#narrator blurb

[will-you-pick-me]

Narrator Blurb (Comfort/Fluff)

Dedicated to YaBoi <3 (I know you never asked for anything but I'm still grateful for that donation so yea :3)

He stared for a moment, heart sinking as he saw you crying. Quietly, he drew you into his arms, gently shushing you and running his fingers through your hair as he guided you into leaning on his chest. You could feel the material of his dark grey button-up shift against your cheek as he curled his shoulders around you protectively, shielding you from the world. "Darling, it's alright... I'm here for you. And if I can help it, I'll never allow that to happen to you again, ok...?"

He gently hooked his index finger under your chin, to guide your head up so you could see the sincerity in his golden eyes. His thumb gently brushed over your cheek, wiping away the trail of tears with tenderness.

"I'm here, whenever you need me. Always. And I'll do whatever I can to help you feel better, ok? So... Let's go get you bundled up in some nice soft blankets, and if you want, I'll read you your favorite book until you fall asleep. How does that sound?"

He smiled gently, shadowy skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes at the movement, as he moved his other hand to gently wipe at the tears on your other cheek, eventually settling into cupping your face between his hands gently, leaning in for a brief moment to place a quick but tender kiss on your forehead. "Or I can kill them for you," he joked, "but I doubt you actually want that, haha." His eyes glanced to the side and down, the smile fading slightly. "It does make me upset to know you were treated that way, though. I wish I could do more for you, darling. I hope this is enough..."

He trailed off as he curled himself around you a bit more, holding you close and burying his face in your hair, sighing softly as he carefully walked the two of you over to the couch, gently scooping you sideways into his lap for cuddles and flicking a fuzzy blanket around your shoulders. "Just... please know, that you are always loved. I'll be here for you, as long as you want me by your side."

[envyq00]

You have no idea how much I love your version of Narrator 💖

(art by @/pnf427 on Twitter and Tumblr?)

Sorry for how late this is 😭😭

But God, I am so with you on that.

He’s my precious babygirl. Very much a bitch but also very sweet in his own way. Honestly, I definitely think he’s very representative of parts of me as a creative person. Very specifically, my perfectionism and sense of pride I think?

Like, it’s at this point where I definitely think of my Narrator as an OC more than just a fun human design for the Narrator. I have so many headcanons and ideas about him and his personality. He’s just still living rent free in my brain as a really fun and engaging character. Him and 432 of course.

[acroagoraphobe]

What Makes a Man a Monster.

Chapter 2: Normal To The Human Eye?

(Gonna do a much longer chapter this time. Enjoy this trainwreck!!)

After an estimated few hours, Sixer stirred once again after rolling roughly down the hill from the Goodsprings Cemetery so... Unceremoniously. It was genuinely pathetic for a being of his status of omnipotence. He picked his ass up and stumbled towards a nearby saloon, dragging his still blood soaked boots as he walked. He didn't have time to read the sign or look back at the people giving him horrified looks of a man seemingly walking off being shot twice in the head. Everyone heard the gunshots in the night, but no one bothered to check what it was, so they didn't have to risk their own asses.

This was absolutely not the average day for the various folks in the bar, seeing a man with two gaping holes drilling through his head, saunter on in like it was just his average day. Hell, looking only slightly annoyed even. It was genuinely difficult to tell due to all the blood and bits of brain splattered across his face. No one even dared to approach Sixer as he sat down in a booth, fearing they'd seen death himself. But before you could blink.. he looked fine again, Although the blood still made his shirt stick to him and yes it's as uncomfortable as ever.

Blood dripped down his face and onto his neck, Making his clothes more ruined than they already were. Covered in dirt, muck and.. By the Lord whatever the hell else. That ratty old tank top he wore stuck to his skin and was honestly more of an inconvenience to him than the gunshot wounds in his head. The dusty old floorboards creaked beneath his boots, their dry, dead appearance getting dotted with bloody dust... or dusty blood. Because there's obviously a difference between the two.. Totally. But either way, Sixer was a fucking mess. Dirty, bloody, and dusty, walking into a bar.

The seat creaked beneath him as he sat down in the old booth in the dark corner of the bar, Sixer began to asses his situation. His bag was gone, his gun was gone, And worst of all, his damn dignity was gone. Not like he really had it in the first place, but still.

Soon enough one of the folks in the bar grew interested in this man, Sitting down in the booth across him. A woman with a dog that followed around at her ankles despite it's size and that It could very easily trip her. "What the hell happened to a newcomer like you all the way out here?" Her voice questioned Sixer, Who had to pretend he didn't already know her name. Sunny Smiles. He had to wait and be polite for her to actually introduce herself. Ah, the akwardness of omnipotence is.. greatly annoying. She looked so upbeat despite seeing a man covered in his own blood and chunks of brain.

[ Lot's of reasons I'm out here, none of them I can really explain. ]

And they did. They always did, so predictable.

Sixer uttered, with a voice unknown to him, but well known to everyone around him. Sunny looked slightly suspicious but kept that same smile on her face. It was damn annoying how nice she was, at least to Sixer. But a lot of people were annoying.. People are very simple minded creatures. All he had to do was wait for the usual "You better not cause any trouble then." words to come out of Sunny's mouth. It's always what people said when he came around like this.

[Not planning on it, I just want to get a drink then hike my ass outta here.]

"Well, Let's hope you don't cause any trouble around here. We're a peaceful little town here." Sunny Smiles said with caution, her dog looked a lot less trustful of Sixer. Well.. more like it wanted to maul him. Dogs hated him.

Sixer responded to her statement, before he remembered his lack of caps.. or anything to his name.

[Or not, Forgot I have.. No caps whatsoever.]

Sixer muttered under his breath as he shifted in his seat. blood continued to drip down onto his clothing, but it was from his nose, not his head.

"Well, since you seem to be pretty down on your luck here.. I can get you a drink this once. Since youre new here." She smiled, standing up and talking to the woman tending the bar. Sixer knew her name too, but it wasn't exactly relevant. Sunny placed down a few caps at the counter and came back with a beer in hand, setting it on the table Sixer was sat at.

[Thanks, I'll be out of your hair soon, Don't worry.]

Sixer took a swig of the beer and took a deep breath. He had no idea where to go.

[lowqualitygarbage]

The first time they came upon the radio station, a rad storm swept in on their heels, forcing them to shelter in place with Alastor, who was a little more...eccentric in person than Charlie had been expecting. Despite the many plants and skeletal remains decorating the station, it was cleaner than the Vault she had grown up in, thanks to the petite woman who was apparently an associate of sorts to the host. Nifty spent most of their time sheltering from the storm sprinting from room to room dusting, sweeping, and violently dispatching any vermin that had managed to find their way in. 

Two days in, Charlie and Vaggie were startled by a knock from outside, despite her geiger counter still going haywire any time Charlie wandered too close to one of the shuttered windows. Nifty had gulped a RadX and unbolted the door with a startling lack of hesitation. Charlie had never seen a ghoul in person before, and tried not to stare as the man begrudgingly handed over his battered ushanka and overcoat to the maid for decontamination. Husk was another “associate” of Alastor’s (and this time she did pick up on how snidely he stressed the word), and was decidedly less than pleased to be called back to the station to meet them. 

As Alastor explained over dinner (which Husk ignored in favor of hard liquor straight from the bottle), there was no way Charlie could establish a functional settlement of any sort with just Vaggie to help maintain it. Therefore, he was graciously volunteering two of his people to help them out. Once the storm blew over and the ambient radiation decreased to safe levels again, the new group of five set out into the Wasteland once more.

Finally bringing in my favorite Fallout race to this AU. Husk just screamed ghoul to me when thinking about the characters. Grumpy old man sick of life but resigned to it, accumulating languages, sage advice, and dirty tricks over the centuries since the world collapsed. And if Raul got to keep his mustache, Husk can have a scraggly remainder of a goatee as a treat.

All of Nifty’s knives get a damage bonus against radroaches, and she 100% has the Black Widow perk. I might make stat/character sheets for the crew once I finish introducing everyone?

[cynosurus]

No? This just CAN'T be the cover they choose to represent The Well of Loneliness.

[alibonbonn]

Wanna draw a Thetis and Achilles comic so bad but then I'll have to write first uaah eugh ouf ow ow ow

Idk I'm just really self conscious about the way I tell stories? Am I making sense an I over explaining?? please how do I elaborate on vibes without making it worse 💀

[bbnibini]

When will I ever get a new UR in the free pull? Yes this is a callout post to YOU 🫵 UR Believer Barbatos card 😤

[dragonheart-of-fire]

“Catch me, Daddy!” The little girl squealed as she jumped out of a tree. Her father, chuckling, does so easily, wrapping her up in his arms.

“Got you, my little junebug.” A teasing kiss and scrape of whiskers against the girl’s soft cheek sends her into riotous giggling as she shrieks at the attention.

“Dinner’s ready, Tom!” The call comes from the cottage a little ways away, where a woman stands outside, hands cupped around her mouth to help the message travel. The woman– obviously the young girl’s mother– waves to her family before bustling back inside to bestow the finishing touches on the prepared dinner. Both the man, Tom, and the little girl wave back to the woman before slowly making their way towards the charming, if slightly rundown cottage at the edge of the grassy field.

Tom turns his daughter in his arms and asks her, not worriedly or seriously but a strange, third emotion instead: “You know I’ll always catch you right, June?”

June looks up at her father still smiling, yet also slightly confused and says, “Of course, Daddy.”

“Good,” Tom mutters softly, before seeming to recall the young girl in his arms. He brightens immediately and says, “Up for a race, Junebug?” She nods, excited and full of energy at the thought. “First one to reach Mama and give her a hug gets an extra helping of dessert, ok?” She nods and he sets her down in the grass.

“Ready? Three, two, o– Hey! Get back here you little cheat!” June took off for the cottage before her father had finished counting, racing through the grass, wind at her heels. Her father, not expecting it but choosing to allow it, gives chase– which of course, makes the little girl laugh and squeal even harder.

The cottage door bangs open a moment or two later, and the woman looks up from her task to see her daughter and husband rushing right at her. June reaches her first and hugs her so tightly that the woman nearly falls; luckily for her, her dashing husband gently wraps an arm around her waist and helps her straighten. The family stands there, embracing each other, for a perfect, glowing moment and then break apart, all teasing smiles and jokes before sitting down for supper together, happy and content in all ways.

~~~~~

Stunned, I am thrust out of the memory and back into the present moment, which is decidedly less pleasant. My eyes meet the stranger’s in front of me, for surely I have never known the man standing in front of me. The entire time he courted me, not a single whisper of anything of this betrayal; maybe I am the naive fool for not seeing it, for believing him when he told me he loved me, for actually falling in love with him.

What I do regret, however, is the fact that his heart was so twisted by hatred over an imagined slight that I have to suffer now because of it. My stomach hurts more than my heart does, although that’s likely due to the fact that his sword is still shoved through my stomach– the sword that was meant for my father.

My mother– my wonderful, courageous mother– already lays dead beside my father, an elaborate dagger’s hilt protruding from her chest– from her heart. I had been seated a table away from them, the rest of the guests fleeing as the chaos broke out, and I watched as my father wrapped her in his arms, lovingly pushing strands of her glossy hair back from her face, even as tears streamed down his face and he let out a bellow– for truly a bellow is the best way to describe the sound– full of pain and anguish and heartbreak for his wife’s death.

My father, lost in his grief, did not see the approaching assailant or the weapon he held. But I did.

So as Jacob, my Jacob, lunged forward with his sword, ready to run my father through and reunite him with Mother in the Afterlife, I threw myself between them.

I wish I could say that I knew what my motives were, but in the heat of the moment, I only knew one thing: Not him too.

I knew I would not– could not live if both my mother and father were taken from me like this, but I also held out that foolish, inane hope that this was still a mistake, that Jacob truly loved me and that for my sake, he might still his blade before things became even worse.

But in that split second where Time slowed her hand, Jacob’s eyes met mine and I saw the conscious decision in his eyes to finish the strike, no matter that I was now in the way of his intended target– me, his fiancee and soon-to-be wife.

Jacob’s eyes are filled with horror towards me, but no regret or pain. That fact alone tells me that I was naive, to think that his declarations of love actually meant anything. He never loved me; truly the only thing he loved was both the pain and the exhilaration that accompanies the act of betrayal.

It’s a shocking thing to find that my heart quickly cooled with the rest of me, until it was nothing more than a husk of ice, despite the fact that I had loved him so fiercely. No matter what he was to me, he did all of this to hurt– no, to kill my father, both in spirit and body– and I cannot let that stand. I am a Greyfeather, and us Greyfeathers do not let such treachery go unpunished.

Pressing my hand to my ever-worsening wound, I quickly reach out, almost as if I mean to caress him as a lover would, as I would have done before today. But I am his lover no longer. And so, before he can stop me, I draw a symbol on his cheek, sloppy and dripping blood onto his shirt, but it’s unmistakable: Kin Slayer. There is no wiping it off, no hiding it; he will live the rest of his life branded by his deeds today, even if I do not live to see it.

Jacob’s hand goes to his cheek as he lurches back, and as his eyes flash and meet mine, an understanding passes between us: namely that I have ruined his life as he has ruined mine and there is nothing he can do now to change it. Anger flares in those blue eyes, once reminiscent of summer, but now remind me of the coldest, most frozen ice imaginable, and he turns from me, stalking out the door and leaving me behind. But he has also left my father behind, unharmed and very much alive.

I know that as he turns his back on me, Death is the better choice between the two of them, for a life with Jacob I can now see, would not have been much of a life after all.

So it is to Death that I go now, and I am not afraid to greet him. For Death is not a simple collector of souls; well, he is that but he is also the Sword of Justice– never has a slight gone unpunished during his reign, and this shall not either. Jacob is now on Death’s List, a place no man wants to be for the List guarantees a gruesome, horrible death to pay for the man’s sins. I take comfort in this thought, this gentle yet unwavering promise from a deity that I hope decides to make Jacob suffer for this unspeakable betrayal, even as the smug satisfaction I initially felt has finally given way to that inevitable winter’s frost creeping and crawling the length of my body, from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. As the spots in my vision give way to the embracing darkness, I manage to whisper one last thing before my legs and consciousness give way: “Catch me, Daddy.”

[chemiicalformula]

Something Something Character Study, Dr. Henry Jekyll, I'm 50 and This is Deep

Does this make any sense at all? I just thought it sounded cool when I wrote it a few months ago with him in mind.

It's mostly about how he might have felt near the end. Possible regrets.

[ookaookaooka]

i don't think theres anything wrong with snarky dialogue when it's done right. like, if it's balanced out by other more serious aspects of the characters it's funny. it's when it becomes the characters' whole personalities is when it becomes grating

[bunnyfrail]

I narrated the blurb for my story ‘Who has Worth?’ posted on here and on Wattpad! I hope to find at least one reader 🧡

[will-you-pick-me]

Narrator Comfort (Blurb)

"Hey, what's wrong? Are... Are you crying?"

He stands in the doorway, as the rain you'd hoped would muffle your sniffles pattered against your window. You're not used to seeing him so worried, that little line in his brow furrowing more as he sees the tearstains down your cheeks when you look at him. You open your mouth to tell him you're fine, but cuts you off - firm, but gentle.

"No. Please, don't lie to me. I care about you - I want to take care of you. Let me do that for you, please?"

You sniffle more as the words cause fresh tears to slip down, and he picks up a tissue box off the nightstand as he moves towards you, setting it gently in your lap so as to bring the blankets further up around your shoulders, snugly.

"It's ok. I'm here. I'll always be here. You don't have to be afraid anymore, ok? I'm not going to leave you. I promise."

Try as you might, you cry harder, leaning into his shoulder as his arm comes up to support your back, just under your shoulder blades, his thumb rubbing your arm in small circles.

"... You don't have to talk. It's ok. I'll be with you, no matter what... Until you're ok again. We have all the time in the world, ok? So...

I'll be with you. Until the end."

[envyq00]

I find myself thinking about the narrator’s voice. How sexy it is. And as a portal fan my brain circles back to GLaDOS and her voice.

💡 The narrator would do well in her role, I think.

Ok so I’ve been meaning to answer this question for a while with a sketch I already had of my Narrator and GLaDOS designs but my design for the Narrator in said sketch was outdated so I redrew it entirely. They do be judging you./lh

No but it’s so funny cuz like the Narrator’s voice definitely has moments that gets me like 👀👀😳😳.

But then it’s also immediately undercut by the fact that he also has so many moments where he’s just a huge doofus or so pathetic with all the composure of a wet cat.

That’s kind of why when I first encountered The Stanley Parable, it definitely gave me a lot of Portal vibes, with the quirky and witty writing and the Narrator himself with his similarities to GLaDOS. But I think the Narrator gave me more Wheatley vibes than GLaDOS, especially in Ultra Deluxe where he definitely felt more like a companion than a possible adversary. (And also of course, British).

GLaDOS , on the other hand, always gives me narcissistic sassy aunt vibes who talks shit about everyone else all the time /ref. Just perpetually angy and passive aggressive.

Also, honestly, GLaDOS’ voice was probably my first conscious experience with ASMR (actually there’s a couple before that but it’s irrelevant rn). Her voice in Portal 2 was especially brain ticking. I actually used to go to sleep with Portal 2 gameplay on YT for a while cuz her voice was oddly soothing.

But yeah anyway… XDD

[p0orbaby]

A little leha blurb of her being sleepy and clingy maybe:)

-

You wake up to something heavy draped across your chest. It’s Leah. She’s sprawled out like a starfish that got lost, like she miscalculated the size of the bed she shares with you. One arm slung over your face, hair in your mouth. You spit it out. The digital clock reads 6:48. Too early. Too much. You try to move, to gently shift her off you, but she makes a noise. The kind of noise that says, “Don’t even think about it.” You pause, thinking, ‘What now?’

You’ve been together long enough to know that Leah’s clinginess is a morning hazard. She’s like a heat-seeking missile of affection before she’s properly awake. It’s almost sweet, if it weren’t for the fact that you can’t breathe because her entire body weight is pressing down on your lungs like a weighted blanket you never asked for.

“Leah,” you say, voice muffled by her shoulder. She doesn’t respond. Or she does, technically, but it’s just a deeper snore that sounds vaguely like a question. You tap her arm. “Leah,” louder this time. A groan. Still no movement. Fantastic.

You wriggle out from under her, trying to make as little noise as possible. You’re 60% successful. She stirs slightly but resettles, face buried in the pillow now, her hand still blindly reaching for you. Like a zombie in a horror film, except this zombie wants a cuddle. You give in. You always give in. You shift closer, letting her arm loop around your waist, her hand resting on your hip like it’s found its home. Your attempts to escape were pointless, as usual. She’s always stronger than she looks.

You stare at the ceiling. It’s white. Boring. Probably needs painting. You’d said that to Leah last week—"We should repaint the ceiling, it’s cracking in the corner"—but she was more concerned with the fact you were looking at the ceiling instead of paying attention to the game she was excitedly rewatching. She tends to rewatch her own matches like it’s a post-mortem, narrating the decisions she made, but you already know how they end. You smile to yourself, remembering her complaining about her own footwork. As if her standards weren’t impossibly high already.

“I can feel you smiling,” she mutters into the pillow.

You jolt. “You’re awake?”

“Barely.” Her eyes are still closed, but now her fingers are idly tracing shapes on your hip. A lazy smile stretches across her face. “Why’re you awake?”

“You were suffocating me”

She lifts her head, barely, one eye open in a squint. “Liar. You love it”

“Do I?”

“You do”

Her head plops back down, face squished into the pillow again. She mumbles something unintelligible. You don’t need to understand it. You already know it’s some excuse for why she refuses to let you leave the bed. It always is. Like yesterday, when she said, “We’ve got nothing to do,” fully aware you had laundry piling up, dishes in the sink, emails to answer. You stayed in bed anyway.

“You’re so clingy,” you say, but there’s no edge to it.

“Only for you,” she replies, voice muffled and half-asleep, and you realise, for the thousandth time, she’s right.

[strawburry01]

Her Majesty

Ford Pines x Reader

Summary: A bunch of lil blurbs about your time with Stanford. All fluffy sweet stuff to make up for whatever comes next.

A/N: thanks for all the love guys! I hope you all appreciate these little snippets to make up for me missing sometimes :)

The next time you and Ford walked into Greasy’s Diner, you were holding hands. Everyone was nudging each other’s shoulders to look. They’d been waiting on this moment for a while, silently betting and gossiping on what your relationship was. The sweet waitress Susan paid for your brunch after insisting making the pancakes in the shape of a heart which caused Ford’s face to redden.

Your VCR tape library continued to grow as did Ford’s notebook collection. He kept saying he would build another real house for you both eventually that could fit everything you both needed.

You wrote back to your sister about how you were finally dating a guy and she responded back with endless phone calls until you eventually answered. She didn’t believe you until you put Ford on the phone to prove he existed.

On your first-year of dating anniversary Ford got you a new camcorder. The newest the town’s Radio Shack had at least. You got him a new Casio watch. One with the little calculator on it.

Many nights were spent with you having fallen asleep on top of Ford as he was reading a book. He didn’t dare move you.

You brought home a cat one day you found in the forest. “We need a pet” you insisted. Ford quickly informed you that it was a baby cougar.

Ford eventually told his brother Stan that you two were dating. He never told you how Stan responded, but he didn’t know you overheard him on the phone saying, “I can’t believe she’s with someone like me,”.

You and Ford always had strained relationships with your parents so you never felt a strong urge to introduce each other to them. When your grandma passed away though he flew back to the east coast with you to attend the funeral. He teased you about the science fair and soccer trophies in your childhood room when you two spent the night there.

On your third year anniversary you two went into the larger Oregon city of Portland for the night and went to an expensive dinner. Afterwards you two went to a midnight showing of 2001: A Space Odyssey.

You both mentally kept track of the overall wins and losses of your daily chess games.

He preferred coffee, you preferred tea.

Whenever Ford would put on one of his nature or paranormal documentaries you’d always wrap yourself around his arm and fall asleep immediately. The European narrators just lulled you straight to sleep.

Ford nearly tore your ear off when your earrings got stuck to his magnet-ray. He apologized profusely and bought you new earrings to make up for ruining yours.

You insisted on going out to the town fair and got him dancing with you when the band starting playing on the last night. You were both buzzed off of beer and cider and couldn’t stop laughing and bouncing into each other.

Everyone in town knew you as the two scientists outside of town, and everyone knew how much you two loved each other.

You both said ‘I love you’ for the first time when star gazing

Hope you enjoyed! Think of this as part 2.5 I guess? Whatever is next is gonna hurt the feelings I’m sorry but I can’t help it heeheehhehehe.

Update: here it is

[firewalkzwit]

chemical world || simon / john q. x reader (dinner in america)

just a blurb because im up the ass with school and the one-shot i wrote was rubbish sorry. "x reader" might be a stretch its just hqs and stuff i think of simon with song sneaks in the middle coz when do i not

Chemical World - Blur

Simon of extreme hedonistic beliefs above all prioritises nothing other than pleasure, and takes pride in the aesthetic disruption this signifies. Having a shower around won't be enough to pinch his personal hygiene urges, even if it is for the sake of others. He'll bathe if he can and if he wants to.

This obviously extends to his deliberately controversial haircut. It amuses him to watch the discomfort and confusion it creates in those who see him. It's neither a mullet nor a mohawk (matter of fact, he despises either of the groups who wear such hairstyles), but rather his own third thing.

Obviously he's slightly taken aback when you fancy him for it. Not that it has ever prevented him from getting laid (he would have eventually buzzed it if it did), but the occasional compliments and caresses on his greasy hair from your tender hands never fail to remind him that he too is just a mere mortal beneath things like female affection.

Saints - The Breeders

He praises womanhood just as much as he teases it. There is an adolescent air in the way he speaks derogatorily about your mother, or even when he gets turned on out of insulting you in bed. Still, slurs that come and go only wind up humiliating him when he kneels before you, eyes wide open and hungry.

He's very versatile in that department, he'll take any place in bed as long you ask. Nothing is more arousing than your gratitude. He won't be picky about how you express it, but he has favourites; the scratching of nails in a useless attempt of grabbing the wall makes him feel like he really did his job well.

I Am the Resurrection - The Stone Roses

Not having to be functional to work timings or tedious 9 to 5-s allows Simon to have an ample disposition to, what he calls, "fuck around" any day, anytime. Although he resents the fact that you occasionally choose your adult responsibilities above him, he'll hardly hold you to it for too long. Instead, decompression is highly recreational and experimental. A wide range of psychedelics, psychotropics, psycholeptics... all to be found in some dubious corner of his backpack.

Frankly, open-mindedness is one of the few must-have traits to date him. He wont tolerate uptight or rigorous personalities. This does not imply that it was ever a requirement for you to be an avid drug consumer, but he'll take no reprimands if he chooses to pop a Percocet.

Simon's open-mindedness policy is fairly restricted when it comes to music. Not that he only listens to one genre, as his enthusiasm for punk has inevitably derived in enjoying all of those that influenced or derivate from it, but he believes most are acquired tastes. Sonic Youth, Dinosaur Jr., Melvins and Fugazi sit around in his record collection.

He loves it when you ask about his records, and far from judging you if you ever don't know, he'll sit down on the floor with his back rested against the bed and his records in hand. Encyclopedic narrations of the socio-cultural context of the origin of most of his favourite bands could be biography-worth if it weren't for all the "fuck"s between them.

"Fuckin' Christ, Pink Flag? That fuckin' invented post-punk. Would I care for that shit if it didn't? Probably not, but because of fuckin' Wire now I have to give a fuck about these snobby fucks from Bauhaus and the idiots in PiL."

Strange - Galaxie 500

The record player in your room is mostly crowded around by his own collection, which was homeless up until recently. There's many things Simon likes about you, but taking in his records was to him what to others is a ring on their finger.

In a relationship with someone who thinks music is sacred, you cannot miss his gigs, they are mass. He loves to parade you around backstage to his bandmates and sing to you when they play, loves that you take your friends with you; so they can see you seeing him. Nothing makes him feel more desired than spotting you in the crowd mouthing his lyrics.

Post-shows getting wrecked in a local bar until they kick you out is his favourite thing to do, but he'll take backseat sex if he sees you're in the mood for it, subtly letting everyone know as he guides you holding you by the wrist. On colder seasons, the night dew will curtain the windows of the pick-up truck he borrows just in hopes that you'll give him the special look, inviting him for a quickie before heading home letting you pick the radio station.

Just Like Honey - The Jesus and Mary Chain