#the song is velvet ring by big thief

[bernard-the-rabbit]

My guilt will not purify me

[sugarcubeindulgent]

Hello! I absolutely adore your writing and was wondering if you could do a Bill x reader first kiss? Preferably fluff? Thx!

velvet ring | bill dickey x genderless!reader

synopsis. after an incident with your parents, you're sitting alone at a park when bill shows up.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ contents. implied abuse. blood mention. fluff. established relationship. homophobic language.

a/n: thank you for the request, anon!

Nipping at your skin exposed, the air is cold with the Fall season officially drifting into the Winter season. Everything smells like rain and beneath your ass you feel the dew of the grass and wetness of the roots of the tree you sit under soaking through your bottoms. But you don’t really care as your eyes stare up at the gaps through the branches to the sky that’s darkening an already gloomy atmosphere. There’s a hot pain through your nose that you’re unable to be distracted from, not even the music drifting through your earbuds from the portable CD player on your lap. The wet atmosphere has the blood staining your mouth and chin not yet dry, when you reach up and wipe at the itchy feeling you wince while blood smears on the back of your hand and across your cheek.

Slightly puffy eyes open and just as you ponder what you’ll do for the night when it comes, your eyes widen and you sit up. Bill’s eyes widen behind his glasses when he takes in the sight of your face. Bill. He’s standing in front of you with his crossbody bag on and a sweater over his usual blazer and geeky shirt. Swallowing hard, you quickly tug out your earbuds in time to hear him mutter a soft “shit…”. Ignoring it, you shake your head with confusion rattling around in your brain as he walks over to you.

“What are you doing here?”,you ask as he sits down beside you, grimacing a bit when the water soaks through his khaki pants no doubt.

Bill looks at you with a deep frown, looking at you like you’re stupid. But when his eyes look at the blood on your face and glassiness in your eyes, he looks away and shakes his head while opening his crossbody bag. “You called me earlier, remember?” You do. But you told him never mind when you could hear him with the other guys, all of them arguing because you hadn’t shown up to the campaign. Bill yelled at you too. His greenish-brown eyes flicker along your face, then he shakes his head and tugs out a crumpled pack of tissues to hold out to you. “You said “never mind it’s stupid”, I know what that means by now.”

Your eyes begin to sting again. Furrowing your eyebrows a bit as the thickness begins to swell in your throat, you take the tissues and begin to clean your face while you look away. A warm feeling spreads through your chest under Bill’s odd lack of selfishness and overall asshole-ness. “I’m sorry I didn’t show up for the campaign.”,you apologize with a shake of your head while the music is a bit distant, bleeding through your cheap earbuds.

“Yeah you really fucked us. But whatever, we all blamed Jerry anyway.”,remarks Bill. His voice is still harsh.

Maybe it’s weird but you only really like being around Bill during these moments. The other members seem to pity-fuck you, treat you with kid gloves until the injuries aren’t visible. Bill’s uncomfortable, you always know it but he’s never pitying you. He’s just himself. Usually so annoying and irritating, it’s so welcomed when you’re still reeling from being beaten like you’re a grown adult. Laughing a bit as bloody tissues gather beside you, you shake your head and look to Bill who’s already watching you with a bit of redness at the tip of his nose and on his cheeks.

“You guys need to stop fucking with Jerry so much. He might turn on all of us and kill us one day.”,then you pause,”Or just kill you guys.”

Bill snorts and he shakes his head. “It’s irritating how nice you are to him. He’s a pussy.”

“Because he doesn’t get into fist fights with Josh every fucking meeting.”,you tilt your head with a small smile at Bill,”You’re lucky I’m nice to you at all.” And Bill’s frown falters a bit, he blinks and he looks along your features with parted lips before he exhales something between a scoff and chuckle. You wet your lips, the air between you two suddenly feels a little weird but you don’t necessarily mind it, it makes your palms tingle a bit. “Why did you come, Bill?” The question leaves your lips too quickly, you can’t pull it back as the final bloody tissue is set onto the small crumpled pile.

He stiffens a bit, he looks down at the bloody pile of tissues then he looks at your CD player. Finally he meets your eyes and his eyebrows furrow. He almost looks angry, then again he always does but this expression is something that you’ve seen a few times. Usually when you’re being nice to him and he’s trying to not bite your hand like some dumb, scared dog. For a moment you think he’s going to bite, snap at you, and be a jackass like he so often is and you so often have to look past. Then he exhales deeply and snatches the tissues from your hand.

“When I was sick for that week you brought me my homework.”,he begins as he pulls out a tissue and leans forward. His hand begins to clean the blood off of your face that you must’ve missed. Your eyebrows furrow, he’s heavy-handed and it hurts a bit but you’re a bit too stunned to stop him or tell him to relax. “You were the only one who came to see me…updating me about the campaign and bringing me fucking soup and–I–” Bill inhales in frustration and he slowly lowers his hand while looking from your bloody nose to your eyes with his own eyes darting behind his frames. “You’re always so…*nice*.”

The word leaves his lips in disgust.

Bill shakes his head and he huffs in frustration, his hands are shaking in balled up fists on his lap now as his expression screws in anger. “I mean I ended up getting you sick and I only yelled at you for fucking up the campaign. You check on me first whenever fatso starts a fight, you–you defend me when I–fuck you’re just so fucking nice but your life is so fucked up and my life wasn’t – I–” You’re blinking in surprise, he seems to be rambling and pouring words that must’ve been lodged somewhere in him for a while now. Those feelings you’ve been ignoring begin to claw up from the dirt in you as you eye him. “I don’t know why I came.”,he finally answers what you asked,”Now I just sound like a fucking girl. Like some faggot.”

There’s a long silence. You lean closer towards him. “Bill?” Bill swallows hard before he turns and looks at you. You look at his lips, a small scar through the upper lip then you lean in and kiss him. It’s not a big kiss, it isn’t a kiss like the one you’ve wanted to give him for a long time for some fucking reason. It’s just a kiss where your lips press to his. You hear him gasp, but then he leans in and his lips press to yours. Your entire chest blooms with warmth and your stomach tingles when you hear him almost whimper.

Pulling away, you only separate enough to not be kissing anymore. Your eyes look along his features and you notice how red his face is, his eyes are the softest you’ve seen them and he’s breathing a bit heavily. Blinking, you pull your lips between your teeth and you stifle a snicker which makes that familiar angry expression return to his face. “You’re so re–” And then he shoves the side of your face to push you hard with a grunt.

“You kissed me! Out of nowhere I–my body is–it’s just a biological–fuck!”,he swears, unable to even finish a sentence without his voice cracking. You’re laughing, rubbing the side of your face while you turn and look at him. He’s put some distance between you two. Bill huffs in annoyance, looking down before he looks at you and he shakes his head. “I–Why did you–” He swallows hard and clears his throat when his voice cracks.

You look along his features, smile falling a bit and you shake your head with a bit of a sheepish smile. “Just felt right.” You nod. “It was my first kiss, was it bad?”

“How would I kn–” Bill blinks, his face seems to go brighter and he looks away angrily. It was his first too. Then again, that doesn’t surprise you. “It wasn’t the worst.” You smile a bit at his form of compliment, then he shakes his head and keeps his face away from you. “But don’t do it again. That’s gross.”

You see how red his ears are, how he’s shifting and holding his bag over his crotch. Your face gets warm and you force a small laugh.

“Okay, I won’t.” Then you look at Bill and down to your CD player. With a deep inhale, the atmosphere charged and buzzing, you hold out an earbud once you elbow him. The chestnut-haired boy looks from your earbud to you and he frowns, you roll your eyes. “I know you hate music like a freak, but just – do you want to?” Bill looks at your lips, his eyebrows twitch and he snatches the earbud.

Shoulder to shoulder, you place the earbud in before you press play. Your lips tingling and the pain in your face gone. When Bill speaks again, as if he's pulling his teeth out, you don't look at him.

"We can go back to my house when-when you're ready." He then scoffs. "Your music taste is shit."

[apatheticrater]

“Love is a gentle thing”

Patrick Zweig x maximalist reader/style

I meant to get all of these out on the same day but yesterday was so hectic that I couldn’t. Tashi is coming next!!

[maximoffsgirl]

shup up I just learned how to play velvet ring 😢😭

[s0ng-of-the-day]

Todays song of the day is:

Velvet Ring by Big Thief

“The way she always said ‘what’s done is done.’”

[urstrulynoctis]

song rec of the day

[genekies]

I've had this on repeat all morning, good crying song fr

[rorylovesangst]

A Burning Hill

construction worker/underground fighter simon riley x

waitress

mood board

song of the chapter is Velvet Ring by Big Thief

tws: physical/emotional abuse, sexual harassment, self harm/suicidal thoughts, trauma/ PTSD

previous chapter → chapter 5 -> next chapter

word count: 2.7k

The next two days are spent watching random TV shows and eating the random soups Simon cooks up and taking sluggish walks up and down your street, bundled up in a hat, gloves, and jacket Simon made you put on before you go. He insisted that getting outside would help, even though it's hardly 35 degrees. “You need to get outside,” he insisted, standing in your doorway with his arms crossed and a wool beanie tugged low over his ears. “Fresh air’ll do you good.”

“It’s barely above freezing,” you’d protested, sinking deeper into the cocoon of your blanket on the futon.

“Good for the immune system,” Simon said, deadpan, as he tossed your gloves onto the armrest beside you. “Hat. Gloves. Jacket. Let’s go. You’re not stayin’ cooped up like this.” Next thing you know, he was herding you out the door like a sheep, your protests muffled by the scarf he wrapped snugly around your neck.

 So, as he whips up some more soup and toast, you pace up and down the street twiddling your thumbs until you hear him beckoning you back inside. “Soup’s ready. Come in before you turn into an icicle.”

Back inside, the aroma of simmering soup and freshly toasted bread filled the air. You sat at your small, slightly wobbly table, a steaming bowl in front of you. Simon pulled out the chair across from you but never took a seat; instead, he leaned against the counter, arms folded, sipping tea from one of your mismatched mugs.

“Not hungry?” you asked, gesturing to the untouched pot on the stove.

“I’ll eat later,” he replied.

Simon doesn’t eat much while he’s here—you’ve noticed that. He focuses on making sure you’re eating instead, dishing out ladles of creamy broth or chunky stew, nudging the toast plate closer when it looks like you’re slowing down.

Conversation didn’t come easily. You didn’t feel up to it, and Simon never seemed to mind the quiet. He filled the space with odd little remarks—a fact about some bird he saw once, a sarcastic jab about your cluttered counter.

“Nice tapestry,” he said once, nodding at the woven fabric hanging crookedly on your wall. “Very… thrift store chic.”

“It was $2.50,” you replied dryly, between spoonfuls.

“Bargain.”

When he wasn’t orchestrating your meals or sending you out into the cold for what he called “revitalizing,” Simon kept busy. He cleaned your bandages with careful precision, his hands steady and warm as they worked. The first time, he winced as he crouched down beside you, and you caught the slightest hiss of pain under his breath.

“Are you okay?” you asked, craning your neck to look at him.

“Fine,” he replied quickly, but you noticed the way his knuckles looked bruised and raw, like he’d been punching something—or someone.

You gestured at his hand. “What happened there?”

“Work,” he said simply, pulling the gauze tight over your wound.

“What kind of work leaves you with knuckles like that?”

“The kind that pays.” He glanced up, catching your narrowed eyes. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

But you did. And it wasn’t just his knuckles. You caught the way he’d press his hand to his ribs when he thought you weren’t looking or the tightness in his jaw whenever he had to bend over. You didn’t push, though. It wasn’t your place, and besides, Simon was an immovable object when it came to talking about himself.

“You could’ve been a nurse,” you’d said, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

“Yeah, right. Imagine me in scrubs.”

You huffed a laugh, but the motion tugged at the burn, and Simon shook his head, muttering something about you being a nightmare patient.

This filled the gaps in what you can remember of that 4-day haze. The four S’s: Soup. Strolls. Sanitize. Simon.  

“Nice of you to show up,” Ronny sneered from behind the counter, a smile on his lips that makes your stomach curl into itself. You’d just walked in, jacket still slung over your shoulders that were already pinched tight.

“I was sick,” you go to explain yourself, but you’re cut off buy his scoff.

“Don’t give a fuck if you were dyin’, you answer my damn calls. Got it, peach?” He raises his eyebrows expectantly, not waiting for you to answer, before turning back to his office and slamming his door, a gust of wind blowing back in your face.  

The day crawls by, thick and sluggish, like wading through molasses. Alamort weights down your limbs, dragging you closer to the dead with every passing hour. When a silverware pair slips from your hands and clatters against the floor, Ronny is on you in an instant. His hand tangles in your hair, yanking you upright, making you squeak. His voice adust as he hissed against the shell of your ear. You keep your eyes anywhere but on him—on the grimy tiles, the peeling paint, the water stains seeping through the drop-ceiling. This only makes him angrier.

His thumb and forefinger clamp down on your cheeks, pressing deep enough to leave dimples against your lithe skin, shaking your head like a rag doll’s. The motion rattles more than just your skull; it sends tremors down your spine, sparking shame and fury in equal measure. You wonder, not for the first time, how no one notices.

But maybe they do. Maybe they’ve just decided it’s easier to pretend they don’t.

Tony must have some idea. The kitchen isn’t far from the office Ronny so often drags you into, and his voice has a way of carrying even when he tries to keep it contained. But Tony doesn’t say anything. None of them do. Not Olive, not the other girls whose names you can’t remember. Those girls, so fleeting they’re like whispers caught on the wind, here one moment and gone the next. Scooped up and whisked away to better things—or maybe just different ones.

You wish you had it that easy.

Your leash is tighter than theirs, short and choking, pulling taut every time Ronny drags you back toward him. You feel it constantly, the invisible leather, rubbing raw against your throat.

Even while you're crouched on a flipped-over milk crate in the stockroom, Olive rambling about some rude costumer, you can still feel Ronny's fingers dimpling your cheeks.

Worthless ditz.

Worthless, due to being spat in your face at least weekly during any minor mistake, has lost its meaning. It’s punch. So overused and washed out it’s almost laughable when Ronny attempts to reprimand you with it.

“You look like shit,” Olive says, interrupting your thoughts. Her mouth is full of bread and cheese, sliding the plate over to you while she speaks.

“Thanks,” you muttered, picking at the crust of the sandwich instead of eating it. Your stomach churned too much for food to feel like anything but a burden.

“I mean it,” she pressed, chewing on her half. “You’ve been off for, what? Four days? You’re not better yet?”

“I’m fine,” you reply, forcing a shrug.

Olive gives you a skeptical look, tearing off another bite from the grilled cheese you’re both sharing. “I told you Simon’s a good guy, didn’t I? Even if he doesn’t seem like it. So, how did it go anyway?”

You glance at the crust in your hand, pulling it apart bit by bit. “He didn’t need to come,” you say, the words quiet but resolute. “I would’ve handled it.”

“Sure you would’ve,” Olive says, smirking as she leans back slightly. “Simon said you were snappy as hell. Didn’t even want him there.”

“I wasn’t—” You stop yourself with a sharp sigh, shaking your head. “I just… I wanted to rest on my own. That’s it.”

“Right. And rest yourself into oblivion,” Olive says with a dramatic eye roll, taking another bite. “And let me guess, you didn’t say thank you, did you?”

You hesitate, shuffling through false memories. “I thanked him.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” she teases, grinning around her bite. “Well, you’re welcome for the cream, just so we’re clear.”

A reluctant smile pulls at your lips. “Thank you.”

“Good. And you’re welcome for this too.” She gestures with the half-eaten sandwich before tearing off another piece and passing it to you. “Next time, just tell me, alright? I had to send Simon since I couldn’t call off, but I could’ve been there, y’know?”

You chew on her words more than the sandwich, your stomach tying itself in a knot. “I know. I just didn’t…didn’t want to worry you.”  

Olive gives you a look that’s both soft and stern, her green eyes narrowing slightly. “Blue, you being you means I’m always gonna worry. That’s how this works.”

Her words settle warmly in your chest, even as you avoid her gaze and focus on the sandwich. You tear another piece but hesitate to eat it. Olive notices immediately, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. “You’re still not eating,” she says pointedly, nudging your arm with her elbow.

“I’ll eat,” you grumble, forcing a bite. The sandwich is dry as it crumbles against your tongue, but you manage.

Olive watches you with a raised brow, making sure you finish before leaning back with a satisfied nod. “Good. I wasn’t about to let you waste half of my lunch.” She didn’t press you further, instead leaning her head back against a shelf. Her brown curls caught the light, forming a kind of messy halo. “Hey, by the way. You doing anything Saturday night?”

You blinked at her, confused. “Why?”

“It’s Friendsgiving at my place. Just a small thing—me, Price, a couple of his work buddies. You should come. I already told Simon to swing by for a bit, so you won’t be totally out of place.”

You winced inwardly at the mention of a social gathering, though you couldn’t explain why.

“I don’t know…” you started.

“Don’t be like that,” she interrupted. “You’re coming. No excuses. Besides,” she added with a sly grin, “I don’t have any other friends, so you have to come. For me, at least. I’ve got Gaz and Soap showing up, too. Thought I’d finally introduce you properly.”

You groaned, rubbing your face with your hands. “Jesus, Olive. I’m bad enough at talking to you. You really think I can handle three more of you?”

She laughed, honeyed and dulcet, like the warmth of sun on your back. “Trust me, you’ll be fine. I’ll even make you a plate to take home if you survive.”

You smiled faintly despite yourself. The thought of her elysian little flat—lush dining room chairs, bergamot candles, hanging plants—felt like a foreign concept. But a small part of you was curious—curious enough to consider it.

“Guys,” Tony’s voice cut through the quiet of the storage room, his head appearing in the doorway like a jack-in-the-box. “You might wanna clear outta here. Ronny’s on one—don’t need him catching you two splitting a grilled cheese, y’know?”

Before either of you could reply, he was gone, vanishing as quickly as he’d appeared.

You sighed, grabbing the plate from the floor. “Did you invite him to Friendsgiving?”

“Yeah,” Olive replied, brushing crumbs from her lap. “But he said he’s got his kids this year. First time in a while. Wants to spend it with them.”

“Oh,” you said, surprised. “I didn’t know he had kids.”

“Yeah, four and seven. Two girls,” Olive said, her voice softening at the mention of them.

“He’s so old,” you teased, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Olive stopped mid-step as you both exited the room, giving you a look that was half incredulous, half amused. “Blue, he’s five years older than me.”

You shrugged innocently, barely holding back a grin. “I’m just kidding!”

The day drags, but you survive—barely. The bell over the door jingles one last time as the final customer leaves, and you begin wiping down tables while Olive sweeps the floor. The clink of glasses and the hum of the lights were your only companions as you scrubbed counters. Olive hummed some forgotten tune while sweeping the floor, the rhythm of her movements steady and grounding.

Ronny’s voice shattered the quiet. “Hey. You.”

Your spine stiffened, the rag freezing in your hand. His eyes locked onto yours like a predator— saccharine visions of tearing through the meat of your skin with pointy teeth and a bloody maw.

“Come here. Now.”

You cast a glance at Olive, who arched a brow but said nothing. Setting the rag down, you followed him into the cramped cage of his office, walking right into his territory.

The door shut behind you, and the air turned heavy, suffocating. You’re waiting for him to pounce. To strike.

“Take off for a week, and then sit around slackin’? Messin’ shit up?” He was backing you against his desk, only stopping once you were pressed against the chipping wood.

“I—I wasn’t sla—” you started, but he cut you off.

“The fuck you were, lazy skank.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Shut up.” His breath was hot against your head, towering over you with something resembling repugnance in his Tartarean eyes.

His hands were on your throat before you could process it, his grip tightening as he slammed you against his desk. His right hand braced against your nape as his left squeezed the column of your throat making you wheeze. Hot tears were already streaming down your cheek before you could recognize the feeling in your chest as panic. It quickly spread like wildfire. You were grabbing at his wrists frantically, crescent shaped holes littering his arms as you tried to pry him off.

“You think you can disrespect me?” he hissed, his face inches from yours. You let out a meek sound—a cry, maybe?—with all the air you had. It was no use. Black started to creep into the corners of your vision, and you were almost glad: Glad that maybe he’d put an end to your misery, glad that you’d get to stop seeing his wicked sneer as you clamped down harder. Which one you’d father prefer was a mystery to you.

Then, as suddenly as it began, he released you.

You stumbled onto your knees, choking on shallow breaths, your fingers clawing at your throat, desperate for anything thinner than air to rush in and soothe the ache. Weeping into the carpet, tears staining it a darker shade of tan.

“Get the fuck up,” he barked, his voice a cruel whip. You tried—you really did—but the oxygen hadn’t yet traveled back to your brain, and you floundered right into his desk with another choked sob. “Out! Get out!” He grabbed you by the shoulder and shoved you at the door. With your legs trembling beneath you, you escaped as quickly as you could with what strength you had.

Olive looked up when you reentered the dining area. Your efforts to swallow the sobs and catch your breath did nothing to hide the mess you were. She paused, broom in hand, her expression morphing into something soft and concerned.

The sight of that worry on her face made the pit in your stomach grow, swallowing up your bones and tissue.

“Blue—honey—oh no…oh no.” She quickly dropped the broom and pulled you into her arms. “What happened?”

The words jammed in your throat, thick and lumpy. You swallowed hard, trying to force them down without choking. “N-nothing. He was j-just...really me-mean.”

Her lips pressed lips against the top of your head, pulling you closer to her chest. “That man’s a nightmare,” she muttered. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded quickly, your voice cracking when you spoke. “I’m f-fine. Let’s just finish up.” You wiped your face with a trembling hand, and even as you did, the dampness was already seeping through your fingers.

Olive didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press further. She resumed sweeping, her movements slow and careful, as if testing the water before continuing. You turned back to the counter, your hands shaking as you scrubbed at spots that weren't even there, trying to make sense of the silence that stretched between you and the world.

Later, at home, the mirror told the truth. Through the cracks and the dust, the bruises on your neck flourished like flowers in May, purple and blue spreading against pale skin. You traced them with trembling fingers before you could notice the tears running down your cheeks and dripping onto your hands.

Your phone buzzed on the counter, breaking the silence. A text from Olive.

friendsgiving. don’t forget. saturday. pls be there

You hesitated, the words blurring before your eyes. Finally, you typed back:

i will.

The reply felt fragile, a candle’s flickering flame, but it was something.

In the quiet that followed, you leaned against the counter, staring at the message. Somewhere, beneath the weight of bruises and silence, a small hope burned. The violent desire for something new. But even a worm will turn.

[hatsukeii]

I think I'll be singing Velvet Ring on a microphone beaded with 'ex lovers' stickers and 'longing looks' beads. I've heard that Ushijima likes my music quite a bit~

too easy. the band you’ve joined is…

exes in my phone book / timeskip!ushijima wakatoshi x reader

genre(s): ex lovers to something?? something i guess?? pining, reminiscing, nostalgia fic tbh but ANGST ANGSTY ANGST WOO interpret the ending as you like because i kept it open for a reason

warning(s): slightly dysfunctional relationship dynamics kinda, lowkey suggestive at points, ushiwaka and reader were just young and stupid and in love but they couldn't seem to navigate it yknow, everything is also like somewhat/pretty ambiguous until the end but that's just how i like it

wc: ~1.7k

your first gig is… at a concert with your ex?!?!

setlist:

🎵velvet rings, big thief

🎵mayonaise, the smashing pumpkins

🎵black star, radiohead

There is a girl on a stage, who strums a pick through the strings of her acoustic guitar. A girl, whose lips hover just above the microphone that sits in a bracket, sighing into the cool metal for a final song. The people beside you have settled down, cheers and jumps reduced to swaying and mumbling.

You've been waiting for this song, haven't you?

The song strikes the ears first. The girl on stage, illuminated by a cone of light from above, sings of a night, thicker than a smoky fume. You mouth along to the lyrics, and your mind wanders to a place where your lungs are bloated, too full to carry anything more. A night beneath a buzzing streetlight, gravel that rolls and scrapes under the sweeping wind, ants that crawl onto the toecaps, under the soles, along the platforms of your unmoving shoes. A night of final breaths, and final words, and final sorrows. You're looking at the ground, your shadow muddied with the figure of another. You don't think he stares back at you. The ants keep crawling. They don't stop, even as you pivot away and leave your heart buried in the ground. The streetlight doesn't reach it again, but maybe it reaches his, still.

The faces around you hum along to a sequence, sway with the velvety strums of the girl's guitar, hold others tight against themselves. You stand alone amongst the crowd. You move when the rest of them will you to, only ever mouth to the lyrics, hold your hands close to your chest. You fear that your voice will give out if you try anything more.

"She's a beautiful performer, isn't she?"

The crowd does not shift their attention from the girl on the stage, so neither do you. She sings in gentle syllables of love, her heart pours out of her mouth. She longs for some fictitious persona, Ben, as her fingers play at the guitar like tugging the strings of a puppet. When you open your mouth, your heart is not there.

"She is. She really is." You respond to nothing but a sultry voice that finds its way into your ear canals.

The girl sings of a smoking gun, smoke that fizzles out from the barrel into night air, a bullet that falters at the end of its path to nothing in particular, a love that, for many nights before this, has begun to run dry. It's agonising, taunting, hopeful. It dies out in unanswered phone calls, drafted emails, text messages left unsent, collecting dust in a note-taking application. Words that ask a million questions.

Could we keep this going?

Is this really for the better?

Can't we try?

Why won't you just let me try?

"Why aren't you singing? It's the last song." The voice is anomalous amongst the crowd's united silence, his question stands out from those unsaid. He is too curious, yet for some selfish, twisted reason, you wish to indulge yourself. Wallow in sorrow. Take somebody else's beating heart to replace your own, that you buried beneath asphalt on a winter night of unasked questions turned two years of unspoken longing.

"For the same reason that you aren't, I'd assume." You silently hope he asks you for more.

The person huffs out a sigh, a short sigh that one lets out when they smile in defeat and surrender. He's close, his arm touching your own when he moves side to side with the crowd. His movement wills you to sway along. The girl on the stage sings of a gentle love, thick like a velvet ring. All encompassing, all powerful.

“Well, I once knew a person who loved this song.” He goes on. You stay silent, ears trained onto the words that paint golden silk and shimmering mist into the concert hall. A portrait of love that you have prayed to see once again, just out of grasp, but real enough to graze your fingers over. It sinks into your fingertips, takes you to a place where your hands could draw lines into tanned skin, hold onto a pair of strong arms, clasp together behind his broad shoulders. Beneath your feet, it travels to your ankles, wraps around your thighs, envelops you in a shroud of warmth. It comes in the form of his head laid in your lap after a long day, I love you mumbled into the flesh of your stomach in shaky sighs, calluses that roam every spot of skin on your body.

"Love really is a gentle thing, isn't it?" The lyrics are spoken out of your mouth naturally, like water running downstream in a creek. The person stays silent, you do the same. The girl's singing pierces through your ears to your throat, clawing at it as if to break it open and rescue something. He speaks before something can escape you.

"I haven't spoken to them since I left. Love is anything but gentle."

You wince, the girl's singing finally ripping through your windpipe. It doesn't stop there, to your surprise. It drills through to its final destination, and you grab the fabric of your shirt around your heart. You don't fully know the answer to your own question, but you believe in his despair. If love truly is gentle, it would have exited your chest when you screamed your throat hoarse for him to stay. It would have eased the pain, somehow. It would have sent your heart out to him even as he stood amongst giants, leagues greater than you. It would have sewn together your words, strung them into poems beautiful enough for him to say yes, I'll stay. I'll stay if you want, and I'll go if you want. Instead, you watch him on television every night, highlight reels, live volleyball matches. He left. You did not want him to.

"I haven't spoken to him since either. But I still think love is gentle. The painful kind."

The final chords of the song round off the set. The girl bows, and exits stage left. The crowd begins to loosen, yet the person's arm remains beside yours.

"Do you ever miss it?"

His number is still in your contacts. You struggle every night to hold off on pressing it. Your heart aches, and lights come on. You stare at an empty stage, and you envision yourself on it. Thousands of eyes watch you sing the song, yet you search the crowd for one pair only. You sing the words that you had once shown your love, a love that found you despite his duties, regardless of his glory, amidst his passion. You sing like you are begging for him to see you through the television, and turn around so the name Ushijima bares his face to you instead of his back. You cry out a story of a dying love, hanging onto frayed strings of memories and fear. The singing contorts into screaming at an empty crowd, as if your resolve could make Ushijima Wakatoshi find you again. You pretend to be his hands, hold yourself in your sleep. You hear his voice in your bed, on the streets, in front of you, behind you, beside you, even right here. You will never learn the lips of anyone else, not after his have taken you for himself. They feel like poison now, sinking into your veins from every part of your body that you inhibit. A poison that forces him into every corner of your life, and you are a fool enough to almost see him there.

"I want it gone, and I miss it all the same." You're crying now, and even your tears remind you of the love that taught you of its cruelty. You imagine a day when you wear another's ring on your finger, only to look up and see a blank face. There is no other.

"I think you should give him a call."

"I can't. I'd just hold him back."

"That's not true." His voice cracks, and his rebuttal is desperate, almost apologetic.

You turn to bid him farewell.

Ushijima is almost no different from how he was two years ago. But he's a little older now, a little taller too. His hair is the same olive green that used to run smooth between the webs of your hands. His voice is deep, rounder than it once was when he used to nip your earlobe and mutter professions of his love into your ear. You stare, but you don't know that he has been staring since halfway through the concert. You aren't seeing him through a television, he is no longer clad in a Schweiden Adlers jersey, his last name bears no weight here, in the space between the two of you. The days, and months, and years spent together come rushing into your head. A kiss on the forehead before separation, two pairs of feet running in wet sand that crumbles beneath their weight, sharing lunches in the silence of school rooftops, lips roaming every inch of each other on nights of longing. You, and Ushijima, and the pleads that lose their bodies when they fall back from your mouths and into your chests.

"Please, give me a call. Or a text. Or an email, I don't care. Just anything. I'm sorry."

"Goodbye, Ushijima."

You turn to leave, but you pull your phone out of your pocket to stare at his name in your contacts.

Ushijima watches your shrinking figure, all of his love trailing behind you, fading into smoke.

Your finger hovers above the red button that could end it all.

He can't seem to move, rooted into the ground of the now mostly empty concert hall. You are slipping away again, and he has learned from his mistake. He questions whether he's learned it a bit too late.

You turn off your phone, and shove it back into your pocket. He receives a text.

"I just want to take you home again."

author's note:

my sister gave me this idea a while ago and i just knew i had to make it so angsty sorry LOL she wanted a fluff ending but im the one with the document open so i can do what i WANT!! no i am actually very proud of this piece though and idk if this will get ANY exposure or interactions but just know that i really really loved writing this one

i also fear i lowkey forgot about longing looks and just went straight for longing…

also! song lyric references! if you catch them i'll give you a big fat kiss i love my music so much

anyways tags!!

@staraxiaa @catsoupki @chuuya-brainrot @hiraethwa @fiannee @bailey-reeds @4ngelfries @akaakeis @wyrcan @kuroppiii @zzwon

interested in joining a band? come on over to the build-a-band 900 !!

[citruzs]

Animatic ideas for various fandoms

The Whole World and You - Tally Hall. I think this one would be great for a Tadc animatic! Mostly inspired by the line "Nothing to retract, Nothing too abstract" But I stand by it.

The Cult of Dionysus - The Orion Experience. This one would be awesome for a Joel Smallishbeans animatic, especially since I've seen him compared to Dionysus.

Mayday and Minor Holiday by Sparkbird. Mayday would be good for both a Mouthwashing and a Life series animatic, though I've already seen the song for both. Would still be good though! Minor holiday would be wonderful for a Hermitcraft 8 or a Limited life animatic <3.

Razzle Dazzle - Chicago the musical. I LOVE THIS SONG SM VNJSB. Anyways, I think think this song would be sick for a Dandy's world animatic with RnD! It could be sung by Dandy as well :D

Rebel girl- Bikini Kill. Maybe a Gem-Pearl/ Shinyduo animatic? I dunno, seems like it'd fit those two.

What is this feeling- Wicked. Landduo (Badboyhalo and Foolish) animatic perhaps?? I don't know who would be who, but Glinda and Elpaba's dynamic at the beginning of the movie fits them well

Okay these are just song recommendations in general because i adore these songs-

Cheerleader - Liza Anne (L e s b i a n)

Heart of a Dancer - The Happy Fits (I love this band so much in general I can't.)

Ballroom Blitz - Sweet (GROOVY ASF)

Turnaround Reprise - The Little Prince (THIS SONG IS SO ADORABLE RAAAAH)

Velvet Ring - Big Thief (Really nostalgic for some reason)

Que Sera, Sera - Doris Day (Saw a Jaiden Qsmp animation to this and it was so cutesyyy)

the way things go - Beabadoobee

Van horn - SAINT MOTEL

Everyone's A Guru Now - SAINT MOTEL (this song fills me with such joy and whimsy YOU WOULDNT UNDERSTANDD)

space girl - Frances Forever (AGAHHBSAH)

[madaqueue]

QUINJAX | quinn x ajax / tartaglia / childe

university au / jock x artist, he fell first + he fell harder, dimpled smiles, summer/winter, matching pyjamas, forehead kisses, jokingly bickering, booping each other’s noses, always touching/cuddling/holding hands, blushed cheeks, sleepovers, good luck kisses, ‘hi pretty’, study dates, embarrassing each other with pda, biting his tummy, we cradle the sun <3

OUR SONGS

‘moon begins’ x florist

come on, feel the warm, feel the blood / space, come swallow me now

‘velvet ring’ x big thief

i just wanna take you home / love is a gentle thing / yours is thicker than a velvet ring

‘cherry wine’ x hozier

the way she tells me i'm hers and she's mine / the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

COMMS

'put me down!' 'no :3'

we clean up nicely

MORE

#quinjax

[bumbl3beetle]

HI, I'M HERE TO INTRODUCE MY BAND DR!!!

Band name - Mixed SuitCase (MSC)

We are a multi genre band who started out making music in our guitarists closet.

We all met in band class, and we started the band due to boredom, and due to me and the guitarist (Milo) constantly fighting. We hated each other, and the band forced us to get along.

Introducing.. THE MEMBERS !!!

Me !

nickname(s): Luci, girl guy, Lucio

band role: lead singer

age: 16

birthday: 04/01

pronouns: he/him

Sexuality: bisexual

Face claim / look alike claim:

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Marla !

nickname(s): Marls, Marla

band role: drums

age: 16

birthday: 03/26

pronouns: She/they

sexuality: Pansexual

relationship: close friends!

closeness: 9/10

extra (traits, hobbies, tendencies): LOOVES peanut butter. She's allergic to grapes. Her favorite animal is a bearded dragon. Her favorite color is blue. She's very touchy. People often talk over her, and prefers one on one. She has ADHD. She hates coffee, but doesn't mind the flavor. She loves writing lyrics. Her voice claim is "Agnes" from "Fantastic Mr. Fox".

face claim / look alike claim:

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Ruth !

nickname(s): Ruth bear, Ruth berries, Ruth

band role: back up vocals, bassist

age: 16

birthday: 08/18

pronouns: She/her

sexuality: Bisexual

relationship: BESTIES

closeness: 9/10

extra (traits, hobbies, tendencies): Favorite food is cherries. She hates bananas and chocolate. She loves rap but specifically 90s rap. She’s been known to leave her things around, having completely forgotten about them. She has ADHD. Her voice claim is "Young Vi" from "Arcane".

Face claim / look alike claim:

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Milo !

nickname(s): Milo, Mr handsome

band role: guitar

age: 15

birthday: 01/02

pronouns: He/him

sexuality: Bicurious

relationship: Erm close friends? we hated each other

closeness: 10/10

extra (traits, hobbies, tendencies): loves metal (the material). Believes in manifesting. Got his ears pierced when he was born. Learned guitar to “bring in the ladies”. He’s Filipino and Korean. Loves physical touch, his hands are rough. His mother used to go to gay bars just to see pretty outfits. His voice claim is "Rob" from "The Amazing World of Gumball".

Face claim / look alike claim:

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

We only have two albums currently, "Dear PenPal" and "UnORIGINAL".

The album contents and the artists who made the songs in this reality! ↓

Dear PenPal

Fade into you - Mazzy Star

No other heart - Mac DeMarco

Again & Again - The Bird And The Bee

Iris - Goo Goo Dolls

For the First Time - Mac DeMarco

BIRDS OF A FEATHER - Billie Eilish

Once More to See You - Mitski

.・。.・゜✭・

UnORIGINAL

Clay Pigeons - Michael Cera

Velvet Ring - Big Thief

Linger - The Cranberries

I Just Threw Out The Love Of My Dreams - Weezer

Vampire Empire - Big Thief

Chokehold - Sleep Token

.・。.・゜✭・

I'm currently working on our third album, which will be completely metal! I do eventually want to make an album that is country, and one that is Gothic. Can you see why I chose Mixed SuitCase?

Anyways, thanks for reading! If there's anything you want to know / want me to add to this, lmk!

Have a wonderful day and go shift!! ˙˚ʚ(´◡`)ɞ˚˙

[ishiakito]

Me and my bf who doesn’t wanna join the rebellion and stop the war😁😁

Kinda based of my favourite fanfic always gold by @heather1815 !!

The pose is based of “A Huguenot, on St. Bartholomew's Day” by John Everett Millais

(Song lyrics are Velvet ring-Big thief)

[toastnotonfire]

Velvet ring

pairing: Daryl dixon x (fem!) reader

summary: yes the song by big thief is what this is based off pls and thankyou it's just a little fluffy drabble of life with Daryl in the quiet moment's between constant fighting.

P.S: this is an unfinished mess written at like 3am, it's a combination of ideas for a longer oc fanfic I'm cooking up so it's rlly just my boredom rn

The rain throws itself against the windows of you and Daryl's shared room, it was a quiet night in alexandria after a much too long and strenuous day. One of the walls had caved in and it took nearly all day from dawn till dusk to fix the gap, rendering the community safe once again.

And, while the walls may make everyone else living there feel perfectly safe, it wasn't the walls for you. it was him.

You had known Daryl for long enough, considering how time sort of warps itself all together in this apocalyptic world, a year is a day and a day is an entire eternity. You and him had bonded at the start, on the Greene farm when you saw past the harsh exterior he tried to put up, you saw he was kind, and probably lonely underneath the lone wolf act. He was sweet in the way he fumbled his words almost as if he was pushing them out faster out of nervous habit.

He of course also saw into you, past what you had been through. He didn't see the scar on your cheek, or the great effort you went through to steady your constantly shaking hands. He didn't pry, dig to know the answers to your puzzles, he just understood in a way no one ever had before.

Now, after what had felt like a lifetime on the road, fighting to survive, the act of simply living together felt foreign. Not unwelcome of course, but foreign all the same.

"whatcha' readin'" Daryl asks, his voice thick with exhaustion from the long day, making his southern drawl more apparent in his voice.

"just something I picked up on the last run, some... 'the secret history' it's allright" you reply, pausing in the middle of your sentence to check the name of the book.

"ah" Daryl replies simply, as he crawls into bed beside you, letting out a huff as he makes contact with the soft mattress.

You close your book over slightly, turning your attention to the man who's currently face down in the pillows next to you, his dark brown unruly locks sticking in different directions, after a few seconds he moves his head to meet your eyes.

"quit starin'" he chuckles, laying on his side facing you.

You find yourself at a loss for witty replies, to enamoured by his face, the way a small curl of brown hair lays across his cheek, and his eyes are already starting to fall closed, his body losing the battle to sleep. You bring up a hand to push back the small curl from his cheek, and like a domesticated cat Daryl leans into the touch, making your heart twist.

You lay down next to him, bringing the blankets up under your chin to shield yourself from the cold nipping at you. curling closer to Daryl under the covers, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off the man -who is best described as a human furnace- and wrap your arms around him, just wishing too be that little bit closer to him. You place a goodnight kiss on his nose, and he returns one just on your cheekbone, his lips ghosting the scar which also sits there, a gentle reminder of his unconditional love.

These quiet content moments are the ones that you live for -litterally live for-. Moments watching the rain with him, talking about life before, life now, what you miss,your favourite foods and favourite songs. The mornings when the sun starts to filter through the white lace curtains, the suns rays dancing across your exposed skin, painting you both in a warm orange glow. The small kisses to say goodmorning, and the smell of coffee filtering through the house.

The way he notices when you leave the bed early, rolling onto his side, reaching for you only to find nothing but some warmth on your side of the bed, proof you were there not long before. He allways gets up to find you, middle of the night or crack of dawn, he will always search for you and bring you back. Back down to earth, home to him. Safe and sound.

It's the small moments with him.

[s0ng-of-the-day]

Todays song of the day is:

Velvet Ring by Big Thief

“Benny loved her like he loved no one

The way she'd laugh and hold a smoking gun

The way she always said, ‘What's done is done.’

And he was not the only one.

Love is a gentle thing.

Yours is thicker than a velvet ring.

Yours is thicker than a velvet ring.”