Somebody Needs You, Your Body, My Temple)

Others:

0 songs left

6 songs eliminated (Misanthrapologist, …And If I Did, You Deserved It., Ferryman, Wealth & Hellness, Alma Mater, Mr. Fregoli and the Diathesis-Stress Supermodel, Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Con (An Untitled Track))

[goitale]

INTRODUCTION POST!!!

hello! i'm goi! they/them pronouns please!

NOTE: i reblog alot! i have featured tags (ex. #gois yaps) for my own blogs!! please use them if theres a flood of jesstra in ur face LOL

i am a nonbinary lesbian, who is taken by a v pretty person! ((IM A MINOR))

yes i use a typing quirk! þ=th

NOTE: if you use or support generative ai (ai images, art, text, summaries, roleplays, chats, calls, voices, ANYTHING) you should block me. AND IF YOU USE AI TO TAKE MY ART ??? im actually going to blow someone up and itll be you. THATS PLAGIARISM. THATS A CRIME ISNT IT. what the FUCK

my favorite color is orange :3 favorite combo is purple and orange. also i love halloween, which might be a factor

im currently very interested in: Oriko Magica, Minecraft: Story Mode, Some roblox games, Splatoon, my gf's ocs!!

i have comfort ships!!! which are currently: Orikiri, Jesstra, Pearlina, Array

PLZ INTERACT: mutual interests, oriko magica lovers, jesstra shippers, jesskas shippers, pearlina shippers, awesome artists, LGBTQIA+!!

PLZ DNI: basic dni critera, homophobic, transphobic, furry haters, zooph supporters, bad people supporters (ex. vivziepop,..), nsfw accounts (btw no 18+ jokes here.), under 13, etc. + aiden x anyone, romeo x anyone, medhammer, and other toxic/problematic shippers please

>>'toxic' shipping is when you ship people just for the toxic part/angst part and not for them to actually be happy , toxic relationships r not fun!./info

>>'problematic' shipping is when its immoral. yes, vinespace and medhammer is immoral/lh u can ship whoever , idc just keep it legal and safe, but i dont forward immoral stuff. sorry medhammer fanbase/gen! /info

fun facts:

im a chronic reblogger, please look at my featured tags for my own content!

>>>>>my important tags are #gois favs (my favorite posts!), #goi being goi (funny or interesting posts that show who i am!) and the au tags-- the tags are to help find what content i post ofc, cus or else youd never find my own content. and sadly not everything is completely organized but we live!

my favorites r in #gois favs , where its stuff i wanna look at again! if u get a reblog w þat tag, you won/gen

i rarely change my profile!

my music taste stinks, my bad chat

i play roblox alot!

i have a ps3, 3ds, wii, minicassette tape recorder/player, and more old stuff!!

i do wax melting when i send mail, letters, etc.!

i love cats!!

i write ao3 stuff! mostly of dead source content fandoms or ocs!

now for a wall of buttons:

music i listened to on loop recently!! (no i dont have spotify):

+508 songs... i love game music!

we can b mutuals if you know me on discord!!! :3 just do an ask to lmk or else i wont follow back my baddd

pronouns page:

idrk what else to say my badddd

feel free to ask questions or @ me in cool posts!

HIDDEN FUN FACT!!!! THIS BLOG IS COLOR CODED! pink = misc but cool thing

u can guess what þe 'key' is :3

[kiss-me-over-the-garden-gate]

I decided to include some songs I like in each key for funsies.

c major (gay and warlike): Time After Time by Cindi Laupner, Hungry Like the Wolf by Duran Duran, New Slang by The Shins, Heaven by Bryan Adams, It's All Coming Back to Me Now by Celine Dion, Strawberry Blonde by Mitski

c minor (obscure and sad): Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) by Kate Bush; Enjoy the Silence by Depeche Mode; Don't Speak by No Doubt; The Logical Song by Supertramp

d major (joyous and very warlike): Harvest Moon by Neil Young, Loser by Beck, The Middle by Jimmy Eat World, Maybe I'm Amazed by Paul McCartney

d minor (serious and pious): Careless Whisper by George Michael, Dilemma by Kelly Rowland (ironic these first two songs are about cheating; of course, maybe that's the point of them being in this key), I Hear a Symphony by The Supremes

eb major (cruel and hard): Welcome to Paradise by Green Day, I'm A Fool To Want You by Frank Sinatra, Blurry by Puddle of Mud (I guess I'm not really into this key bc it took me ages to find this much and I'm pretty meh on these)

e major (quarrelsome and boisterous): We're Not Gonna Take It by Twisted Sister, The Impression That I Get by The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Weird Science by Oingo Boingo

e minor (effeminate, amorous, plaintive): Killing Me Softly by The Fugees, Bring Me To Life by Evanescence, Nothing Else Matters by Metallica

f major (furious and quick-tempered subjects): Self Esteem by The Offspring, Torn by Natalie Imbruglia, Chelsea Hotel #2 by Leonard Cohen, Something Like That by Tim McGraw, Vienna by Ultravox

f minor (obscure and plaintive): All The Things She Said by t.A.T.u, Genie In a Bottle by Christina Aguilera, Mambo No. 5 by Lou Bega, Brand New City by Mitski

g major (serious and magnificent): Two Princes by Spin Doctors, I Will Survive by CAKE, Unpretty by TLC, When You Say Nothing At All by Ronan Keating, All I Want For Christmas Is You by Mariah Carey, Picture Perfect by The Regrettes

g minor (serious and magnificent): Landslide by Fleetwood Mac, Roxanne by The Police, Tainted Love by Soft Cell, Thank You by Dido

a major (joyful and pastoral): Night Shift by Lucy Dacus, Take On Me by a-ha, Lovefool by The Cardigans, I'm With You by Avril Lavigne, Fade Into You by Mazzy Star, Bitch by Merideth Brooks

a minor (tender and plaintive): Losing My Religion by REM, Lovesong by The Cure, Dream A Little Dream of Me by Ella Fitzgerald, Historia De Un Amor by Luis Miguel

b major (harsh and plaintive): Wannabe by Spice Girls, Ironic by Alanis Morissette, Close To Me by The Cure, Talk Dirty to Me by Poison, Inside Out by Eve6, Drive by The Cars

b minor (solitary and melancholic): Maneater by Hall and Oats, I'm a Believer by Smash Mouth, (I Just) Died In Your Arms by Cutting Crew, White Wedding by Billy Idol

bb major (magnificent and joyful): Dancing In the Moonlight by King Harvest, I Get Along Without You Very Well by Chet Baker, There She Goes by Sixpence None the Richer, She's The One by Robbie Williams, Walking On Sunshine by Katrina and the Waves, In Circles by Sunny Day Day Real Estate

bb minor (obscure and terrible): I'm Still Standing by Elton John, Kiss From A Rose by Seal, Jump (for My Love) by The Pointer Sisters, Here Without You by 3 Doors Down

tag yourself

[the-firebird69]

and he trump is an ass. he talks about our fathers key strokes and looks and minor things all day long and says he is a criminal in on it and fees him info and has him post it and the two do it too bja and are mega losers lol. jack and dianne came up the song and it is about dave and carrol and my Mother and Father and he is an ass this trump idiot. and thi is why. he returns to nh today and after we warned him what will happen..ok lol he needs intel. and will seek the stuff taht was taken from him. and he looks and in nevada it is macs. and macs took the area from trump and he is a stocker not a player lol does it for long hours and no profit. is aloser. and my Father states it was not worth it personally to have trump in ofice but has too admit he is a full on failure for ours and in the long run me. and we see it. hard to make it he is an ogre and idiot. and we use it his response.

and they retrn today as i stated. and in numbers and for intel. have a plan to go up in waves and intunnels and ships and more. to get intel forom macs there. and tons of it. and move now have to they say

Savage

we use this he loves it loves his wife

Oppress

and yeh ok punk i can be brutal andsee it the puke turmp says stuff not you and i hear why. he has it said of course but we see it. is an extortionist andno my husband says contortionist andno more room to move and in a box soon and true

Hera

ahhaahh ok joel

Zues

and we hear it the oaf is a slime ball a bum and humiliates people. get al load of your humiliation loser joel watts ok your a loser and tons see it you lose now heavy losses shorlty you faggot

Hera

heheheh yeh die mofo you loser trump

Zues

[little-star-bun]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ 𝙇𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙧 𝙀𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙚 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨 ɞ˚‧｡⋆ a/n: sorry I went on a tangent I just love Ellie Williams warnings: 18+ lesbian fanfiction!! Men and Minors DNI!!! Masturbation, slight stalking?, Ellie having no rizz;; I do not own Ellie or Tlou. ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌𓆩♡𓆪﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✎ ;; I can't stop thinking about college loser!Ellie.

Her fingers are rough and calloused from playing guitar. She plays loves songs thinking of you. Creep by Radiohead is her favorite unironically.

You're telling me she left her 2010s emo phase? No she definitely still listens to pierce the veil, fall out boy, 21 pilots. And 80s/90s rock, of course.

Her cute lesbian ass wears flannels and band t-shirts. She definitely has a carabineer on her jeans to hold her keys.

She's so in love with you, one time you let her borrow a pencil and she KEPT it. She felt so guilty about it, but you honestly never noticed it was missing.

Definitely thinks playing Wonderwall by Oasis is how she's gonna confess to you.

Sometimes she even has wet dreams about you and wakes up, shoving her hand down into her sticky boxers to get herself off to the thought of you.

She definitely whimpers and begs.

She memorized your schedule secretly and makes sure she's at least somewhere around your classes so she can see you. She always hopes to start a conversation with you, but you're too busy talking to your friends.

One day you were her partner in a science lab and she was shaking so much from being around you, you had to do all the work while she took the notes.

She had to get your number for when you write up the lab paper and she wouldn't stop staring at the contact of you in her phone.

Physically has to restrain herself from texting you all day everyday.

She writes about you in her diary. It's slightly erotic the way she describes you. Pages upon pages just talking about you and how amazing you are and how she wants to make you hers.

She plays with her cunt to the thought of fucking you, imagining your face all cock drunk and your tits. God she imagines how your boobs look way too much.

Sometimes you wear tight shirts practically teasing her. She imagines if they would be perky or plump, how they would fit in her hand... She's genuinely so perverted.

Ugh the way she has that little awkward smile. She's so cute. (⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠)

She sits behind you in class, and she can smell your shampoo. It drives her crazy. She smells all of the ones at the store, trying to find the exact one.

She found your social media (she stalks it) and likes all of your posts (respectfully), but really she screenshots your photos and saves your videos. She has a photo album dedicated to you and you hardly even know this weird girl who's just so awkward.

She genuinely has no rizz, poor baby.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌𓆩♡𓆪﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Let me know if you want more ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

Part Two Here

My requests and asks are open <33

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌𓆩♡𓆪﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

© 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟹 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎-𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛-𝚋𝚞𝚗 — 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚎. 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚢, 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚖, 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝, 𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚢 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔!

[abusedunicornia]

Sorta, maybe

On Tuesday nights

[occasionaloneshots]

Master List

These may not be all the fics on my page but they’re the ones I still will write for and am still at least slightly proud of. My requests are always open though, and I write for most of the characters from any topic I wrote about so feel free to ask about them

Key:

Multi part ⭐️

Song Fic 🎵

Head Canons 🖤

Holiday Related 🎁

Drabble ✏️

Requested *

Twilight Saga

Seth Clearwater

Firelight (she/her) The pack forgets that humans react to alcohol differently than they do and Seth’s imprint gets wasted - written in 2018

Leah Clearwater

Sleep (she/her) Leah’s imprint comes to visit her when she can’t sleep - written in 2021

The Way I Loved You (they/them) They got set up on a date with Angela but they’re just not ready to let go of Leah yet - written in 2021 🎵

No Reader Character

Disaster Quartet Seth, Jacob, Bella, and Emmett learn to get along after being around each other for so long - written 2021 🖤

Modern Cullens how life for the Cullen’s would change facing a pandemic - written in 2021 🖤

Santa Mug The Clearwaters spend Christmas with Charlie - written in 2021 ✏️🎁

Gingerbread Jacob and His friends spend Bella’s first Christmas Eve in Forks with her - written in 2021 🎁

Stephen King’s It

Bill Denbrough

Being Married to Bill (no pronouns used but pregnancy reference) - written in 2022 🖤 *

Stan Uris

Projector (she/her) Stan is keeping Richie and their partner awake at night and she calls for a family meeting over it - written in 2021

Just Between Us (she/her) Stan has a secret relationship with Bill’s sister which just ends up hurting her - written 2021 ⭐️ 🎵

Richie Tozier

Projector (she/her) Stan is keeping Richie and their partner awake at night and she calls for a family meeting over it - written in 2021

But I Do (she/her) Richie misses Bill’s sister after her breakup with Stan, and not just because they were close as kids - written in 2022 ⭐️🎵

No Pairings x Readers

Being the Youngest Loser (she/her) joining the losers club while being a year younger - written in 2021 🖤⭐️

Flowers and Birds (she/her) the losers club comforts their youngest member on the anniversary of Pennywise taking her sister - written in 2021 ⭐️

No Reader Character

Soul (Reddie) heavily based off of Dean selling his soul in Supernatural- written in 2021

You Belong With Me (Reddie’s Version) Richie has a girlfriend that Eddie doesn’t like - written in 2021 🎵

Childhood the losers club before they were the losers club - written in 2021 🖤

Z Nation

10k

Ring (she/her) 10k finds his sister again after a long apocalypse and only believes it’s her when he sees her old ring (Georgia St. Claire x Reader Minor plot) - written in 2021

Georgia St. Claire

Ring (she/her) 10k finds his sister again after a long apocalypse and only believes it’s her when he sees her old ring (Georgia St. Claire x Reader Minor plot) - written in 2021

Stranger Things

No Reader Character

Modern Girls how I imagine modern Robin, Nancy, Max, El, Suzie, and Erica - written in 2022🖤

[a-clockwork-justice]

Everything I Love About Loser Geek Whatever

So, not too long ago, it was the third birthday of Loser Geek Whatever. Yes, I know the single was released on November 30th 2018 and its considered the song’s official birthday, but the 26th July three years ago was the first showing of the 2018 Off-Broadway revival of Be More Chill and the first time Loser Geek Whatever was shown to the world in any capacity. Therefore, I consider that day to be the song’s unoffical birthday and I’ve been waiting to write down everything I love about it so here I am. (This was originally gonna be posted on the 26th July but I can’t make anything concise so it took longer than that).

I’ve gone on and on about what Loser Geek Whatever means to me personally, how a slew of random chance introduce me to it, got me deep into Be More Chill, introduced me to 90% of my current friends, and overall up-ended my whole life, but now it’s time to dissect the song itself and why it’s so great. As much as I adore Loser Geek Whatever, it could’ve easily been any other song that threw me down a rabbit hole and that I could’ve latched onto- no, wait, it couldn’t have been, because Loser Geek Whatever is unique in that way. I did about a year of music at A-Level so I’m gonna delve into some of the technical aspects here too. I’m chronicling this mostly for myself so I am going as deep as I see fit because this song is a treasure hiding yet more treasures. If you happen to love Loser Geek Whatever as much as I do, this’ll be your goldmine.

So, grab a snack my fellow fans, because here’s a comprehensive list of everything to love about Loser Geek Whatever in roughly chronological order. Long post incoming:

The song starts off strong from the first millisecond - I don’t know what instrument(s) they used but just listen to the single version again - that opening chord blares at you like a siren. It calls for your attention, screaming this is incredibly important, and indeed it is. That chord, an F chord, has no indication as to whether it’s major or minor - it’s just the tonic F with its dominant C and another tonic F above it. In other words, it’s unresolved, it hangs in the air. From a narrative standpoint, Jeremy is at a crossroads, torn between giving into the SQUIP or staying loyal to Michael, and the music paints this. It has the same effect on both the single and album versions - I always hold my breath as it holds, it’s the gap in this crucial transition for Jeremy between who he was and him becoming something he isn’t.

To continue the thread of musical painting, the melody line contains the accidental E-flat which doesn’t belong to the key of F major. This once again illustrates Jeremy’s uncertainty, but there’s more - the whole introduction is a slowed-down version of the Apocalypse of the Damned theme from Two Player Game, arguably the point in the show when Michael and Jeremy’s relationship was at its strongest. Jeremy’s recalling everything he had with Michael, but the slowing down of the melody shows hesitancy, along with highlighting the accidental E flat. These latter points of course aren’t unique to Loser Geek Whatever - they’re also in the section of Upgrade that twins with Loser Geek Whatever. I’m just laying out why they work so well. 

I’m glad I waited until after I saw the show in London to finish writing this - I’m something of a Loser Geek Whatever purist, as made clear by my ire at them cutting it in half and tacking the end of Upgrade back on for the London version. I still enjoyed the show in London though and I’m glad I knew about this change ahead of time, because they did change something about the song that I think really worked - they added two notes in the bass to each bar, like heartbeats, which once again signifies Jeremy’s uncertancy and the importance of this major turning point.

It’s been firmly established by this point that Jeremy is a loser and he knows it. He doesn’t want to be a hero, he just wants to survive, but there’s a difference between that and feeling “inconsequential.” Jeremy is basically admitting that, in his eyes, it doesn’t matter to the world or anyone except Michael if he even survives or not. He’s not just a loser, or a geek - he’s a whatever, with no one caring who he is. And he’s felt this way for years - since middle school began. He’s now in his Junior year of high school - that’s five years of being in this state of being unnoticed at best and picked on at worst. He’s “the one who’s left out”. With just one little line, hell, one word, we’re given more layers as to why he so badly wants to change that.

Moving from the first verse to the chorus, we start to see Jeremy’s attitude shift, from being sad to being angry - he’s frustrated, resentful that he’s spent so long in this state (A lot of people have made similar comparisons about Will Roland’s Jeremy as a whole in relation to Will Connolly’s Jeremy and I think this song exemplifies that). He doesn’t deserve to feel this horrible - not now and certainly not for the next two years until he and Michael can be “cool in college.” When you think about it, what options does he really have? He could either give into the SQUIP or reject it and go back to where he was, still miserable and lonely. Yes, he has Michael and Michael is an amazing, kind, loyal best friend, but as many have pointed out, he’s also dismissive of Jeremy’s feelings of inadequacy whether he means to be or not, which only made Jeremy feel more lonely. Should Jeremy just expect to feel better about himself at some point before college? He’s waited for years, why would that happen at any other point?

More layers baby! Second verse, Jeremy rants on about his father’s advice about following his own instincts and how it’s gotten him nowhere he wants to be. Come to think of it, Michael’s advice about staying the same and waiting for their environment to change can be seen as similar - it’s arguably easier for Michael as he has two loving mothers who undoutably give him plenty of positive reinforcement. Meanwhile, Jeremy’s mother has left them, which likely instilled further feelings of not being good enough, and his father has fallen apart to the point where he can’t even put pants on, let alone step up to take care of his son, meaning that Jeremy likely isn’t going to take his advice very seriously, especially after it’s failed him so thoroughly. But to Jeremy, the problem isn’t necessarily the advice itself - it’s that it’s being followed by him. So now he’s going to turn around and put his life and every choice in something else’s hands, even if - no, especially if it goes against his own instincts. It still doesn’t feel quite right, it “feels bizarre”, but it’s getting him somewhere, so it has to be right in the most meaningful capacity, and to Jeremy, the “most meaningful capacity” is any capacity that isn’t his own.

Now the best line - the one about being a “normal, handsome guy”. Let’s get this on the table - Jeremy is trans. Will Roland himself said that he often thinks of the show’s young trans fans when he sings that line. Naturally, societal transphobia plus gender dysphoria would have a pretty catestrophic effect on the self-esteem of any growing teenager, even more so one in Jeremy’s situation for the reasons I’ve just laid out. He’s probably missed out on a lot of things that “normal” guys take for granted, with most girls barely looking in his direction, let alone in any positive manner. Jeremy’s own sexuality aside, it’s mostly society, and the SQUIP by extension, that considers scoring with girls to be a “manly” or masculine activity, and through Brooke treating him as dateable material, Jeremy feels better about fitting into society’s rules of how a man should be and act. This isn’t the only reason he feels good about Brooke finding him attractive, of course, but it’s just another layer that Jeremy sees more value in conforming to how society says he should be rather than in how he actually is.

I know I just said that the last point was about the best line, but honestly, there’s more than one best line in this song. The bridge is where we start to see Jeremy’s language becoming more technologically inclined - “prompt”, “command” and “bandwidth” are all terms used in computing and used to show how Jeremy is likening himself, or his intentions, to a computer, effectivly merging himself and his SQUIP into one entity and Jeremy willingly giving over his own individuality.

And HERE, we get to the kicker. I’ve talked a lot about layers throughout this whole essay, about themes and motifs building on each other. Jeremy is essentially peeling back the layers of his own situation and only finding reason after deeper reason after deeper reason as to why he should follow the SQUIP and not be a loser anymore. Now, he hits the core, the seed, the crux of it all - “The problem has ALWAYS BEEN ME!!” Everything he is, everything that makes Jeremy Heere himself, is and has always been wrong. This line is a gut punch and EVERYONE knows it - the performer always takes a few seconds to let it sink in before continuing.

As an aside, I wanna mention the differences between the single and the album versions of the bridge. The album version starts of quieter after the vocalising of the last chorus, and builds up to the climactic final line, while the single version is loud all the way through but gets even louder and punchier at the end. Both are good, but I personally prefer the single version - the album sounds like Jeremy is broken and desperate and on the verge of tears as he reaches his inevitable but ugly realisation. The single is also desperate, but it’s pleading and all-consuming and a THOUSAND times more powerful, I get chills every time I hear it. (Side note, the London version starts of loud like the single and ends quieter like the album, almost as if Jeremy is reluctant to admit what he truly believes about himself, and it’s easy to see why, it’s a damn harsh condemnation).

“Take a breath and get prepared” - Jeremy sings to both himself and the audience. The first half has been heavy and we need a breather. Yet just before he goes over the brink, he has second thoughts. His conscience, his own voice in his head, breaks through, warning him that his choice will have consequences for other people than himself. People will get hurt - Michael most of all. Not just by Jeremy ditching him; here’s something else - when Jeremy is the “cool dude”, he might end up being a bully to those who are losers just like him, cutting them down just as Rich’s SQUIP made Rich do to him. Who would be the perfect target for Jeremy’s potential future bullying? His former best friend and fellow loser, Michael Mell. It’s pretty damn likely that if the SQUIP hadn’t optic nerve blocked Michael, it would’ve told Jeremy to pick on him, and even though Michael has ostensibly been pretty good at brushing these things off before, the takedowns would hurt a LOT more coming from his former best friend - and we know this because IT ACTUALLY HAPPENS, granted without the SQUIP influencing Jeremy directly (also let’s just clear up that just because the SQUIP wasn’t on doesn’t mean its influence on Jeremy hadn’t disappeared - that’s not how emotional abuse works).

Twelve years of loyal friendship, of borderline unhealthy codependency … can he throw all that away for Christine, a girl he’s thus admired from afar and is only just starting to get to know as a person? Moreover, even if Jeremy gets Christine, what about himself, who he wants to be? He just wants to be something other than himself because he thinks that anything is better but … what? The cool dude, the hero or … whatever. He’ll take anything because he’s that desperate, but what about when he gets it? Will he finally be satisfied? Will it be worth failing his one real friend, an act so scummy that the only way he could possibly stomach it would be to somehow pretend he hadn’t done it?

But none of those questions matter to Jeremy now - he’s fully gaslit into believing that every thought and inclination that comes from himself is wrong and shouldn’t be followed. He needs to sync up with the SQUIP and the rest of the world and mute his own defective inner voice. When you think about it, the relationship between Jeremy and the SQUIP is one of the most intense abusive relationships ever put to fiction - we’ve seen emotional abuse and brainwashing before, but here, Jeremy is literally preventing from THINKING the wrong way because the SQUIP can detect his every thought. See what I mean when I say that doesn’t go away when the SQUIP turns off for a few minutes?!

Throughout all of this is the undercurrent of Jeremy wanting to get better. He’s been trying so hard for so long to have a better life, but nothing has worked. Not listening to his dad, not trying to get closer to Christine through theatre, and certainly not listening to Michael’s advice to wait until college. Why should he resign himself to even more time being miserable with no end in sight? After all, being cool in college isn’t a guarantee. After all he’s been through, it’s his turn to finally be cool, after an eternity of being someone he doesn’t want to be.

Another best line in this song - “I’m Player One.” As mentioned a few times in the show before, like in the Broadway upgrade, Jeremy feels lower even in his friendship with Michael - he’s Player 2 as the more experienced Michael is Player 1. As previously established, Jeremy admits that he’s “not the one who the story’s about.” Now he’s ready to finally take control of his life, be the main character and have good things happen to him, and that means cutting out Michael, the old Player 1. The irony here is that Jeremy is less like Player 1 and more like a video game avatar. In reality, the SQUIP is Player 1, making Jeremy do whatever it demands of him.

More best lines! The slew of insults towards the end serves not just as yet more gut punches for the audience but as a major catharsis for Jeremy - It’s telling that the insults get harsher as his rant goes on, from the “weirdo” to the “weakling freak” to the “failure” to the climactic “please don’t speak”. He’s unloading everything that he’s been carrying over the years, ripping out the bullets that have been embedded in his skin and re-opening all the wounds in the process, but he’s done with the pain and he’ll never ever let himself be hurt like that again, if he follows the SQUIP.

I’ve made a whole post about the significance of the best line “Please Don’t Speak” before so I’ll mostly be repeating a lot of what I said there because it’s been a while since that post and because I want to. Who would’ve said that to Jeremy? Probably not Rich or Chloe, it’s not like them. It had to have come from an adult in a position of authority that could’ve commanded Jeremy not to speak like that - one that apparently did so enough times for him to internalise those words like he did the others. (Even worse if it was more than one adult ...). Out of all of the insults, it’s easy to see how that can easily be the most scarring out of all of them - how would an adult let a child know they’re inadequate? By silencing them. Making it clear that their expression of self not only means nothing, but should be forcibly avoided. Put like that, it makes it much easier to see how and why Jeremy fell under the SQUIP’s influence so easily - telling it was hardly different from authority figures he’s experienced before. In even more sad irony, as Jeremy claims that he’s breaking free and letting go of his past as the “please don’t speak”, he’s just walking right into another, similar trap that he can’t easily escape from. The SQUIP literally vocal cord blocks him during The Play - if that doesn’t say “Please don’t speak,” what does?!

The climax is growing! The music shifts into the relative minor as Jeremy fully gives in to the SQUIP’s evil influence. This is the point of no return, the point where he’s literally being surrounded and overtaken - if you’ve seen this on stage or even just a bootleg, you’ll know what I mean, when the lighting shifts and the circuitry start closing in around him, it’s wonderful. The bass ascends, Jeremy declares once and for all that HE IS NOT THE LOSER, THE GEEK, OR WHATEVER, and he never will be again! As some have pointed out, the sequence of notes on the final “again” is the same as at the end of Be More Chill Part 2, except the last note is different. In BMC part 2, it goes further down by a minor third, but in Loser Geek Whatever, it rises up to the same note it started with. This foreshadows Jeremy’s fate - that he will eventually overcome the SQUIP and that he still has it in him to do so. Man, let me just point out how amazing that last belt is - it lasts for a full 15 seconds in a really high range and takes a LOT of control to bring it back up to the high B without breaking. This song really was written for Will Roland - his voice can pull it off seamlessly, but other actors and understudies have had to find workarounds. No disrespect to them, it’s a damn hard song and it kicks ass all the way through. Scott Folan apparently had trouble with it too, but on the day I happened to see him, he pulled it off without breaking, so props to him!

Overall, Loser Geek Whatever is my favourite song in Be More Chill and not just for its sentimental value to myself. It’s a genuinely deep, complex piece that earned every second of its six minutes. Loser Geek Whatever is definitely the missing piece the show needed - not only is it Jeremy’s solo song, it’s also his “I Want” song and, in a way, his 11 o’clock number all in one, as he’s having a major epiphany after going on a journey, albeit only half of one. It’s easy to see why Joe Iconis dubbed this his anti-Defying Gravity, but it’s also easy to draw parallels to No Good Deed - how both Jeremy and Elphaba vow to become something that society is forcing upon them rather than what they are, even if that society’s will is objectively worse for them. Loser Geek Whatever deserves a thousand times the recognition it has and I still wonder to this day what the fandom reaction would’ve been if it had been in the original soundtrack.

So, that was it. I’m not sorry it was this long.

TL;DR: Loser Geek Whatever is wonderful and anyone who doesn’t think so is wrong.

[sagefzy]

PART ELEVEN: THE PERFORMANCE

perfectionism | prev | next

After sitting down for about ten minutes, Atsumu redirected his attention to the now dimming lights. The once lit up auditorium was now only being illuminated from the light appearing on the stage. There was almost an entrancing aura in the room, everyone gathered in the same room for the sole purpose of watching people showcase their musical talent. Though completely different activities, he couldn't help but be reminded of the similar feeling when watching a volleyball match.

Although Suna had mentioned to him many times that he and you had two very distinct and different personalities, he couldn't help but disagree. From the little he'd observed, you both had strong passions that you had dedicated your whole lives to. Even though you two may approach situations differently. You both have a mutual understanding of the thrill that comes with pushing yourself to the limit for something.

He had never really chosen to get to know another person on a deeper level. Of course, there was Osamu, but that didn't really count since that was his brother. Additionally, his friendship with Suna was only a byproduct of Osamu's friendship with him. Atsumu constantly had girls throwing themselves at him, and even though he enjoyed basking in their attention, he knew that they were only in love with the idea of him.

Outside of volleyball and his family, he never got the chance to have a close relationship with someone, but that was something he was willing to sacrifice for the sake of achieving his dreams. Not to mention, he always had the lingering fear that, in the end, people only hung out with him to get close to Osamu. He really hoped that you were an exception to that case.

The competition had to at least been going on for an hour now, Atsumu thought to himself. When he imagined attending a piano competition, he envisioned a relaxing show that he could attend for free, but that wasn't the case. Instead, he spent his time watching musicians attempt to play grand, complex pieces to perfection, but at most they only achieved mediocre performances. Just how long was it going to take for you to come on stage?

"Now presenting contestant 105, l/n y/n. Playing piano concerto number one in E minor, opus eleven: two. Romance larghetto."

His eyes were directed to your figure that now walked onto the stage. Your head held high, your footing confident. Atsumu grinned, noticing that you were sporting that perfect smile of yours. He watched as you took a deep breath while fixing your stool.

Before your hands touched the keys, he observed how, for a quick second, your eyes changed from confident to anxious when studying the crowd. Your eyes were glued in the same spot briefly, however they were quickly averted back to the instrument. Could it be that large crowds made you anxious? No, it couldn't be, you seemed way too confident walking out on stage. He wondered just what made you apprehensive.

He continued to watch you intently.

Your fingers graced the keys. They quickly found their tempo and danced to the rhythm. You didn't miss a single beat nor note as you played. Everything was played to perfection, just as it always was.

Your smile disappeared, only to be replaced with a face of precision and focus. Your hands produced a soft melody, making the sound glide into his ears. No previous performer enchanted the audience like you did. The notes danced and swayed in the air.

Your song had so much power to it. It was as if a mystical spell was casted in the room the minute that you started to play. Atsumu's eyes widened as he watched you get lost in the song. There was absolutely no hesitation as you played. Your body was completely in tune with the instrument.

Although you weren't saying anything, you were telling a story to everyone in the room, captivating them. It was all perfect. Your rhythm, notes, tempo, and tone- it was exactly as written on paper. You quite literally were playing the piece perfectly. However, the story you were telling with your music, wasn't quite your own, but rather the composer.

You were guaranteed a first place win since you were playing a technical piece perfectly, but it lacked the emotion. You played it exactly as the composer intended, nothing more, nothing less.

Atsumu recognized the seemingly stoic look on your face. It wasn't something he could decipher easily at first, but now hearing you play, he could understand it. You were so obsessed, so intent with playing it perfectly, something he often found himself partaking in when in an important match. You were perfect, but at what cost?

There was no denying that you were extremely talented, certainly more talented than himself, he thought. But, he could only imagine how much more captivating you could be when expressing your own emotions with your talent.

As your song neared its end, the whole room stood up in applause. You stood up, knowing you played it perfectly, but you still felt empty. You remember a time where you used to love savoring the gratification from an overwhelmed audience. Now, however, you stood in front of everyone clapping for your perfect performance, and you couldn't feel less accomplished. Perhaps you were being too hard on yourself. When did playing piano turn into a chore?

You glanced to the top of the audience, the same place you were looking before the performance, and locked eyes with your dad. The same unreadable expression was present on his face. He shook his head and walked out the exit door. Your chest grew heavy, trying its best to hold in your tears in front of the audience.

You bowed in front of the audience, trying your best to conceal the emotions running rampant in you. You swiftly paced yourself offstage, running past your mentor who was there for support and into the backstage bathroom.

Your back leaned on the heavy door, all of your bottled feelings washing out. You looked at your face in the mirror, placing two hands over your heated cheeks. Your eyes started to sting, but you still stared into the reflection. Anger, disappointment, humiliation, vulnerability, and most of all, loneliness. You let it all spill out at that moment.

There was so much more you wanted to do with your music, but at that moment no amount of praise could convince you that it was worth it. All in life you ever wanted to do was make your dad proud, show him that you are worthy enough to be your mother's daughter. Was anything you did ever going to be good enough for him?

"y/n, it's Haruka-sensei." A voice from the door knocked. "I thought you played the piece perfectly, I'll be in the lobby, so come out when you're ready."

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Your hands made their way to your face again, this time cleaning up the tears and smudged mascara. Looking up one last time, you smiled into the mirror. Over the years, you convinced yourself that if you faked being happy enough, eventually you will be. It's not like anyone could tell the difference from it anyways.

You opened the door slowly, trying to gain your composure again. You bumped into many kids roaming the halls backstage looking anxious to perform. The maze of people was something you were now used to navigating.

The lobby was empty with the exception of your sensei and dad, everyone else still in the auditorium watching the final stretch of the performances. Haruka-sensei and your dad didn't get along for the most part, which is why you weren't surprised when you saw them standing in completely opposite areas of the room.

Your dad was first to approach you. "What did you think that was?" His voice was laced with alcohol. Your gaze met his. His eyes filled with resentful judgement. "You think you can get away playing like shit and make your way to the top?"

Droplets of tears fell to the ground once more. "I asked you a question!"

You looked to the ground. "No, I know I'll never be good enough." You sniffed harshly, still trying to maintain your composure, but failing. You hated crying in front of your dad. It was arguably the worst feeling in the world, like you were being isolated in a dark void with nothing but disappointment.

He watched you cry. You could feel his gaze burning into the top of your head, which still faced the ground in fear. All of a sudden, you felt a harsh grip on your wrist that was sure to leave a bruise.

"And don't you ever forget that," He spat. "I bet your mother is even more repulsed by you than I am. It's a joke that you think you'll ever be anything great." He shook your arm firmly, forcing you to see the aggravation displayed on his expression.

"That's enough," Haruka yelled, shoving your dad to the side. She might've been a small lady, but she sure did know how to stand her ground. "I can't stand hearing you spread such bullshit hatred to your own daughter. You make me sick. Why don't you go and get yourself even more drunk. Maybe you'll wake up and find yourself passed out on a park bench."

He rolled his eyes and scoffed. He left the building, leaving just you and Haruka.

"Listen, y/n, I think you played beautifully. Your technique was perfect, and with just a few tweaks here and there, I'm sure you'll be more than ready to take the top spot at nationals." She praised. She gave you a genuine smile and pulled you into a hug.

Feeling overwhelmed, you started to cry for the third time that hour. "Shh- don't worry about your dad, he's just a loser-asshole that projects all his issues onto you." You felt comforted by her embrace. Although she'd only known you for about a month now, Haruka had quickly become one of your favorite piano mentors. She had the loving presence and embrace of a mother, something that was so foreign to you at first.

After your heavy tears and emotions subsided, you re-entered the backstage hallways. You sat in the corner of the hallway, directing your attention to a boy- who couldn't have been any older than twelve. He sat next to his mom, holding her hand as he kept on muttering about his nervousness.

You watched as the mom eased his nerves with a single statement. "My child, I love you now, and I'll still love you after you go out and perform." The words warmed your heart. The affection from a mother was a distant memory in your mind. You could never recall a moment you were sad around your mother. Why did she have to leave so soon?

Before the kid could respond, he was called out to perform. He hugged his mom quickly and scrambled to the stage. You sat there lost in your thoughts, imagining what life would be like if your mother didn't pass away so early on.

You sighed. There was no use in fantasizing about a false reality even if it brought you temporary peace from your discomfort. What only mattered now was the present moment.

You noticed that the boy was back, a giant grin plastered on his face as he met up with his mother, it'd only be a few minutes until the winners were announced. Soon enough, all of the competitors were asked to reconvene at the stage.

You looked out at the audience again, but this time it was different. Rather than feeling anxious when meeting the gaze of someone, you felt content. Atsumu flashed his famous smirk and displayed a thumbs up, only to be quickly smacked down by Osamu. The two seemed to get into an argument after that, making you look at Suna who was now a giggling mess. The whole event made you laugh, momentarily forgetting about the heavy reign of disappointment on your shoulder.

However, the three of them got their act together once the top three standings were being announced. This part always made you fidgety. The uncertainty of the outcome always twisted your stomach in knots. Once second and third place were announced you took a deep breath, hoping that you were to be crowned first.

"And-" Here it was, you thought. The moment that decided whether or not you'd go to nationals. "-first place for the Hyogo Regional piano competition goes to-" You could feel your heart beating out of your chest. Your nails dug into your arm, the tension eating away at you. "-l/n y/n."

You almost jumped to the front of the stage when they announced your name. You did it, despite what your dad said, you did it. And it didn't matter what hateful words of disappointment he spat at you because in that very moment, you were enough.

Atsumu watched as you were handed a certificate. A radiant smile now present on your face. This smile was different, though. The one he was used to seeing was the seemingly perfect one, the one so perfect it was almost fake. The one you wore right now was one of genuine, heartfelt joy. Was this the real you? Just what else were you hiding under that perfect smile?

Osamu tapped his shoulder. "Stop staring at yer little girlfriend and let's go to the lobby before it gets too crowded. Suna said we're going to go out for udon."

"Yeah, yeah 'm coming," He muttered, never once taking his eyes off of your smile.

fun facts !

Osamu and Atsumu are notorious for always being late for everything, whether it be 10 minutes to an hour.

Atsumu daydreams when he's bored, only paying attention to what he wants to.

Every time Osamu cooks, he always puts on music in the background and it always differs depending on his mood.

perfectionism ©

smau written by @sagefzy

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[deadlymodern]

Thank you for tagging me, @herpixels​​! 🌼

I'm not going to tag anyone specific because I literally wanna see everyone's take on this. So, please, if you want to, do it! 

I went a bit overboard, sorry 😗If you actually read it all, I will love you forever.

YOUR WRITING PROCESS 

Show us a part of your script or explain how you write your scenes. Do you write in screenplay format or novel format? Etc, etc.

I love writing in novel format but, for sims storytelling, I feel the need to write a screenplay.

I start by writing all the dialogue along with the action cues and setting descriptions. This helps me visualize how much space I will need for the characters, which and how many props will be necessary etc.

From the simple screenplay, I make a shooting script and a checklist. 

The shooting script is super helpful because it allows me to break my screenplay down into shots so I go in game already knowing exactly what I want from it. 

This will all sound like I think I'm some big shit but honestly... I just get brain farts WAY too often. So having everything kind of ready helps me remember little things like ADDING THE DAMN POSES INTO THE S4S for examples lmao.

SCENE BUILDING 

Show us you in the middle of scene building through pictures, gifs, or a video. Explain what is the best thing about scene building and what is the worst!

Scene/world building is 100% my favourite part of the whole process! 

I use a lot of references from the real world. The small coastal village of Brindleton is based on many places in England, mostly villages/towns in Cornwall and Devon. 

I enjoy looking for inspiration pictures on Pinterest and going on Google Earth tours, really LMAO.

Of course, there is only so much I can do with Sims to make it look realistic, but if you squint your eyes and shift your head, maybe? fjhgdfhjkg

I do the same for my residential lots and interiors. But interiors are a bit more fun for me because, besides not needing to worry about background extras, I can personalize the environment to my characters. 

CC/POSE MAKING 

Do you make your own cc/poses for your scene? If so, what is your process like to create? Do you just go off the top of your head? Do you use reference photos?

Nowadays, I make 98% of my poses. The remaining 2% is just me making some adjustments on pre-existing ones. I can't help it. I absolutely love seeing my visions come to life like this. 

I also enjoy making poses because I like giving my characters some distinguished body language. 

For example, Beth is the only character who slightly puckers her lips to the left. Usually, when she's thinking or when she's upset. It's basically the main part of her face - other than her eyebrows - that will give her true feelings away.

And Mary, on the other hand, is way less emotionally repressed. Any minor inconvenience will make her upper lips twitch upwards. She also pouts a lot more and has more eyebrow movements. 

Yes, I am a loser for paying attention to these things shhhhhhh.

Usually, I don't need anything other than an accessory or two. But lately, I've been LOVING to make recolours and convert objects into pose accessories. Whenever I have my script ready, I take note of what I will need for the scene in my checklist.

You probably don't even notice or care as much as I do, but still! They add much to the narrative imo and I feel like I'm giving depth to the characters by tailoring their accessories and the world around them. It's really fun for me!

GETTING IN THE ZONE

What do you do to get in the zone to work on a scene? Examples include: show us your playlist you use when working on a scene, what’s your go-to scene snack/drink, etc.

I have playlists on my Spotify for the main characters as well as one for the story. Beth and Mary's individual playlists are the ones I listen to the most and they are called Countryside Teacup and European Train Ride respectively because these are the vibes I get from the songs in there dslkfjsklfsd.

I also LOVE listening to instrumental playlists on youtube like this Cottagecore and this Royaltycore ✨massive points to you if you can find my comment on the royalty core video 🌚

I don't really snack while working on my story posts but I drink mate tea like CRAZY or, sometimes, I'll just have a beer to get my creative juices flowing ehe.

SCREENSHOTS FOLDER

Give us a look into your screenshot folder to show us just how much goes into ONE scene for your story. (Scrapped pictures encouraged!!!)

I never take too many screenshots with different angles because of my pre-planning! 

However, I do have, like, 10 to 15 repeated shots because I take some with DOF, some without, some with shadows, some without etc. And I'm always terrified of the screenshot not working, so I press the my hot keys like 5x jddjlkgd.

Here are some scrapped pictures from previous story posts:

CAPTIONS

Are you a caption on the picture kind of storyteller or captions in text box type of storyteller? Why? Do you do both?

I love doing the graphic novel format, with "speech bubbles" sort of. I personally find it immersive. But I also love and crave for the novel format, so I'll write a little "after scene" sometimes in the text box for extra depth ☺️

EDITING

Explain and show us your process editing a scene through a video, gif, or picture. A Before and after will suffice if you aren’t in the middle of editing a scene as you answer this.

Since I've done a few posts telling a bit about my editing - and, truthfully, not much goes into it - here is a before and after!

THROWBACK

Show us an ANCIENT story scene you done in the past and explain how you would do the scene differently today!

Okay, ANYTHING from my early simblr days is cringe worthy. The dialogue isn't good, the lighting is extremely yellow - due to my crappy laptop -, the outfits and the settings are all over the place, I--

I chose this one image because it was one of the first times I was doing a story post instead of just a gameplay update. I don't even have much else to add, just look at it jkljdfklgjdf. 

But I'm going to have plenty of scenes set in the past where I will get the chance to remake the school and dress my teen girls properly and I'm so excited. Like, making slate pose accessory excited fjdigjfido oh, boy.