#and he did have partial credit to the song

[chessbird]

Beika and Ichiya were friends, once. ever since childhood, the two stuck together like a shark and a remora. playing together, studying (unsuccessfully) together, even writing songs together. both of them had an endless passion for music, and Beika actually knew how to make a song that wasn't just sick guitar riffs. somewhere, in an old notebook filled mostly with Ichiya's drawings instead of notes, lies the first draft of Now or Never!. It's signed with both of their names.

When Ichiya moved to Inkopolis, their once airtight friendship fell apart. Ichiya thought of using the song they wrote together as bringing his best friend along for the ride. A way to show he still cared. Obviously, Beika didn't share the sentiment.

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: December 6

"Your Body Is A Weapon" by the Wombats

[vaultdwellerbarbie]

happiness is a butterfly

(gif credit to junkfoodcinemas on tumblr) :-)

cooper adams (trap)/f!reader (5.5k wc)

summary cooper keeps his promise to return your security clearance card after escaping police custody

content warnings smut, unsafe sex, morally dubious main character, mentions of murder and violence, guns, not really cheating but still kinda cheating i guess, dark i guess but everything is consensual

i know that this is like a twisters blog but i needed to get this off of my chest i don't have any other blogs sorry to everyone who has my post notifications on i'm in love with josh hartnett fun fact. i actually giggled out loud in the movie theater when he took his shirt off it was kind of humiliating. this is named after the lana del rey song, but has notes of velvet crowbar and dark but just a game too.

When you and everyone else you worked with were informed that Lady Raven’s show was going to be used as a rouse to catch The Butcher, a man who had been keeping everyone you knew awake well into the night for quite some time, you weren’t so sure that you were equipped to handle the responsibilities that you were being given.

Most people, when asked to picture a security guard, didn’t picture you. You weren’t intimidating, physically or in terms of your personality. You were rather disarming, but that unassumingness made you an asset because you were equipped to handle threats, you could fight back if need be, and you knew that most people would feel comfortable enough around you to not worry about doing something wrong like they would around a big, strong man.

That was the whole point of your role at the arena, you were undercover security. If you needed to take someone down, you were able to do so. If you needed to call something in, you were able to do so. It wasn’t exactly a unique position, plenty of security personnel worked in plain sight. Up until that meeting, you weren’t even so sure why so many people in your life were so concerned that you were putting yourself in danger. 

You’d claim that it’s ‘really not even more dangerous than being a secret shopper at Target’, and for the most part, you never really got put in super dangerous situations. You were allowed to escort people off the premises, and if someone did get a little aggressive, there was often a way for it to be handled without you getting hurt. There were so many procedures in place that you were never worried. 

It was difficult to not be worried when you were told that you were going to take part in taking down a serial killer, someone who you knew was killing people indiscriminately. Someone who you were being told was partially your responsibility, as security detail. When you were given your card, you felt as though it was going to play a part in your life in some way. You were just under the impression that way was something simple, though. It was important because it was going to be there during a day that you could tell your family about for years to come, surely?

Not so. 

He was tall, charming in an awkward way, devilishly handsome, and one of the best sexual encounters that you had ever had in your life. You couldn’t forget the way that he pressed you against the wall, the way that he touched you wherever he pleased but wouldn’t let you even get a taste of him beyond one fleeting kiss when you agreed to lend him your card for the day. He had promised that he would get it back when he was certain that he was safe, and at the time you were too charmed by him to actually process what you were doing - who exactly you deemed it appropriate to get finger-fucked by at your job in return for him taking your one-way ticket throughout the arena. 

The promise that he made you to return your card was never fulfilled, and when you saw on the television that The Butcher had been apprehended, you knew that it never would be. 

There was a sick feeling in your stomach. You knew that you had willingly helped The Butcher, Cooper. But it didn’t really matter, did it? He was apprehended, he wasn’t going to hurt anyone else, and the young man that he had kidnapped had survived the encounter. Lady Raven never made it to her second show, the one that had sold out to begin with, but even she had made it out alive.

Still, that sick feeling grew - because you were almost disappointed. 

Not disappointed that people had survived, it wasn’t that you thrived on chaos and wished to see more violence. You were disappointed because you wanted more from that encounter, you wanted to feel more than just his fingers, you wanted him to fulfill that promise that he had made to you to return his card. That promise had come with a lot more implications than just returning something that you weren’t going to need for work anymore now that he was caught. It made you feel sick because you knew who he was, what he was capable of, and you still found yourself wishing that you could feel his fingers digging into your hips again. You wished that you could touch him, at least once. It was so very wrong to wish something like that about him now that you knew who he was - but did you not know before? 

Glancing away from the glow of the television in your dark room, you raised the fabric of the tank top covering your upper torso. His fingers had dug into your skin harshly, it almost felt like the ghost of them still existed on your skin even though you knew that couldn’t be possible. 

A knock at the door shook you from your thoughts, but you were certain nobody should be knocking at this hour. Leaning forward, you opened the drawer of the coffee table and grabbed the small gun from inside of it, work-issued, something that you really weren’t supposed to fire when you weren’t on the clock. They should understand if you were about to be potentially murdered, right? 

Standing up, you peered through the peep-hole only to find the one person who you were certain couldn’t actually be there. But he knocked again, and you were almost sure that he had somehow made eye contact with you through the hole in the door.

“How did you figure out where I live?” You asked, opening the door and letting him in before anyone could see what was happening. “And how are you here? I saw on the news that you were in custody.” 

“Well, I was in custody.” He held up a small metal object, it looked like one of the spokes from a bike that he had bent. “I got out.”

“And my address, how’d you get my address?”

“You left your wallet sitting out, figured I’d return it to you.” 

You watched as he pulled a wallet out, and it was unmistakably yours. How had you not noticed that you didn’t have your wallet? It must have been the chaos of the day. When the concert ended, you were all briefed and asked to go home, but you knew that there was more that needed to be done once it was over. You were supposed to return for the second concert once they had done a sweep of the building to make sure that nobody was hiding out in there, but that had never happened. 

“I shouldn’t have let you into my house.” You acknowledged, taking the wallet from his hands and tossing it behind him onto the coffee table. “But I did.”

“You did. Why?” 

“You made a promise, I figure it would be the gentlemanly thing to do to keep your promise.” 

Cooper hummed in agreement, pulling the small white card out from his pocket and holding it out for you. Just as you went to grab it, he pulled it back. “I’ll give this back to you, but I want something in exchange.”

“What’s that?” 

“How much did the news actually tell you?”

“Just that you were apprehended, that you have a family.”

“It was my wife who turned me in, I can’t go back to that house. I can’t hide away with my children, I can’t even see them again.” He looked angry, you could see that, but his anger wasn’t with you. “I can’t run away because they’ll just look for me, but you…” 

“Cooper…”

“They won’t suspect that I’m with you, they don’t even know that I know you.” 

That much was true, he had pulled you into an area with no security cameras. You had already been there, and even if they questioned you, you doubted that they were actually going to be able to figure out that you’d been working with Cooper in any capacity. Still…

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“How so?”

“Well, I don’t have any clothes in your size, so I’d have to buy those. I don’t have enough food for two, or anything for you to shower with. It would look really weird if I all of a sudden had a bunch of ATM withdrawals or mens clothes on my bank statement since they have you entering a room I was in on camera.” 

“I’ll give you cash.” 

“Alright, fine. But what if they come here?”

“Why would they come here?”

“At home visit. This is the FBI, they’re thorough.” 

“They’re not going to come here, I walked into a lot of rooms with a lot of people. I doubt that they’re going to interview everyone, and there were no identifiers on the card you gave me.” 

Glancing back over at the card, you knew that he was right, but there were still flaws.

“You’re going to get caught, and then we’re both going to be put in jail. Someone gave you a card, they know that much.”

“No, they knew that I had a card. I could have stolen that from anyone, I stole a clearance pass from someone - is he under investigation too?” He stepped forward, holding the card out for you. There were a lot of different ways he could have played this, and you weren’t foolish enough to think that he actually liked you as a person - this man just wanted to lay low and survive, even though you had been told that he wasn’t the type of person who really wanted to survive to begin with. You could only imagine that he was driven by pure spite, but by god were his manipulation tactics working. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. You can see that I’ve kept my promises to you.”

“Yeah, with conditions.” You replied, but you doubted that he was going to kill you. Unless something randomly snapped in him, you had done nothing to provoke him and he, technically, needed you. He couldn’t go out in public, and he really needed to lay low. Killing you would cut off any resource he has, and he would have to come up with some way for your neighbors to not get suspicious. Cooper wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill you even if he wanted to, since you were so willing to comply with him for some reason that you couldn’t quite figure out. “What do you gain from this?”

“I live, I fuck Rachel over just like she did to me.”

“The anonymous tip was her, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” 

“Right.” 

Sighing, you fought with yourself in your mind for a few moments. This was wrong, incredibly wrong. This man was a serial killer, he had done awful things. You had a gun and you could kill him, he couldn’t fight back in time when he had nothing to protect him. At the very least, you could incapacitate him and call police. It would be the right thing to do, the moral thing to do. Yet, when he looked at you, you couldn’t help but remember the feeling of his hand on your hips, of his fingers inside of you, of his brief and taunting kiss. You wanted to do the moral thing, but you couldn’t do it.

“I’ll help you.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I knew you’d make the right choice.” Taking the card from his hand, you glanced it over before setting it down. 

“Do you want something to drink? I have water, lemonade, whatever. Make yourself at home, I guess.” Glancing toward the living room, you moved to turn the television off, figuring it probably wouldn’t be advisable to have the news on anymore. Flicking the light on, you pointed toward the hallway. “I’ve got a small house and I live alone, you can sleep on the couch. My room’s back there.” 

“I’ll take a water, and the couch will be just fine.” 

Nodding, you walked to the kitchen and grabbed him a bottled water, but the couch couldn’t be right, you wouldn’t be comfortable with it. “Couch isn’t fine, you can sleep with me.”

“What’s wrong with the couch?”

“I have a giant sliding glass door, I’m shocked you didn’t just break in.” He finally turned to look at it, it was very close to your couch. “I’ll work on covering it up, but you’re just going to have to sleep with me.” 

“My pleasure.”

Your heart beat sped up for a second, but you brushed it aside and handed him the water, your fingers brushing his for a second. You couldn’t have sex with him, not tonight anyway. You wanted to, desperately, but your mind was running a mile a minute and you were certain his was too, considering. Everything about this felt like a fever dream, you were harboring a serial killer fugitive in your home for what reason? Because he was hot and good with his fingers? It was shameful, sinful, but not enough that you could stop it from happening. 

“Promise me again that you’re not going to kill me.” You said, walking him to your room and opening up the drawer where you typically kept your gun at night. Though you lived in a relatively safe area, you were always rather cautious. Supposedly. Maybe it wasn’t very cautious to let a known serial killer lay low in your home. 

“I promise I’m not going to kill you.” He stepped closer to you, his thumb on your chin as he tilted your head so you were looking into his eyes. There was a coldness in them that contrasted the naturally warm brown color that his eyes had, it probably should have turned you off. You were pretty sure it was impossible for you to be turned off by him, though. “Do you believe me?”

“I believe that you kinda need me for at least a little while, so yes.”

“That hurts.” He replied, and for just a moment you wanted to smile - he was kind of funny, but you weren’t sure that he was trying to be funny. 

Cooper’s movements were swift, it was as though he was sealing his promise with a kiss just as he had the last one. But this one was deeper, much longer than the kiss that left you yearning for more in the supply closet where you had forgotten what you were even looking for. The feeling of his hand on the small of your back urged you to move closer to him, his taut frame pressed against yours in a way that made you forget every pesky worry about safety and morality. Cooper’s hand ventured lower, a gasp escaping your lips upon feeling him squeezing your backside. 

But he pulled away, and he actually had the nerve to laugh at you for pouting before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“You’re gonna need to strip, you’re not sleeping in my clean sheets in your outside clothes.” 

“These aren’t even my clothes, I took them.”

“That’s even worse. I’ll get you new clothes tomorrow.” 

“Are you sure you don’t just want to see me strip?”

“I do want to see you strip, but no. Please?” 

The rest of the evening was… uneventful. You should know, since you were awake for most of it. 

Despite having the assurance of your gun being beside you, and knowing that logically there really was nothing this man could gain from killing you, you also knew that this was a terrible idea. He needed you for now, and probably for a little while, but were you just delaying the inevitable? People were going to assume he fled the country after a couple of months, and were you really even capable of laying that low for a couple of months just so he could kill you when he no longer needed you? But would he even want to kill you? He had the option to earlier in the arena, he had no idea at the time that it would have been shooting himself in the foot if he did. He knew that you would figure out who he was, and somehow he knew that you weren’t going to turn him in. 

Even with the belief that he, at the very least, wouldn’t kill you for a while - was this right? Surely, no. He was a serial killer, he was surviving predominantly so he could kill someone who had wronged him. This wasn’t someone who was at large for robbing a bank to feed his family, this was someone who was at large for murdering people and who was hoping to kill one member of his family. Still, it struck you as interesting that it was only one member. He seemed to care about his children in a genuine capacity, you had seen him with his daughter. At the very least, he had a capacity for human emotion, but did that simply make him more dangerous than he already was?

Sleep didn’t come easy for you. If it wasn’t a worry that the man beside you was going to turn on you on a dime and kill you two months down the road, it was your moral arguments about how you shouldn’t have even let this man into your house - how the right thing to do would be calling the police now that he was asleep beside you. If it wasn’t that, it was thoughts of how gruesome the murders had been, and a morbid curiosity about why he had done what he had done and what had driven him. You’d heard the profile, you knew that it had a lot to do with how he was raised and the issues that he had with his mother, but you wanted to know more - you wanted to hear from his own mouth what it was that drove him to do the things that he did in the manner that he did them. 

Eventually, you were able to fall asleep. Not that you slept for long, because just the slightest stir beside you caused you to wake up. But you did get a few hours of sleep, and those few hours translated into a sluggish day where you picked up men’s clothing and foods that you wouldn’t normally eat and hoped beyond all hope that someone you knew wasn’t going to be there. You were lucky that the arena was closed until further notice - with pay, thankfully - since it was still considered an active crime scene since Cooper was still at large. 

When you returned back, he was still right where you left him and seemingly relieved to change into something that didn’t belong to someone else. While he took care of himself, you took care of dinner. It was odd enough cooking for two people when you were used to just being alone, but it was even weirder knowing what the person who you were cooking for was capable of. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to actually question if what you were doing was morally okay or not - it wasn’t. It was not morally okay, you had ample opportunity to turn him in without worry of being killed for doing it and you chose not to. And why not? Because he was hot? Because you wanted to have sex with him? What kind of reason was that? At some point, you really just got tired of arguing with yourself in your mind and focused instead on whether you were actually going to have sex with him.

Sure, he fingered you one time, but he did that so you’d do him a favor. Sure, he’d kissed you since then, but was that just a thank you for helping him? And, sure, he was driven to kill Rachel - but it wasn’t like he was technically divorced. Killing his wife was probably a lot more severe and permanent than divorcing her, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he was looking to have sex with someone who he had just meant. At some point, you had to consider your own morality in ensuring that - if that happened - it wasn’t solely because he wanted somewhere to stay. 

Once you had finished cooking, you took the opportunity to install the curtains that you had purchased while you were away. It was true that you had a fence in your backyard, but it was also true that you were still worried that - being that you were on camera in the same room as Cooper - you were being monitored, or at risk of being monitored. You’d intended on getting curtains for the glass door anyway, some sort of worry about people peeping through the glass. Of course, you hadn’t accounted for purposefully letting the danger inside of your home and deciding to look past the amorality of it. 

“Need some help with that?” 

“I’m good.” 

“Looks like you need some help with that.” Cooper moved with such ease, adjusting the curtains so they were installed in the right place. He was incredibly tall, and had no qualms with leaning so closely behind you that you could absolutely feel him pressed against your back. It sent a shiver up your spine, but that only made him lean just a little bit closer. 

When he was finished, you would expect that he’d move away. Instead, you felt his large hands move down to your hips, your breath hitching in your throat as you watched his reflection in the glass. He could see you, he was looking right at you, and you wanted to stop him and remind him that you made dinner, but the feeling of his lips against your neck had you forgetting anything else that was lingering in your mind. 

“You don’t have to have sex with me just so you have a place to stay, you know.”

“I had other ways of getting your help, I’m not looking for a favor.” He replied, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin on your neck. “Unless you don’t want to… but I feel like you do.” 

“I do want to,” You replied, but turned around to face him anyway. He left his hands on your hips, not bothering to move away from you. He was so close to you, you could smell the soap that he had just used in the shower on him when you looked at him. “After we eat, I spent extra money on food for two.”

“After we eat, then.”

Cooper leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to your mouth, your eyes fluttering shut as you had a difficult time controlling your body’s unavoidable attraction to the man. Wetness still lingered on your neck from his mouth, and all you could focus on was how badly you wanted to look down and confirm that he wanted this just as badly as you did. But he pulled away, giving you exactly what you had asked for and joining you for dinner. 

It was tense and somewhat awkward to sit down at eat with him, but it also seemed like something was was awkward for him, too. Not because he was thinking about you, or because he was even thinking about being on the run, but because he was used to eating meals with his children. Regardless of who he was, regardless of what he was capable of, it was inarguable that he cared about his children. You were certain that his mind was simply lingering on them, on what they were doing and what they were thinking of him at this very moment. Despite knowing that he was The Butcher, knowing that he really didn’t deserve much sympathy since he had made the decision to dow hat he had done, you still felt bad to see a man so desperately yearning to be with his children again. A yearning that you both knew was never going to be fulfilled because, even if he could find a way to get in contact with them again, it was unlikely that they were going to want to be in contact with him knowing what he had done, what he planned on doing to their other parent in an act of revenge. 

By the time you were finished eating, the only thing you could think about was how badly you wanted the man sitting in front of you - and how badly you were sure he wanted to distract himself from whatever thoughts were lingering in the back of his mind. Trying to wash the dishes lasted about two seconds before he was behind you again, and this time you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything other than give in.

“Finish cleaning.”

“But-”

“Finish cleaning or we won’t do anything.” He responded, but made no effort to make it easier on you as he pulled your hips against his, the rather apparent evidence that he wanted this as badly as you did pressing against your ass as you tried your best to continue washing the dishes that were in the sink. “Good girl.”

“You’re a tease.”

“Just organized.” 

You knew he was organized, you knew it bothered him if things weren’t clean and tidy. Each of those things were discussed during the breakdown of the profile of the man, so you doubted that he was going to be much different from that while living under the same roof as him even if it was only temporary. You had no qualms with washing your dishes and keeping your house clean, you simply took issue with it when you were trying to do a chore and had his mouth against your skin.

It took you all of two minutes - a personal record - to have everything cleaned and to have him turning you around and lifting you onto the dry part of the cupboard. You knew that he was strong, how else would he have been able to effortlessly lift the people that he was kidnapping? It wasn’t a shock to you that he would have no issue in placing you on your own cupboard, but you simply whined out a complaint along the lines of ‘I just cleaned in here the other day’. 

“You can clean again, I’m feeling impatient.”

“You really should help me clean since you’re not paying rent.” 

“Sounds fair.” 

Cooper seemingly was being honest about being impatient, wasting no time in pulling your shirt over your head and undoing the bra that was hooked at your back. He had a lot more ease with that than even you did sometimes, but you chose not to think too hard about it as you felt his lips against yours. He pressed himself in between your legs, spreading them a bit wider than was entirely comfortable for the muscles in your thighs, but that slight apprehension was entirely forgotten the moment you felt his hips grinding into yours.

A sigh left your throat, his hands complimenting the feeling nicely as he brought one to your chest, his thumb pressed against your nipple. He had quite large hands, but considering his overall stature, you weren’t very surprised by that. Your own hands got a bit adventurous, moving to undo his pants while he moved back slightly so you could do what it was that you wanted to do. Cooper helped you remove them, but you noted that he didn’t allow his pants to fall to the floor - that must be something that bothered him.

“Please take your shirt off.”

“Since you used your manners, I’d be happy to oblige you.” He responded, taking the shirt of but very neatly setting it down beside you. Your eyes locked on his, that familiar darkness still lingering in them as he looked at you. Bringing a hand up, he let you explore his torso, the warmth of his skin contrasting the coldness in his eyes - even when he seemed to be doing something intimate, there was never much warmth behind them. Not when he looked at you, anyway - you’d noticed that he looked very warmly at his daughter during the concert, it was something that made him stick out to you in the first place. 

“I really need you to fuck me.” 

Cooper huffed out a laugh at your bluntness, but wasted very little time in helping you get your pants undone and pulling them down your hips along with your panties. You watched him as he set them into a neat pile with his shirt, the coolness of the counter underneath you making you move a little bit closer to him. But any coldness that you still felt was gone soon thereafter. The head of his cock pushed against your clit first, a whimper leaving your lips as you felt him teasing you. 

“So fucking wet, have you been thinking about this all day?”

“I’ve been thinking about this since yesterday.” You admitted, but you were certain that he knew that. 

“I have too.” He responded, pushing inside of you a moment later and giving you very little time to process what he had said. Leaning forward fully, Cooper supported your body so you could press against him. He set a brutal pace, giving you very little time to adjust to the stretch of the size of a man of his stature. It was painful at first, but that pain was soothed by the feeling of his mouth against yours, by the sound of his moans filling your ears and reverberating against your lips. 

The pain melted away into pleasure rather quickly, fingers absentmindedly roaming his body before settling on his forearm. 

“You’re taking it so well, honey, you feel so fucking good wrapped around me.” Whatever thoughts were plaguing his mind were quickly forgotten as he pounded into you, and any remaining apprehensions in your own head were gone just as quickly as his were. “If I had time yesterday, I would have bent you over in that supply closet. You would have liked that, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck- I would have-”

“You’re sick for fucking me, you know that.” He was taunting you now, and he seemed to be getting off on it - in a weird way, you were too. 

“I know.”

“But you love it anyway.”

“I do- feels so good.” 

“I know, I know it does baby.” His taunts faded into coos, but his tone was still teasing and his hips were still snapping against yours with reckless abandon. Everything felt overwhelming, him inside of you, filling you more than anyone else ever could. His hand squeezing that part of your hip again, his hot breath against your lips - your breaths and moans fading together, and the feeling of the friction against your nipples as your chest was pressed tightly against his. It was all too much, but somehow not enough; you really couldn’t get enough of him. “But now I can have you whenever I want, isn’t that right?”

“Yes-” You let out a squeal at a particularly harsh thrust, a coil building in your stomach as you felt one of his hands roaming down your skin before he pressed a finger against your clit. “Whenever you want.”

“Such a good girl, I think you deserve to cum. You’ve been so accommodating, so sweet.” 

“Please-”

Cooper’s finger sped up against your clit, your eyes shutting and your head falling against his chest as he brought you over the edge. He let you ride out your orgasm before pulling out to finish against your stomach, bringing his fingers down to collect the cum on your skin. Your eyes felt clouded over as you opened them, gazing into his that were also still blown out with lust. He watched as you took his fingers into your mouth, his own lips slightly ajar as he took in the sight of you taking the taste of him onto your tongue.

“Let’s get you into the bath.”

By the time that you had finished your shower - a shower that was riddled with mistakes as your legs were just a little bit shaky, he had placed all of your clothes into the washer and had seemingly dug through your drawers to find you some pajamas. It was definitely not the polite thing to do, but you weren’t sure what you expected from him.

This issue with him was, as you got back into bed with him and let him hold you - which, you weren’t sure if it was more for you or for him - was that he was so normal. You knew there were things wrong with him, but he appeared so normal and tame that you were almost able to forget them. But you knew about them, you knew what was wrong with him and you knew that you were just as bad for hiding him from the police, for allowing him a place in your life even though you were well-aware of the awful things that he did, the awful things that he was planning on doing in the future. 

Yet, as you felt his fingers brushing through your hair and the warmth of his body against your own, there was no part of you that wanted to change the decisions that you had made regardless of the risk and amorality of it all.

[daisynik7]

The Apple of His Eye

Chapter 2: Friends In Low Places

Pairing: Nanami x f!reader

Word Count: ~4.9k

cw: alcohol consumption, drunken behavior, karaoke, our couple gets handsy, FLUFF, a few mentions of popular songs in the English language

Summary: You meet Nanami’s friends for the first time. Plenty of alcohol is consumed and you all end up at a karaoke bar.  

Author's Notes: This is the second fluffy side story for A Bento For Kento! I personally love karaoke myself, and I truly believe that Kento does too! I rewrote this to omit most of the English-language songs that I originally mentioned (I name-dropped A LOT before), just because I don't think they'd sing only these type of songs doing karaoke in Japan. Also, this is partially inspired by this Youtube playlist, which was one of the first pieces of fan-made media that got me into Nanami LOL. Anyways, thank you for reading! Divider credit to @/saradika.

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Near the end of October, Nanami receives a call from Gojo. They talk and text often, but this phone call in particular is a special one. “Nanamin! How’s it going buddy?” Gojo’s voice is peppy, as usual.

“I’m fine. What is this about?”

“I’m taking Shoko out for an early birthday celebration tomorrow night. She wants to go to this sake bar she likes. You in?”

“Tomorrow night?” Nanami confirms. 

“Yeah. Oh, and bring your girlfriend too,” Gojo adds cheerfully. “I’d love to meet her. Shoko is curious too.”

Nanami makes a strangled noise in his throat before asking, “Why?”

His friend chuckles. “Because it’s been three months since you started dating and I still know nothing about her. I’d like to find out who your mystery woman is.”

“I told you. She’s Nakamura’s older sister.”

“Yes, yes, I know all about the bentos and love notes, blah blah blah. But I want to hang out with her, get to know her better! She sounds like an angel if she puts up with you.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! But seriously, bring her out with us. I already know Shoko and her will get along well. It’s only me she has to worry about,” he laughs mischievously.

Nanami tenses up, already annoyed at the type of shenanigans his colleague will pull out of his sleeves. “Gojo, I will not subject my girlfriend to any of your harassment.”

“I won’t harass her!” he whines. “Have I ever harassed any of your other girlfriends?”

“I’ve never introduced you to any of my other girlfriends.”

“Exactly. My track record is clean. C’mon. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

He takes a minute to contemplate. Introducing his girlfriend to Shoko isn’t the problem. He’s always had a respectable relationship with the laid-back doctor. However, exposing his sweet darling to the incorrigible Satoru Gojo…he shudders thinking about all the ways it could go wrong. Deep down, he knows nothing serious will happen. As much grief as he gives Gojo, Nanami still considers him one of his closest friends. However, he knows him too well; there’s no doubt Gojo will try to find ways to embarrass him in front of her. He finds pleasure in doing this, seeing Nanami’s face turn bright red after recounting one or several stories of their past together. 

He understands it’s an important step in any relationship to become acquainted to one another’s friends. He has already met hers, along with her immediate family. So far, Nanami has not introduced her to anyone in his life. His parents live too far to visit and as far as friends go, they are few and far between. Maybe this is a good opportunity to show her this part of his life. 

Eventually, he agrees. “Fine. Text me the details for tomorrow and we’ll meet you and Ieiri there.”

“Yay! Can’t wait. I’ll start making a list of questions to ask her. I’ll get Shoko to make a list too.”

Scowling into the phone, Nanami mutters, “I take it back, we’re not going anymore.”

“Kidding, kidding! Okay, see you tomorrow. Byeeeee!”

After they hang up, Nanami buries his face in hands. What did he get themselves into?

~~~

Saturday night, you and Nanami hold hands as you walk from the train station towards the sake bar. In your other hand is a small gift bag with a bottle of good Japanese whiskey that you picked up last night. Yesterday, your boyfriend informed you that you’ll be meeting two of his colleagues: Shoko Ieiri, who was his upperclassman at Jujutsu High, and the infamous Satoru Gojo. You’ve heard stories about this man, not only from Nanami, but from your brother Ren, who is currently Gojo’s student. Enough tales to have a vague idea of his personality. Playful, comical, a bit naughty, and constantly pestering your boyfriend. 

You have a strong feeling that the two of you will get along great. 

As you approach the entrance to the bar, you feel Nanami’s grip tighten around you. He turns to you with a clenched jaw and nervous look in his eyes. “I apologize in advance for anything outrageous Gojo does tonight. Please don’t think poorly of me after this encounter.”

You giggle, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Honey, don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic? I’m sure he isn’t as awful as you say he is. In fact, he sounds fun.”

He sighs. “Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you though. Once we enter this establishment, there’s no turning back. We are essentially hostages under his control the rest of the night.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, but before you finish your question, he leads you into the bar, amused and now slightly spooked at your boyfriend’s ominous warning. As you weave through the crowd of people, Nanami seemingly knowing where to go, you recall yesterday’s conversation. 

After Nanami informed you about Ieiri’s birthday celebration, he mentioned, “It might not just be the sake bar. Since it’s Ieiri’s birthday, we may be out the whole night. Knowing Gojo, he’ll drag us all over Tokyo.”

Over the past three months of dating, Nanami would drop little hints about what he and Gojo would do whenever they hang out. He’s mentioned drunk karaoke before. Singing is definitely not one of Nanami’s hobbies, at least when he’s sober. Your man doesn’t sing in the shower, not even in the car. Personally, you love karaoke, so naturally, you’re curious and excited to see where the night will end up, especially with Gojo supposedly calling the shots. The thought of Nanami doing belting out ballads fills you with glee. 

At a table near the back, there is a pretty woman with long brown hair sitting next to a taller man with snow white hair. He wears dark, stylish sunglasses over his eyes, despite being indoors. They’re chatting, the man animated as the woman listens, pausing when the two of you approach them. “Nanamin! You made it!” Gojo stands up to pat Nanami’s shoulder, Ieiri greets you with a kind smile. 

“Hello, Gojo, Ieiri. This is my girlfriend.” Nanami introduces you as you shake their hands.

“So nice to meet you!”

“Glad to finally meet you too,” Gojo responds with a polite grin.

After formally greeting Ieiri, you hand the bag to her, “Happy birthday. I hope you like it. Kento told me you don’t like receiving gifts, but I figured this might be something we can enjoy together sometime.”

She eyes you curiously before reaching into the bag. When she pulls it out to reveal the liquor, she brightens. “Oh, I like you. I like her, Nanami. Thank you so much, I love it. We’ll definitely be drinking this sometime, maybe even tonight.”

“Tonight? Shoko, we just got here!” Gojo exclaims. “We don’t know what the night has in store for us yet.” As you all take your seats, he gives you a wink with that last statement. 

Ieiri recommends ordering the flights, which come with four different types of sake. She gets one for each person besides Gojo; she orders him a non-alcoholic Lychee beverage while he orders food for the table. As you wait for everything to arrive, you make small talk with each other. Nanami is quiet, which isn’t unusual, but you still want to check on him. Under the table, you reach your hand to his knee, giving him a squeeze. He wraps his fingers with yours, squeezing back, indicating that he’s fine.

The beverages arrive first. The four of you cheers to Ieiri’s birthday and drink. You are by no means an expert on sake, but this one is the smoothest you’ve ever tasted, going down like water. Ieiri finishes it fast, then grabs hold of the second, holding it up at the center of the table. “Ready for the second one?” she asks, raising her brow at you and Nanami.

“Shoko, aren’t you supposed to sip on it slowly?” Gojo hides a little naughty smile behind his Lychee mocktail. 

Suddenly, Nanami downs his sake and raises his other glass towards her. “Cheers, birthday girl.” She smiles and they both chug their second shot, easily. 

This is going to be an interesting night.

~~~

Satoru Gojo is no doubt a powerful Jujutsu Sorcerer. Arguably, the most powerful Jujutsu Sorcerer in the world. Nanami can confidently acknowledge that about his friend. 

However, Satoru Gojo possesses another power, unrelated to Jujutsu Sorcery. This power is constantly used on Nanami whenever the two go out together. For some reason, Gojo has this innate ability to get Nanami drunk.

Nanami still can’t explain it. Maybe it’s Gojo’s lively personality, or his friend’s dislike for alcohol that causes him to drink it all himself. The main reason is probably because it’s fun going out with Gojo. Nanami can let loose around him. There’s no judgement; he can let go of all his inhibitions for the night. He knows Gojo will not think differently of him the next morning, even if he does tease him a little bit. Even with Ieiri can Nanami put his guard down. He knows these two quite well and feels comfortable with them. 

Since dating his sweetheart, he hasn’t felt any desires to get drunk with her. Being around her is fun enough sober; the idea of getting intoxicated with her has never even crossed his mind. But when he’s with his friends, he enjoys drinking. He has fun with them, especially when he loosens up a bit. And to be honest, he loveskaraoke. He’ll deny it like no other when Gojo teases him, but he can honestly admit that it’s one of his favorite activities to do. And the only way to get him to do it is if he has a few shots in him. 

He wants to show his girlfriend this side of him. He knows that like Gojo, his sweetie will not judge. In fact, he thinks she’ll enjoy seeing him like this. He’s curious about her too. What is she like when she’s tipsy? Does she like karaoke as much as he does? Will they take care of each other if they’re both hungover the next day? What song can they do a duet to?

On his last shot, Nanami starts to feel his cheeks warm up. Their food hasn’t come out, so drinking on an empty stomach is hitting him harder than he expects. He glances at his girlfriend’s flight, noticing she’s only on her third. Smirking, he teases, “Can’t keep up?”

“I’m not used to drinking sake! But I’ll catch up, don’t worry!” 

Her determination is cute. She is cute. He’s tempted to scrunch her adorable cheeks together and kiss her forehead, but luckily, he remembers he’s in front of his friends. 

“Don’t feel pressured to keep up with them! Believe it or not, Shoko can outdrink Nanami, and that’s saying something,” Gojo explains, casually sipping his juice. 

Ieiri, who has since ordered her second flight, raises a glass with a proud smile and downs it. “One of my many skills.” 

Nanami orders another flight just as the food arrives to the table. Gojo ordered a plethora of sushi and appetizers that looks delicious. Making sure to get some substance in his belly before he continues to consume more alcohol, Nanami fills his plate with nigiri, gyozas, and karaage. He glances over at his sweetie, who begins to wobble slightly in her seat.

“Honey, are you okay?” he asks her quietly as Ieiri and Gojo talk amongst themselves.  

“Of course!” She stuffs a piece of nigiri in her mouth, smiling. “Why?”

“You’re swaying a bit.” He brushes his fingers against her cheek, which is hot to the touch.

“Oh, I get like this sometimes when I drink. Doesn’t happen much with wine, but I guess it does with sake.” She shrugs, returning to her plate of food, unfazed. 

Gojo stares at them, smirking, “Nanamin, it’s cute how concerned you are for your girlfriend. Reminds me of that one time.” 

Nanami groans, throwing back another shot. “Oh great, here we go.”

“What time?” his girlfriend asks, her curiosity and delight so obvious. 

“Do you know that the reason I don’t consume alcohol is because of this guy right here.” He points to Nanami, for emphasis. “Back in our early 20s, Nanami wanted to test out how much liquor he could handle, so he made me take shots with him until he got good and drunk. Mind you, this was the first time I’ve ever had alcohol. Unfortunately, my tolerance is very low, so after consuming as many shots as him, which was ten at this point, I was pretty much shit faced. I couldn’t even stand up straight! I think I was talking in tongues or something and little Nanamin here got so worried, he was calling everyone about what to do. Poor guy was in tears, thinking he killed me.”

“I almost did. I still feel guilty about it to this day,” Nanami interjects.

“He made me swear off alcohol after that. Lectured me about how bad it is for me, especially. I think seeing me puke my guts out traumatized him. But it turns out, he was right. I think it fucks up some of my techniques, so I just steer clear of it completely. Plus, I think it tastes icky.” Gojo laughs with a wave of his hand.

Nanami’s girlfriend has a big grin on her face. “I like that story! Got any embarrassing ones?”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty. Has he ever told you about the time I convinced him to go through a haunted house with me? Shoko was there too, she can attest to all of this!”

Nanami rolls his eyes, smiling. He continues to sip on his last glass of sake as they lean in close together to share stories and laughter. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but he feels a pleasant warmth in his chest. Seeing the people in his life gathered like this is something he’s secretly dreamed about for a while now, and it’s actually happening. Before he gets too sentimental, he finishes the rest of his liquor and reaches over to stuff his mouth with another piece of sushi. 

Ieiri ends up ordering a third flight, but only gets through two glasses. She gives the remaining sake to Nanami, who is now tipsy. Maybe even close to being drunk. All he knows for sure is that he feels giddy. He rests his head onto his girlfriend’s shoulder, sighing. She giggles as she caresses his knee. “You good, Kento?”

Gojo, who is checking out for them, smirks. “I think he’s a little tipsy.”

“You’re losing your touch, Nanami. I still don’t feel a thing,” Ieiri claims. 

“Hey, it’s not his fault that your stomach is an unending abyss for liquor,” Gojo teases. 

Nanami mutters, “Let’s call it a night. I’m ready to sleep.”

“Oi oi oi, don’t even think about going home yet. The night is still young and there’s a karaoke bar down the street that’s calling for us.”

“We’ve also got an entire bottle of Japanese whiskey to consume,” Ieiri adds, holding up the gift bag. “Can’t let this bad boy go to waste.”

Nanami responds, “You can’t possibly be implying that we finish that whole bottle tonight, right? Shoko, that’s impossible. No way.”

Ieiri and Gojo grin simultaneously, staring at Nanami. “Someone is drunk,” Ieiri snickers.

Gojo faces Nanami’s girlfriend, who has been laughing the past few minutes, explaining, “Whenever Kento is drunk, he starts calling us by our first names. It’s actually quite sweet.”

“Shut up, Satoru. Leave me alone,” he blurts out.

Shoko and Satoru cackle as they get up from the table. 

“So, karaoke then?”

~~~

It takes less than five minutes to walk to the karaoke bar. You hear the bass bumping from the outside as Nanami holds your hand, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up his forearms. As Gojo pays for a private room, Nanami leans in, whispering, “I love you, baby.” His mouth is warm against your ear, the sweet scent of alcohol lingering on his breath.

You giggle. “I love you too, Kento.”

“No, seriously. I love you. You’re literally an angel. My sweet angel.” He is just too cute right now. You laugh louder. “Kento, you’re drunk.”

“Maybe I’m a bit tipsy, but I promise I mean everything I’m saying. I love you so fucking much.” This man is going to be the death of you. You’re quite buzzed yourself, but you start feeling drunk off his affectionate words. You give him a quick peck on the cheek before Gojo leads you all into a private room. It’s dark inside, with only blue and purple mood lighting on the ceiling. Gojo stands by the karaoke machine, trying to get everything set up while the rest of you sit on the couch. Nanami slumps beside you and leans his head back. A waiter comes in with several glasses and a whole pitcher of water. Ieiri pours it into a glass and hands it to you, smiling. “We should stay hydrated if we’re going to be singing.”

You return her smile and give your thanks, taking a sip before passing it to Nanami. He shakes his head and declines. “No. No water. Need alcohol.”

Ieiri chuckles as you push the glass of water in front of his lips. “Just drink some water first.”

He pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “No.”

“Don’t bother, Nanami is still stubborn even when he’s drunk,” Gojo comments.

You lean close to him, begging, “Please, baby? For me?” You slide your hand on his thigh.

With his arms still crossed, he opens his mouth as you tip the glass to his lips. You watch him take a couple of gulps before setting the drink on the table, satisfied with your tactic. Gojo chortles as he takes a seat beside Ieiri. “I stand corrected. Now, which song should we sing first?”

Nanami stands up, reaching for one of the microphones on the table. “Satoru. You know what song I want.”

“On it.” Gojo flips through the music catalog until he finds what he’s looking for, then enters a series of numbers on the remote. 

Ieiri relaxes into the couch, the same pleasant smile on her face. “Hope you’re ready for this.”

Interested and slightly nervous, you sit back with her to enjoy whatever show your boyfriend is about to perform for you. A familiar tune begins to play, and after a couple of beats, you recognize it as the song Rock Your Body thumping through the speakers. Nanami sways his hips side-to-side in tandem with the rhythm as he sings, “Don’t be so quick to walk away, dance with me! I wanna rock your body, please stay, dance with me!”

Gojo leans forward to look at you, yelling, “He always picks this as his first song! Always!” He also begins moving his body to the music while Ieiri nods her head to it. 

This might be one of the best things you’ve ever seen. Kento Nanami, your boyfriend, dancing and singing to a pop hit from the y2k era. No video could ever do this justice, so you just simple watch and enjoy with your own eyes. On the second chorus, he turns to you, a goofy expression on his face, tickling you under your chin, serenading, “I wanna rock your body, please stay, dance with me!” Gojo and Ieiri let out a loud whoop as you giggle, grabbing his hips while he continues to swing them in front of you. Gojo lets out a whistle as Ieiri cracks up. 

When the song ends, you all applaud as he takes a bow. Out of breath, he puts the mic down on the table and chugs the rest of the water in the glass before collapsing back into his seat. With the biggest grin, you exclaim, “That was so good, Kento! I’m so impressed!”

He gives you that same goofy grin as he slurs, “Was pretty good, huh? Should we take more shots?”

Before you even notice, Ieiri has lined up three glasses on the table and is pouring the Japanese whiskey. She delivers a shot to Nanami, who throws it back immediately. You and her cheers before drinking it. “Let’s do the next one,” she says, placing her hand on your back. “I know what song to do.”

You both belt out another pop hit from the 90s, singing and dancing while on the couch. Gojo chants along without a mic as Nanami bops to the music. Next, Gojo gives a dazzling performance of a classic 80s rock ballad, complete with all the theatrics, including an air guitar solo. After that, him and Nanami do a duet to an R&B song, which involves more hip swaying from Nanami directed at you. Gojo attempts a body roll towards Ieiri, who politely and firmly refuses before taking another shot. 

The room is buzzing with chaotic energy from sober Gojo and the rest of you drunkards. Ieiri’s composure begins to waver as she stands up to belt out Girls Just Wanna Have Fun with Gojo, who twirls her around the room until she promptly tells him to stop. “I’m going to yak if you keep spinning me, Satoru!”

They perform another song together, with Gojo hogging the mic as Ieiri tries to grab it from him, shrieking the lyrics loudly. “Shoko, there are other mics on the table! Stop trying to take mine!” he yells. She giggles, finally taking another mic to continue singing.

You and Nanami cuddle in the corner, unable to keep yourselves off each other, especially after seeing him sway his hips so many times tonight. As the other two sing, you and your boyfriend share sloppy kisses while hands roam over each other’s bodies. As you begin to unbutton his dress shirt from the top, you start kissing his neck, to which he lets out a loud moan. 

Finally being noticed by Gojo, he yells into the mic, “Hey, stop it you too! Gross!”

Ieiri lets out a shriek, also shouting into the mic, “Stop groping each other and sing another song with me!” she demands, beckoning you. 

Stumbling a bit, you get up to stand next to her, but Nanami’s grip is on your wrist, holding you in place. “No, don’t leave. Let’s kiss s’more.”

“Kento, I want to sing another song with my new best friend!” Ieiri whines. Gojo chimes in, “Me too! I want to duet with my new bestie!”

Your boyfriend grunts, eventually loosening his hold. With a big smile on your face, you walk towards your new friends and search through the catalog together, deciding on I Wanna Dance with Somebody. Nanami lets out a loud huff right before the music starts. They giggle behind their hands. “He’s so jealous. He wants to keep you all to himself.” 

The three of you prance around the room, singing, “Oh, I wanna dance with somebody! I wanna feel the heatwith somebody!” 

Nanami scowls in the corner with his foot tapping to the beat. You break out of whatever line dance you’re doing to approach him, bopping your head, trying to coax a smile out of him. His expression is glum, but you see his lips twitch slightly. You take his arm, trying to convince him to join you, which he refuses at first. Not being able to resist much longer, he starts swaying with you as you lead him to the dance party a few feet away. Gojo and Ieiri rejoice as all four of you start shouting the last lines of the song. With everyone panting like they just ran a marathon, you all mutually decide to do one final round to end the night. Gojo, who seems perky as ever, chooses another pop hit. 

“Shoko, record me.” She retrieves her phone as Gojo points to the camera. “Utahime, this is for you, babe!” As he continues to serenade the camera, not even needing to look at the lyrics on screen, you hear Ieiri chuckle under her breath. “She’s going to hate this.”

You and Nanami sit together, fingers interlocked. He nuzzles his face into your neck as he asks, “What song should we sing, honey?” He hasn’t had any more shots since the first one, so his speech isn’t as slurred.

“I don’t know, what did you have in mind?”

“I like that one song. The one you’re always singing to in the shower,” he hums. 

“Ha, so you noticed how obsessed I am with that song right now?”

“It’s cute. I like hearing you sing it.” He rubs his nose into your neck.

Butterflies flutter in your belly. Even after dating for a few months now, you still get flustered by Nanami’s sweet words. “Okay, let’s do it.”

When they finish, you already have the code for the song entered. A smooth ballad starts playing as you and Nanami stand up, ready to duet together. Ieiri squeals, “I love this song!”

Nanami performs the first part with enthusiasm, causing Gojo to heckle, “This is too slow and serious!”

“Shut up, Satoru,” Nanami scolds before he continues.

You explain, “He wanted to this one because he likes hearing me sing it in the shower!”

Gojo smirks, holding his hands up in surrender. “Got it. I’ll say no more.” Then, he whispers something in Ieiri’s ear. Whatever he mentions makes the other woman smile, glancing at you with a knowing look. 

After Nanami finishes the chorus, it’s your turn. From the corner of your eye, you see Nanami gaze at you lovingly as you sing, moving along to the music. You turn towards him beaming as you sing the chorus together, in sync. When it’s done, you receive a standing ovation from the audience. Nanami pulls you in by the waist and kisses you on the lips, resulting in even louder applause.

“Okay lovebirds, you can go home now. I’ve kept you hostage long enough,” Gojo laughs. He points his thumb over to Ieiri. “This one probably wants to go out to another bar and drink more.”

She shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s my birthday and you’re treating. I’m taking full advantage of this.”

As you all exit the karaoke bar, Gojo approaches Nanami, patting him on the back. As the two men converse, you ask Ieiri in a hushed voice, “What did Gojo whisper to you earlier when we were singing?”

She smiles softly, replying, “Oh, that. He said that Nanami is whipped.” 

“Hey, Nanami is the one who suggested that song, not me!”

Before you can protest any further, she says, “He also said that he’s happy for him.”

That catches you off guard. You pause, not knowing how to react. She laughs. “Kento is rather smitten by you, and I can see why. You two are great together.”

Flustered once again, you respond quietly, “That’s really nice. Thank you.”

“Thank you for coming out for my birthday. It’s always fun making a new friend.” She glances at Gojo and adds, “Expect a lot more invitations from this guy.”

You give her a big smile. “I can’t wait.”

~~~

Gojo wraps an arm around Nanami’s shoulders as they walk behind the other two, making their way out of the karaoke bar. “Thanks for coming out tonight, buddy. This was so much fun.”

“Thanks for the invite. It was a lot of fun,” Nanami admits, sober now.

“I really like her. Your girlfriend. She’s really nice and fun. Total opposite of you,” Gojo jokes. Nanami tries to shrug his friend’s arm off his shoulders to no avail. 

He continues. “In all seriousness, I’m really happy for you. You seem to be in a much better mood these days. I told you all you needed was to get laid!”

This time, Nanami successfully shoves him off as his friend laughs. Before he walks faster to be next to his girlfriend, Gojo utters, “You really deserve this, Kento. You deserve to be happy.”

He pauses to face him, looking at him with a small smile. His mind goes back to the conversation they had a week before he met the woman of his dreams. Nanami had voiced his concerns to Gojo about dating as a Jujutsu Sorcerer. He made up all these rules in his head, forbidding himself to date in order to protect his heart. Of all the people, it was Gojo who was the voice of reason. It was his best friend who convinced him to go for it. And it ended up being the best decision of his life. 

Nanami reaches his hand towards Gojo’s shoulder and gives it a firm clasp. His friend’s eyes widen, even hidden behind the stylish sunglasses. “Thank you, Satoru.” He doesn’t elaborate further. He knows that Gojo understands. 

Gojo’s lip quivers, either from amusement or sentimentality. Either way, he returns to his signature smirk almost instantly. “Let’s hang out again soon, okay?”

They say their goodbyes, Gojo and Ieiri turning to walk to another bar as Nanami and his girl head to the train station. On the ride back, she rests her head against him with her eyes closed. They stay like this in silence, listening only to the sound of the train gliding through the tracks. He entwines his fingers with hers, giving her a little squeeze. As much fun as the night was, these are the little moments that bring him to a state of pure bliss. He’s happy. Truly, utterly, irrevocably happy.

And he deserves it.

Taglist: @moonmalice @bloombb @strawberry1042

[gunilslaugh]

Hi! <3

Do you know the prompt "When you call them a pretty boy"? I once read a scenario like that and I wonder how the members would react to their s/o calling them a pretty boy. Would they get a bit emotional, be a blushy mess, tease you back..

What do you think?~

Here you go, I hope that you enjoy it!

All members :]

Summary: Xdinary Heroes reaction to you calling them “pretty boy”

WC:929

Warnings: grammar

photo not mine credits to owner.

Gunil

•He’s flustered, taken back a bit. Didn’t expect you to call him that.

• Will always take a compliment though.

“Whatcha doing pretty boy?” You asked as you walked over to where Gunil was currently sitting on the couch. “Oh I-I’m just… not much,” he replies stuttering, with a smile taking over his face.

“What are you doing pretty?” Gunil returns the question, causing you to laugh a bit.

“Bothering my pretty boy,” you say, repeating the nickname again.

“Ah, why do you keep saying that?” he partially whines.

“Calling it how I see it. Why? You don’t like it?” 

“It’s not- it just-.....” he stops opting to pull you in for a hug.”You’re attacking my heart!” He proclaimed. You laugh against him mumbling out a “cute”. In conclusion, please continue to call him pretty boy. It makes him feel giddy.

Jungsu

•Shy baby number 1

•Immediately turns red upon hearing the words leave your mouth.

“Can you grab my mug for me, pretty boy?” You asked while looking at Jungsu to see his reaction. You’re met with his very flushed face. 

“I uh- yeah. Here you go,” he answers, quickly moving to grab the mug. He hands it to you avoiding all eye contact. Face still tinted red.

“Thank you pretty boy,” you tease him.

“Stop calling me that!” He shouts while his face becomes even redder.

“Why? You are a pretty boy,” continuing on with your teasing.

“Please stop!” he begs, completely beet red. 

“Ok, ok I’ll stop,” you tell him as you rub his back soothingly. Leaving a few pats before going to fill up your mug. “Does it really affect you that bad?” This causes him to shoot a glare at you before walking away to plot his revenge. 

Gaon/Jiseok

•Goes 1 or 2 ways

•1 nonchalant he simply knows he’s a pretty boy

•2 becomes a complete menace, makes you regret saying it.

1- “Pretty boy pass me my phone please,” you say pointing to where your phone lays not far from him.

“Here,” he states simply handing you your phone, having no reaction to the nickname at all. Leaving you to stare at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” you reply before opening your phone. Maybe you’ll try again another time.

2- “What should we watch, pretty boy?” you question Jiseok while scrolling through Netflix. 

“We could watch that new kdrama, but I don’t think the male lead is as much as a pretty boy that I am,” he responds, causing you to look at him with an unamused face. “What? You said it yourself I’m a pretty boy,” he said while resting his face in the palm of his hand. Flaunting his visuals.

“I meant annoying, pretty boy,” you grumble.

O.de/Seungmin

•At first he’s a little shy, but he likes it way more than he’ll admit.

“Pretty boy playing a pretty song,” you greet Seungmin as you enter his room. Where he was currently practicing. 

“What did you call me?” he asks, chuckling as a light shade of pink dusts his cheeks

“Pretty boy,” you repeated as you plopped down beside him.

“You and your nicknames,” he playfully rolls his eyes and brings up a hand to mess with your hair. 

“Aye! Stop it!” you complain. Grabbing his hand to stop its movement in your hair.

“I think this nickname is one of the best ones though it suits you,” you pause for a moment before continuing “Pretty boy,” 

“It’s alright. Wouldn’t call it the best though,” he says, returning to practice another song, but you notice the happy smile that adorns his face.

Junhan/Hyeongjun

•Shy baby number 2

•Ten times more shy than Jungsu

“My pretty boy plays the guitar so well,” you express, sitting next to Hyeongjun on his bed, guitar occupying his lap.

“Why would you call me that?” He whines, a deep shade of red rushing onto his face and down his neck.

“Because you are. You’re the prettiest of pretty boys,” you declare. Making Hyeongjun cover his face with his hand, looking down at his lap. 

“No I’m not stop it,” his voice comes out muffled by his hands. You lean forward, prying his hands away from his face, keeping each one grasped in your own.

“Yes you are. You’re a pretty boy because I said so,” staring right into his eyes as you spoke. He tries to pull out of your firm grasp, but you won’t let him.

“Ok, I get it. Just stop now please,” he begged fervently. 

“Fine, I’m done…. for now”

“Yah!” he shouted, causing you to laugh.

Jooyeon

•Another menace

“What do you want to have for dinner, pretty boy?” you ask Jooyeon. He smirks upon hearing your words. 

“Your pretty boy wants chicken,” he replies with a playful smile taking over his lips.

“What about drinks?” you follow up. Silence is the only response you get. “I asked about drinks,” you repeat. Again you’re only met with his silence as he stares at you tilting his head to the side and shrugging. You let out a sigh catching on.

“What would you like to drink, pretty boy?” 

“Cola obviously,” he says sassily. 

“You’re only gonna respond to pretty boy now aren’t you?”

“You shall call me as I am,”

“A thorn in my side,” you state with a sarcastic smile.

“How dare you call me a thorn,” he lunges at you, fingers beginning to assault your sides.

“Alright, I’m sorry pretty boy,” you surrender.

“Good,” he says with a satisfied smile, but keeps his arms wrapped around you.

[melefim]

Dead Boy Detectives Score is out!

I’ve also added it to my playlist with all the other songs used in the show here:

I’ll be doing a complete listing of where all the songs are found in the show like I did for the regular soundtrack, but in the meantime here’s what I recognize from a quick listen/ click through:

(Episode numbers are in parentheses)

Death Becomes Him: Gas mask ghost street chase, Death in the office (1)

The Dead Boy Detectives Main Title theme: self- explanatory- opening titles for every episode, as well as credits for 1-3.

So Many Questions for So Many Fools: Edwin’s Flashback (1), intercepted by cats & escorted to the cannery (2), (escort to cannery bit also plays when Niko & Crystal are walking to the cannery in episode 8), Edwin gives Crystal a list of questions for Niko —> We have the same left (2)

Little Girl Collector: Esther’s theme— bits of it played throughout: Esther meets Crystal (1), Yelling at Monty (1), Esther browsing Tragic Mick’s (2), Esther in the butcher shop (3), Esther sees Monty with Edwin (3), Esther & Monty in the kitchen (5&6), Esther walking down the street (8)

Want and Pleasure: Cat King theme- all or partially played during Edwin’s punishment discussion (2), Meeting by the lighthouse (4), Cat King in forest (6), Esther in the cannery (7)

Niko: bit starting around 2:00 is following Maxine (5), 2:45-3:00ish is setting up the butcher shop for the date & Jenny’s reaction(5)

Sadness Came Too/ Looking for Boys: up until 1:37 is Niko & Crystal talking about their families (2), 1:38 and on is the Night Nurse/ Lost & Found department theme. Sections are heard at end of episode 1, reviewing the boy’s files (2), the notary (3), interviewing the Devlin girls (3), Night nurse arrives in Port Townsend (4), upstairs with Jenny (4), that night on the cliff (4), appears to take the boys (6), opening the door to hell (7), and when she leaves at the end of 7.

Awakening Skeletons: Dandelion shrine field (2)

Stuck in a jar: Dandelion Sprite theme- when they’re first in the jar & when Niko first sees them (2), the three scenes with them taunting Niko in Devlin house (3), Jenny sees them (8), very end of igloo & end credits (8)

Odd Customers and Cohorts: first bit is Potential client interviews (3), second half might be at Tragic Mick’s?

VHS and David: Devlin House- last minute of the song is after the loop is broken and Death comes (3)

You Can Talk To Me: first bit is them back at the tongue & tail after the lighthouse Leapers (4)

All So Obvious: 2:20-3:17 is summoning Shelby (5)

Never Been Kissed/ Hell: first bit is Niko & Edwin talking about kissing (4), Middle is probably Charles descending into Hell?? (7), 4:30 on is the ‘Previously on Dead Boy Detectives’ background music (2-8)

I Messed Up: Crystal & Jenny in the alley, Crystal & Charles in the alley, Crystal unlocks her door, Charles shows her his parents (1)

Accepting Being Dead: beginning is almost but not exactly the bit in Hell from when the spider grabs Edwin to when Charles finds him again. (7) 1:00-2:30 is Edwin coming out to Charles (6). Last 30 seconds is Charles crying on the cliff (4), Bad guy talk (5), and right after he realizes he’s dead in his flashback (7).

Mirror Maze: Maxine attacks Jenny (5), pretty sure at least part is the David/Crystal/Charles confrontation in the forest (6)

Run From Hell / I’m in Love with You: first 45 seconds is Charles & Edwin running from the baby doll spider, :45- 3:30 is the second scene with Simon (do you think it has to be torture being the way we are?), 3:30- end is Edwin’s confession (7). Confession time can also be heard during conversation at end of (6) and the hug at end of (8).

Her Own Fault: first bit is Fight at Esther’s house, starts when Esther throws Niko against the wall, goes through Niko’s death

Esther’s Origin/ A New Deal: Cat King’s Esther story (8), 2:50ish onwards is the Principal looking at the case board through the end of the scene to the zoom out the window (8)

I will be going through and trying to find timestamps for where every song plays in the show, but it’ll take a bit. Until then, hope people find this useful! (And if you know any parts of songs that I missed, please feel free to drop a comment!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you like lists of things like I do, you can check out my other Dead Boy Detectives list posts here:

Full soundtrack with timestamps

When Charles’ Shirt Colors Change

George Rextrew’s Edwin comic inspo board

Moves, Incidents, and Cases Masterlist

Swearing Masterlist

[qingxin-dream]

As the World Falls Down

a/n | this is partially inspired by one of my fav scenes in the 1986 movie labyrinth, i just really love the imagery and bowie’s song (literally the title haha). always got me daydreaming🥰 hope you enjoy!! (art credits: @/myu-chan on deviantart)

warnings | poisoning, suffocation, profanity, hallucinations, reader wears a dress, implied death, crying, vague references to scara lore, not really proofread it’s 1am

genre | angst, romance

word count | 2.6k

pairing | scaramouche x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“I found some mushrooms and berries,” you announced upon returning to camp, a hand-woven basket tucked into the nook of your elbow.

“Good. We can have fowl with it too,” stated your nonchalant traveling partner, the rogue Balladeer, who nods. His eyes were lost in the growing flames of the fire he was tending to, not caring to spare you a glance as you take seat next to him to sort through your basket.

An amusing thought crossed the puppet’s mind and past his lips with haste, “It’s not poisonous, is it?”

The crackling of the fire grew louder amid the absence of your answer, reaching up to the darkening sky in a flurry of hot ash. After flipping a log over in the campfire, Scaramouche begrudgingly looked over at you, annoyed and prepared to chew you out for ignoring him. “Hey, what are you—”

“Sc-Scara… c-can’t—” you struggled to put words together as suddenly a dense fog settled over your mind. Eyelids unbearably heavy and jaw becoming slack, your consciousness was fading rapidly.

“(Y/N)?” his voice nearly cracks out of surprise, lunging toward you to catch you as your limp body collided with the ground. A single purple mushroom tumbled away from your grasp when you collapsed, the mark of your teeth engraved on the cap of the little fungus.

Scaramouche tried to shake you out of your delirium to no avail. He cradles you closer in his arms, curses pouring over his lips in a panicked state, trying to find your pulse. “Fuck, fuck… idiot, how could you be so careless!”

His fingers against your dainty wrist did not feel a thing. You weakly rolled your head toward the frantic puppet, it seemed you were blissfully unaware of how the puppet was scrambling to save you. A glittery haze swirled ominously behind your eyes—you certainly weren’t lucid—almost as if you were admiring the man holding you tightly on your deathbed.

Grazing the back of his index finger along your neck, you were still warm to the touch. It wasn’t until Scaramouche placed an ear against your chest did he hear the faint thump of your heartbeat and feel the rise of your rib cage as you breathed slowly.

You were still alive, but who knows for how long? He cursed once more, scanning over your features frantically. You no longer fought against the wave of drowsiness crashing over you, eyelids beginning to close and the small smile disappearing from your lips.

“H-Hey! Are you listening? What the hell did you eat?” the puppet growled, lightly slapping your face awake. Your eyelashes fluttered momentarily, but it was evident you weren’t comprehending anything that was happening. “Where is it? Don’t you dare close your eyes, (Y/N), I swear.”

Scaramouche recklessly searched through your basket of foraged items, tossing aside every last godforsaken wild flower, mushroom, and berry you worked so hard to collect. Looking you over, a small sparkle caught his eye.

A violet little shroom, glimmering under the setting sun, sat half-eaten on a patch of dirt next to you. It sported a mesmerizing pattern, twisting and contorting into the strangest unrecognizable shapes. His eyes trailed them through and through, a deceptively beautiful tango that drew him closer and closer with promises of pleasure, but what lurks beneath the surface of such an alluring potion?

A comforting warmth spreads across the puppet’s cheek, snapping him from his thoughts. You were cupping his cheek, half-lidded irises glistening with the reflection of a faraway realm. Scaramouche blinked.

“Where did you go?”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The echo of a grand piano was just within earshot, weaving a gentle melody so lovely your ears would happily weep if they could. A few string instruments join in, a sweet violin contrasted with a deeper cello sound, if only you could find them. Light laughter swirled about, amid the clink of wine glasses and romantic whispers.

Pulling the lavishly purple curtain back, you are faced with the extravagant ballroom packed with guests. Each of them exuded pristine elegance in their magnificent, jet-black suits adorned with freshly bloomed flowers. It was a sight to behold, truly, with their faces masked behind brilliantly intricate Fatui-esque designs, boasting tall feathers or shiny rhinestones.

As they led their beautiful partners draped in pastel ballroom dresses and the finest jewelry, something was familiar about them yet no one appeared to recognize you. Was it the soft white Cecilia clipped to the raven-haired musician plucking away at the harp? Or the exquisite Glaze Lily on the tall gentleman nearby whose ponytail faded to a golden caramel hue?

The ebb and flow of the dance pushed you to and fro, distracting you from your thoughts. It was difficult to weave through the crowd, you find it quite suffocating with no exit is in sight. Then, without warning, a small clearing was made as the guests silently danced around you and the lone man who stepped into your path.

His mask was unlike the others: an angelic shade of white that shimmered like gold under the chandelier, dotted with tiny diamonds beneath the eyes in the shape of a tear. Deep indigo locks of hair perfectly framed his face, and as your doe-like eyes took in his ethereal form you noticed his boutonnière was unique—a vibrant, wine-red dendrobium rested upon his breast pocket.

He lowered the mask, yet no one seemed to pay any mind as they swayed to the surrounding symphony. Your jaw dropped in shock, the act of revealing his identity like breaking a sacred oath. Twinkling lavender irises rested on you, drinking in your immaculate visage dolled up in an exquisite, lacy ball gown that rivaled the purest snow on Dragonspine.

You were utterly and completely awestruck, lips parted but words would never take form.

It was him—Scaramouche in the flesh.

He approached you, leaning in until he lingered but a few inches away. You swear by the Archons if someone had said he was ambrosia incarnate you would have believed them without question. It was intoxicating, the way he made your cheeks burn with warmth and searched your eyes endlessly as if it were truly the window to your soul.

His hands delicately brushed against your waist, moving to guide you into the rhythm of the crowd. Your arms wrap around his neck, just as lost in him as he was within you. The mesmerizing serenade of the orchestra drowned out any banter around you, and you felt safe in his hold.

Your voice softly broke through to him, “Who are you?”

An amused hum escapes his lips. Scaramouche gazed at you with adoration, pulling you closer against his torso like he never wanted to let you go. His husky voice answered into your ear, “Who do you think I am?”

You bit your lip. Part of you had secretly dreamed of Scaramouche returning your feelings one day. All of this felt too good to be true. Was this reality? Would he embrace you like this? Would he—

“(Y/N),” he quietly chastised, seeing you lost in thought. Strands of violet hair tickled your face when his nose brushed yours, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at his lips that were so close to meeting your own. You could hear his breath hitch, a tint of pink dusting his cheeks. “Tell me what you think of me.”

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” you nervously replied, averting your eyes as the butterflies in your stomach began to become unbearable under the weight of his affectionate and alluring gaze. “And why does it matter? You never cared about what other’s think anyway.”

“You are correct, but… you aren’t like the others, now are you?” Scaramouche smirked, a glint of mischief flickering across his features before pulling away to twirl you around.

As you returned to him, dress flourishing in tandem, you flash him a sly smile. “Well, if you must know, I do think of you fondly when you are away.”

“And what of when you are here with me?” he teased, joining the two of you at the hip again. He could practically hear his heart pounding, desperate to leap out of his chest. Scaramouche tucks a loose tuft of hair behind your ear, whispering into it once more, “You are in the presence of a god, after all. It only takes three words and I am yours.”

An insatiable rush of heat flusters your face at such a proposition. Your hand cupped his cheek and you caressed it with your thumb, committing his every perfect curve and edge to memory, as if confirming he was real and not made of paper mâché. He leans into your touch lovingly, a prince hopelessly enamored by this chance encounter.

This was really Scaramouche, and he wanted you. He chose you. In what world would you possibly deny him?

The sweet sound of the string quartet marked the end of the musical piece, drawing your attention as the crowd fell to a low hush awaiting the beginning of the next song.

When you turned to answer him, he disappeared. You flicked your head around, searching the ballroom for his face, his mask, his unusual violet hair, anything that resembled his unmistakable aura—but ultimately found naught. The guests spared disapproving looks at you through their masks, though you couldn’t discern if it was pitiful or mocking.

Your adrenaline began to kick in, not caring to push through the crowd just for the opportunity to catch a fleeting glimpse of Scaramouche’s beautiful mask. The orchestra began to play faster, heightening your sense of anxiety as guests moved in tune and nearly fought against you.

Was it something you said? Was he no longer satisfied with you? Were you just a plaything to him and nothing more?

Finally, you broke through the edge of the crowd and found yourself face-to-face with a distorted mirror of the room. Your reflection curved and blurred as if the ballroom itself was contained in an iridescent bubble. You were wrong. So horribly wrong.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the electrifying stare of Scaramouche watching you from the outskirts of the crowd. Your skin crawled with goosebumps once you noticed he was sauntering toward you, mask covering his expression.

You had to find a way out of this nightmare. Grabbing a chair from a nearby table, you held it above you, prepared to burst out of this false dream.

Suddenly a firm hand gripped your wrist painfully tight and yanked you away from the mirror, causing you to fall backwards into the perpetrator. Scaramouche growled in anger through his teeth, “I won’t let you do this. You can’t abandon me!”

“You lied to me!” Wriggling under him, you attempted to pull away with the chair but he was too strong. He ripped the chair out of your hands, toppling you over on the floor helplessly. You scrambled to stand up, carelessly tearing through the frills of your dress with your heels.

Scaramouche threw the chair aside and reached for your arm again, this time pleading with you, tears pricking his pretty red-lined eyes. “(Y/N), please. I’ve turned this world upside down and I’ve done it all for you. Stay here with me. Devote yourself to me. It’s all I ask.”

You hesitate at the sound of desperation evident in his voice, looking back at him one more time. He had lost his ephemeral sheen, hair tousled and scattered messily across his pale face. He was hanging on to your every word, hoping you would reconsider an eternity in paradise with him. It hurt to see how sad of a state he was reduced to, begging you to be with him.

He was right. This was everything you wanted—an endless night in his arms as lovers, but this was not how it was meant to be.

“I’m sorry,” you hoarsely choked back tears, smashing the mirror into a million pieces.

Infinitely small shards reflected the horrified look of betrayal on Scaramouche’s face as the dream was lost to space.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

You woke to the sound of crickets and a crackling fire. A cool, wet rag sat on your forehead, contrasting the warmth of the campfire and causing you to scrunch your nose as you stirred. Your heart raced when you were squeezed by the shoulders into someone’s chest, wet drops falling on you.

“Hm?” you mumbled against the fabric of their clothes, resting your hand against the left side of their chest. After a moment, you realized this person lacked a heartbeat. Your eyes shot open. “Scara… mouche?”

Your eyes took a moment to adjust, eventually focusing on the man who was cradling you close and gently rocking you back and forth. His divine features were contorted into despair, eyelashes speckled with the glistening residue of his tears. You spoke up again, “Scaramouche, what happened?”

“I thought you fucking died, that’s what happened.”

Oh. Your memory proved to be fuzzy—you remembered foraging for dinner, picking all kinds of edible berries and mushrooms. You remember returning to camp, but trying to think of anything beyond that worsened your headache. Were you attacked?

“How long have I been out?” you asked apprehensively.

Scaramouche swallowed thickly, hollow eyes wandering up your form to meet yours. It was gut-wrenching, he was never this vulnerable—this exposed—with you. “Six hours.”

He told himself he would never allow foolish mortal feelings to defile his heart again long ago, but you had gotten under his skin more than he realized. You sunk your claws into his heart so easily, so readily, and he was complacent in it. Maybe part of him wanted to believe it would be different despite his deep-rooted cynicism.

When you passed out cold and lifeless, you might as well have gored his heart right out of his fragile puppet body.

Scaramouche wanted you to, for all of the self-hatred, regret, love, and mourning he felt over you eating a stupid purple mushroom.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered shamefully, gripping his robe in your fist. You really fucked up this time. Had he held you the whole time, wishing you would come to or saying his goodbyes? The thought welled hot tears in your eyes.

He gave you a bewildered look, appalled by your pathetic apology. “I should kill you.”

“I would understand.”

The puppet had enough. After suffering in the depths of darkness and despondency for hours thinking you had succumbed to your mortality, Scaramouche could bear it no longer. You were alive, your heart was beating, and you were breathing—you were in his grasp once more and he wouldn’t dare waste this newfound chance with you.

“To hell with it,” he swore with a hasty whisper ghosting your pink lips, cupping your cheek softly, taking in how beautiful you looked in the moonlight even as you laid ill. “I love you, (Y/N), and don’t you dare do this to me again.”

Scaramouche brushed his chapped lips, salty with the remnants of his tears, against yours, relishing in the sensation of how plush and warm you felt. He rubbed his thumb over your cheekbone and down your jaw delicately like you could break underneath him at any moment. His hand trembled slightly on your skin, prompting you to hold his palm to your face to quell his fears.

When you moved your lips and pressed further into him, reaching up to lace your fingers in his hair, he swiped his tongue to ask permission before deepening the kiss. You tenderly smiled, greeting his tongue with your own. Scaramouche treated you with the utmost reverence, dedicating himself to tasting every saccharine drop you would offer.

He poured his heart into you until you were desperate for air and had to break away, much to his dismay. You were more than addicting. Indulging in you was beyond euphoric, to feel complete and whole at last was indescribable.

Recovering your breath, you huffed out a contented laugh and sealed your fate with one more peck on his lips. “I love you too.”

For the first time in hundreds of years, the puppet genuinely smiled, interlacing his fingers with yours.

“So… what did you dream of after you ate that mushroom?”

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

I love your nuanced takes. They are always a joy to read.

I'd be curious which songs, beatles or solo, do you think they wrote for/about each other and their situation (beatles&solo).

You don't have to go into great detail on them if you don't wanna.

Hope you have a great day. <3

Hi anon :) Glad you enjoy my takes! Hope you have a great day too <3

Preface that while I think this is fun, I really don't generally think songs are a good vehicle to extrapolate about the real life of these people. So, I try not to base my analyses of them as people on these songs, even the ones I feel more strongly about.

I'll categorize these by how certain I am about them (and I'll leave out confirmed stuff like Too Many People, Early 1970, How Do You Sleep?, Run of the Mill, Here Today etc.)

If you have a question re: why some specific song is in this category and not the other I can try to explain, though some of it is admittedly just vibes (and since I try to separate this from the Main Analysis™, I feel okay utilizing the vibes as a justification at times lol) If I left a song off you'd like my take on feel free to ask as well.

Close to positive:

Day Tripper is imho at least partially about Paul. This one feels so obvious to me, given what John said about it and the timeline (written squarely before Paul took LSD, conveniently after the whole LA fiasco), yet I rarely see people talking about it. Sad! It could also be partially about Cynthia.

Tug of War: Paul said it was about John in 1982 but then retconned that. IDK why he did that but. Come on!

I Know (I Know): I nearly put this one a tier lower but the I've Got A Feeling intro and the way it fits in the timeline. The Getting Better reference. It matching up with Paul's description of them tripping together + "share in each other's mind". It's too much.

A compelling case can be made:

In My Life: it makes a lot of sense. But Paul isn't the only likely muse IMO. he might be the most likely one, I'm not sure. I Know (I Know) makes me tend more to it though, admittedly.

3 Legs: yeah. Probably! It's not entirely clear to me what he's expressing outside a feeling of betrayal though.

Oh! Darling: Likely about John, but perhaps actually about the band as a whole.

The Answer's at the End: the way George quoted that same saying when asked about Paul in that live chat… THE IMPLICATIONS! (at least that maybe George came to associate the song with Paul later on?)

Remember: I tend to think this song is specifically about running away from the Beatles. There's more sadness in it, given John references Bring It On Home in the lyrics.

Who Can See It: this one also appears to be about George's general relationship with the Beatles. I don't think this is a hot take but no one talks about this song lol. I love it!

Cafe On The Left Bank: the song referencing Charles de Gaulle making a speech does place this quite firmly in the 60s. It's not really a love song though so I don't get why people consider this one such a win lol. It seems to mostly be about the city of Paris itself.

I like to think it's true but am admittedly not sure:

Call Me Back Again: it's a vague song, really. But damn… those mellotron flutes.

#9 Dream: IDK. this versus "The dream is over". the production-style. I like reading this song as a reconciliation with The Beatles as a concept.

Little Lamb Dragonfly: the whole being haunted by the dragonfly even though you're trying to move on thing :/

No Words: COME ON??????? but the Denny writing credit does puzzle me lol.

Crippled Inside: it would be soooooo devastating @ Paul!!! (probably only partially, possibly also self-directed)

Could have been inspired by the other but not necessarily in the way people think:

Some People Never Know: I do think Paul felt John was cynical in the way he's describing in this song. (I don't really think I Know (I Know) is a response to this song btw)

Silly Love Songs: ditto. He is Not fucking saying "I love you" (romantically) to John in the song he's duetting with his wife lol. but it could be a cheeky lil nod.

We Can Work It Out: I believe Paul when he says this was written about a fight he'd had with Jane. But Paul was also in conflict with John at the time (again, the LSD thing), thus I think that might have in some way informed his outlook when writing this. And John may have been thinking about their conflict while writing his part.

Let Me Roll It: it sounds a lot like John, yeah! but idk about the lyrics.

Look At Me: it could be about Paul, but it could be about the whole world, really. It's more a wish to be seen and understood really.

Dear Boy: I'm annoyed by people insisting Paul is lying when he says the inspiration is Linda's ex-husband. She's co-credited (and she actually isn't credited on every Ram song. I don't think the credit was "handed" to her, at least not at this point in time)! That being said, Paul may have bonded with Linda over feeling unappreciated in their previous life situations.

Yvonne's The One: Look. I think John's death really shifted how Paul felt about telling people he loved them. That may well have influenced the lyrics song. I don't think it's necessarily that literal.

However Absurd: ditto. This song is even more abstract so it feels even less literal.

?????? Who Knows

If I Fell: usually I think no it couldn't possibly. But– (And I don't find that Valentines card very compelling, no. but it's just like: well then who else would this song John called very personal about? I guess, for all I know, it could even be Brian. wow!)

Girl: I mean. Maybe! Sort of. They also said at the time it was about religion, and that makes a lot of sense, but it could still be that the character of the girl was inspired by how John felt about Paul at the time.

I'm So Tired: it seems equally likely to be about Yoko to me.

Don't Let Me Down: ditto. Actually. this one's more likely Just about Yoko tbh.

I'm Losing You: maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaybe. but also. Yoko.

Now And Then: genuinely who knows. this one's admittedly stranger for Yoko but… they did "interrupt" their relationship often, requiring to "start again". Also May is an option.

The Pound Is Sinking: Mostly, I don't know how straightforward it is.

Honestly… Not really

(Just Like) Starting Over: the "My Love", "Another Day", "Wings" thing has never compelled me, based on those being OLD songs by 1980, plus none of the phrasing or word choice is particularly conspicuous to me. But I also don't feel very strongly that it's not about Paul. It could be, though I don't know that I'd assume it was meant as a direct declaration of love then. Also the line before being a reference to Through The Looking Glass is neither here nor there. Since when is John Lennon dropping Lewis Caroll references only reserved for Paul? that feels like putting the cart before the horse, based on one single lyric in Glass Onion.

I've Got A Feeling: I think he's just saying words here, tbh.

Real Love: if it's about Paul that's fucking depressing. But I don't think it is really.

[chvoswxtch]

Hey girl!! I’m so happy for your milestone! You deserve it! You’re writing is incredible and you’re an amazing person. I look forward to your posts and writing all the time! Can’t wait to continue reading your work!

I have been debating song lyrics since you posted about the bar opening because of course I’m gonna order a margarita on the rocks with Frank! Bet you’re surprised about that one 😂

So I’m ordering a margarita on the rocks and I hope to meet Frank there, and in my little world, “Holding Out for a Hero” is playing in the background. I’m partial to the lyrics “I’m holding out for a hero till the end of the night/he’s gotta be strong and he’s gotta be fast/and he’s gotta be fresh from the fight”

I might order a few more drinks. 😏Let’s get this party started!! 🍹🍺🍾

my lovely meg,

I think you give me far too much credit, so I need to confess that while writing this, I forgot the word for hourglass and literally had to google "sand glass thing you turn over time". so maybe humble me a bit. 😬

thank you so much for always being so sweet. frankie's got your margarita on the rocks at the end of the bar waiting for you. 😏

as a reminder: margarita on the rocks means it's spicy (minors dni)!

blurb below the cut

holding out for a hero

he’s gotta be fresh from the fight

Your knee bounced anxiously up and down as you sat perched on the edge of the couch, eyes continuously darting over towards the clock on the wall. 

11:47pm.

Frank was supposed to come home today. You spoke to him this morning, and he was in the process of packing his limited belongings he’d brought to the motel he was staying at. He promised he was coming home to you today.

“Be on the road in ‘bout ten minutes, should be there in a couple hours. Can’t wait to see ya, sweetheart.”

That was this morning, and it was almost midnight. When Frank didn’t show up by the afternoon, you’d called him, but his phone went straight to voicemail. You tried not to freak out about that, but the more you kept getting greeted by an automated message instead of his familiar gruff voice, panic began to spread through your lungs like air stretching out a balloon. 

You’d lost track of how many times you had called him. How many hysteric voicemails and frantic messages you had left him. You were on the verge of breaking down and reaching out to Madani to demand an all out manhunt to find him. This wasn’t like Frank. He always checked in with you if he was going to be late, even by a minute. He knew how much you worried when he was away, and he did everything he could to put your mind at ease.

It was hard not to let your mind wander to the worst possible case scenarios. The fact that Frank Castle was still alive and kicking despite all of the numerous times he should have died already was a goddamn miracle. You can only cheat Death so many times before Death decides to retaliate. What if his stubborn luck had finally run out? What if the last grain of sand had slipped past his hourglass, and you weren’t there to catch it?

Before you could spiral any further, the sound of a lock turning caught your attention, and you were rushing towards the front door. Just as you reached the threshold, Frank was closing the door behind him, and he paused to stare at you when he caught the look on your face. You must have looked like an absolute wreck; hair a tangled mess from running your fingers through it anxiously, nose glowing red from intermittent breakdowns, eyes glassy with tears and fears of the unknown. A soft gasp emitted from your lips when you took him in.

Frank’s hair was disheveled and sweat glistened across his forehead and down the column of his throat. There were fresh cuts actively bleeding above his right eyebrow, across his large nose, and you caught the flash of white gauze beneath the sleeve of his henley on his left arm. Even in the dim light you could see a fresh patch of violet blooming underneath his left eye, just along the crest of his sharp cheekbone. The movement of his hand caught your attention, and you watched as he pulled his phone from his pocket to show you the completely shattered screen and-wait, was that a bullet lodged in the middle?

Frank grunted quietly as he motioned his head towards the demolished phone.

“Sorry I didn’t call, baby. Ran into a little trouble, and this goddamn thing got blown to bits.”

Once your nerves started to dissipate and you realized Frank wasn’t a cruel trick of your imagination, you rushed forward to cup his face gently in your hands, a fresh wave of tears approaching the shore of your waterline.

“Jesus, Frank. What the hell happened?”

“Nothin’ I couldn’t handle.”

For a moment all you could do was close your eyes and let your forehead rest against Frank’s broad chest, deeply inhaling his scent and gripping onto the collar of his shirt to ground yourself. 

Frank was home. Frank was okay. Frank was alive.

“I was…I was so-”

Your voice broke off towards the end in a choked sob, and Frank moved his hands from your hips to wrap tightly around your waist, hugging you tightly into his chest as he peppered kisses into your hair.

“Hey, I’m alright. I can take a lot, you know that. Always come home to you, don’t I?”

“I thought…I thought-”

“Hey, shh shh shh. C’mere, baby.”

Frank lightly grasped your face in his large hand, tipping your head back gently to press his lips delicately to yours. Tears slipped down your cheeks in pure relief, but Frank simply swallowed them as he kissed you even deeper, holding you as close to his body as he could. You weren’t sure if it was the pure adrenaline coursing through his blood or the physical reassurance your body craved to make up for all those hours of helpless mania, but both of you seemed to silently understand exactly what you needed from each other in that moment.

Bending down slightly to wrap his arm around your waist, Frank abruptly lifted you up into his arms as you quickly wrapped your legs around his waist, grabbing onto the back of his neck while slipping your tongue into his mouth with a content hum. He blindly walked you both backwards until you bumped into the kitchen table, setting you down on the surface as his large hands tore your shirt over your head as yours fumbled with the buckle of his belt. The second he slipped your panties past your ankles, Frank spit into his palm and slipped it between your thighs, warming you up with his thick fingers while your hand slipped past his jeans and into his boxers to wrap your hand around his eager cock. 

Not a word needed to be spoken in that moment. You needed to feel that Frank was here with you, and Frank needed to show you how much he missed you.

The delicious sting of your walls accommodating his thick cock lulled you into a calm sense of serenity as he locked his arms around your body like unbreakable chains.

Frank was home. Frank was okay. Frank was alive.

[deltastra]

Tower of God Season 2 (New Trailer with OP Theme) Thoughts

Hello everyone! I haven't done a pre-written post in a while (Did I ever?), so let me yap about the new Tower of God trailer! I wanna tell you guys my honest thoughts and initial reaction to certain scenes.

I waited so long for them to show literally anything else other than the same 12(?) scenes and even a sneak peak to the OP theme performed by NiziU. FINALLY! I will be yapping a lot so SPOILER ALERT FOR ANIME ONLIES

(Also if you guys like posts like this from me, I'll try my best to do this more often as opposed to pre-written reviews!)

Ok so first off I want to say, I was overwhelmed with emotions. I read this arc back in 2016...to see it finally animated, man. Not to mention, it has been like 4 YEARS since season 1. Time flies and a lot happened in my life in between that. I remember how I felt when the OP of the first season played and it hit me that the very first WEBTOON I have ever read, finally got an anime adaptation, which was something that felt impossible back then.

I AM HOPING THIS SCENE WITH ANDROSSI MEANS THAT THE NEW STUDIO WILL FOLLOW THE WEBTOON PROPERLY. Don't get me wrong, besides its flaws, I did love Season 1. However, I was upset with the needless changes they made and important scenes they removed. So I hope the new studio follows the webtoon. They should definitely re-establish how much Bam meant to Androssi.

Seeing Khun in season 2 artstyle is nice. Regarding the artstyle, this may sound weird but I liked season 1's a bit more. Season 1's artsyle felt more "unique" along with its vibrant colours. But, I'll admit, season 2's artsyle is definately more suitable for the long-run when considering how serious the story gets later down the road.

Okay, I'll admit. This scene felt a bit...stiff?? But that's not a big deal.

I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE THEM AND THEIR FRIENDSHIP GROW ALL OVER AGAIN AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

AND THE OP THEME FINALLY PLAYS! Now here's the thing. I listened to a few songs by NiziU and I won't lie, as nice as the songs were, I was unsure whether they fit the Tower of God tone. But I kept an open mind as I knew nothing about STRAY KIDS back in season 1 and now I listen to TOP and SLUMP so often and associate it with Tower of God due to the lyrics.

As for the sneak peak of RISE UP by NiziU, I like the song. I'm not obsessed over it, maybe I need more of it to form a solid opinion. However, I think it's fine overall! (Hopefully the song isn't wasted in the OP by the use of black screens and credits lol)

I LOVE THIS SHOT SO MUCH. THE DETAIL ON THE SHINSU IS SO GOOD. The lighting as well!

I like how they drew Viole's eyes here. He looks tired which honestly fits well given what he faced during his time with FUG. I don't remember if he looked like that in the WEBTOON whenever his eyes were shown but if it's an anime-original detail, I love it!

(I hope we see his bright eyes during the scene with Wagnan and Viole on the rooftop! Can't wait to see that animated!)

OH I CANNOT WAIT TO SEE THIS FIGHT ANIMATED OMGGGG

Okay, this shot was kinda cool sorry guys I just wanted to say that.

AAAAND THATS ABOUT IT.

First of all, WAY BETTER TRAILER THAN WHATEVER THEY WERE SHOWING US BEFORE! Second, I feel a little more confident about season 2 now. It's alright. I feel like nowadays everyone expects MAPPA or UFOTABLE quality for every anime but this is fine. While I'll miss the season 1 artsyle that I grew to love, I look forward to see what the new studio has to offer.

ALSO KEVIN PENKIN RETURNING LETS GOOOOOO

I want to end things off by saying that when I first read this arc. I ADORED TEAM SWEET AND SOUR. I believe it was because they reminded me of Quinx Squad from Tokyo Ghoul :re...

I just love this team's dynamic and how well they play off eachother. It felt more like a found family. I understand people liked season 1's cast more but I have always been more partial to this team <3

I look forward to seeing them again in the anime cause I miss their early days so much. NOTHING BAD HAPPENS TO ANY OF THEM OKAY? HELL TRAIN ISN'T REAL </3 (SIU please bring back the active members please I beg of you. SHOW ME THEIR SEASON 3 LOOKS)

[irisu-syndromemes]

plagiarizing an obscure indie game for lazy hip hop and rap

youtube is currently going up in flames over plagiarism found in many people's channels, particularly documentary-ish videos that have commentary from the uploader. this seems to be mostly because of that hbomberguy and his recent video about plagiarism on the website, as well as a specific person who's drowning in controversy lately.

i admit that i don't want to watch the video, because i've watched other videos already, and i've heard about the other channels' plagiarism through the grapevine. plagiarism IS awful, and it's a disgrace to find it's way more commonplace than i thought.

all this made me remember something... a few weeks ago i remembered that i once found a few songs on youtube, and 1 on spotify, that straight up steal music from an old indie horror game that's stayed pretty obscure throughout the years. so i spent the next few days trying to find every youtube upload with stolen music from it, as well as the respective channels, and even uploads on other websites (which i did find; one of them was even "for sale" on a beat-selling website).

it made me angry. it made me sick. to see so many idiotic hip hop "artists" steal someone else's work, sometimes even selling it, because they're hacks who can't be bothered to put in the work for their craft. i accumulated quite a number of tabs of people who did this - WAY too many links to videos and uploaders - and then...

i closed them all. i was furious and it was making me go crazy. my mental health was taking a hit and i knew there was nothing i could do...

the game they're all stealing from is called Irisu Syndrome, and it's a short freeware horror game from japan first released in 2008 that has garnered a bit of a cult following. the music is by MusMus, who is credited as Watson in the game. it's still very obscure, but well-known enough that siivagunner has made a "high quality rip" of one of its tracks. in fact, it even inspired Dan Salvato to make Doki Doki Literature Club partially! suffice to say, i adore this game. it may be short, but it left a lasting impression on me (it's a pretty shocking game! those under 16 and easily-disturbed folks should avoid it), so i've never forgotten about it as the years passed.

the game was made entirely by japanese people... this makes any sort of communication between western fans and the dev or MusMus pretty difficult. for the record, the english patch was supposed to be given an official release, but the dev himself couldn't find a way to contact the english translators, so only spanish and mandarin got official versions.

communication is difficult... i can't just email some japanese person who made this game's music all those years ago, with all these links and all this worry in my heart, and expect a response. i don't want to be intrusive.

...but i also care. maybe i care too much. it's incredibly unfair that some bozos are out there stealing the guy's music and getting comments like "this is fire!!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥" when all they did was add a beat to the tracks. meanwhile the game stays in obscurity. none of them are popular "musicians" but it's sickening all the same. it's stealing. all i want is for the game's music composer to know, so maybe he can report those uploads himself.

for the record i know about sampling, and this isn't it. using the entire track and then not crediting, that's not innocent "sampling". just wanted to make that clear.

i get cold feet easily. i don't know if i can just email him, if he would read it, if i can make my point clear, if anything could actually be done. i don't want to be intrusive. i don't want to be a nuisance.

but all this recent talk of plagiarism, it got me thinking again. it's incredibly unfair, because even if he was okay with it, the plagiarists didn't ask or credit him. i can't just forget about this, so i'm making this post.

i'm making this post haphazardly, in the hopes someone knows what to do. maybe someone knows of a solution, maybe someone could help. maybe even spreading the word, to someone who knows the right thing to do about this. i've thought of making my own youtube video about this issue, but i have no subscribers, and i get cold feet easily. it would get nowhere.

"it's just music from just some game" but it's a game i love anyway. i have all this worry in my heart, and i don't know what to do.

[possum-quesadilla]

Hey! Here are some fun notes and details from my Beetlejuice timeloop fanfic, Time is a Flat Circle. I wanted to put these somewhere because most of them won’t be acknowledged in the text.

Chapter one:

- The title of the chapter is a line from the song ���The Heroine” by Unwoman, and is very literal in how it applies to Beetlejuice, obviously. He has to go through all of the emotions of the loop over and over again. The rest of the song is about an actress lamenting how she has the sympathies of the audience, but that someone who promised to come see her show never did. I feel like this is prevalent for our rancid little fella!

- There is a few mentions of his right ear in particular; “His constantly swiveling ears irritated his mother to no end. (There was always a faint ringing in his right ear, at the edge of his awareness. The notch in that ear still aches sometimes.)” “… by a flick to his left ear. (He always makes sure to sit with his left side facing Lydia because of this.)” This is referencing an injury he sustained in his younger years due to his mother, which likely will not come up in story. There is a notch in his ear due to it being cut, and he has partial hearing loss on his right side. He tilts his head to both imitate human body language and to better amplify his limited hearing, since he usually doesn’t have his swiveling, pointed ears to help him when he’s fully disguised.

- “His anchoress from another mess” was an idea from one of my dear friends, I do not take credit for this great line

- “A photo album sits on a vanity in the corner, faintly scented with a faux-floral chemical smell that makes Lydia’s eyes get misty whenever she catches the scent.” This is referencing a perfume that belonged to Lydia’s mom that still stick to the photo album. The smell is very faint to humans, but fairly strong to Beetlejuice.

- “If he squinted, Beetlejuice could read ‘New York’, but not much else.” - Beej has a hard time reading, his eyes weren’t built for that. Glasses would help. He also never really took the time to learn how to read modern English. If he could read it, he’d see that it’s a university sweatshirt, which belonged to Lydia’s mom!

- “… that Top Dollar fella’s voice has got me all hot and bothered,” - he is referencing a character played by Michael Wincott, who has a wonderful and hypnotic deep voice. I imagine BJ also has a ‘crush’ on Tony Todd’s character for similar reasons - envy. He would love for his voice to sound like theirs, rather than how raggedy his own is.

- “on a mountain of odd little round plush creatures,” These are a mixture of squishmallows and various strange gothic looking plushies, mostly gifted to Lydia from an aunt who wasn’t sure what else to get her. BJ has obviously never seen a squishmallow before.

- “Excitedly clacking his teeth,” this is one of BJ’s most common stims, as well as mine. It makes an audible noise that can be unsettling.

- “Triangle, Happy Death Day, Palm Springs, Edge of Tomorrow, Coherence, on and on the list went. Even a few episodes of some random shows.” these are all movies (and some TV show episodes) I watched for reference for this fic on time loops. Of course I made Beej suffer through the same homework, lol

Chapter two:

- The title is from “In Heaven (Lady in the Radiator Song)” by David Lynch, which is from the movie Eraserhead! The movie itself is rather dark, and the song comes at a moment that the main character is considering that maybe heaven would be better than his current situation. For Beetlejuice, this pertains to how he is trying to convince himself that this is as close to happy as he’ll get, and that everything is indeed fine, even though it isn’t.

- “it was always delightful to wake with the sun only to choose to roll over and sleep a bit more.” This either comes from that snake part of him or that cat-like part of him, but my guy loves to sunbathe. He cannot see well in sunlight, but he enjoys how it feels!

- “Lydia had grabbed him by the right ear and scolded him. “Give them space, Beej,” she said firmly. “We’re going to have a little chat about boundaries soon, you really- Beetlejuice? What’s wrong?” She had released his ear with an oddly tender look replacing her scowl, her gaze drifting above his eyeline. “Your hair-“” - It’s because of the aforementioned injury and the trauma surrounding it :)

- “Lydia, at the Maitlands’ insistence, would order something somewhat healthy. (Usually Italian.)” Beetlejuice considers pizza healthy. It is likely the closest he gets to eating a vegetable for now.

- “they would order an absurd amount of cookies and, of course, shirk the payment by having one of his clones pretend to be a dead body they were feasting on. Halfway through their large pizza/cookie/cake monstrosity (isn’t human ingenuity a marvel?),” his is a reference to insomnia cookie and their spectacular pizza cookies. I am obsessed.

- “the gothic teen decides that they simply must watch one of her favorite films; Coraline.” like many weird girls (shout out to my sister), Coraline is a comfort movie for Lydia. Aside from the pajama pants, she also has a plush of the cat, a poster, and a replica of the doll from the film.

- “this odd little breather film always made his chest tight and his nerves fraught. He had no clue why.” BJ doesn’t understand, but the movie is triggering to him due to the similarities between the Other Mother and Juno.

- “With a jaunty slide whistle type-noise that he knew would bring an amused smirk to Lydia’s lips, Beetlejuice sprouted a third arm from his side and extended it towards the stairs.” This is a tongue-in-cheek reference to the silly sound effects and visual effects used in the show pertaining to Beetlejuice and extra or disembodied limbs.

- “He also didn’t have any siblings, to his knowledge.” Hm. Interesting!

- “Most loops, his body is still thrumming with a strange electricity that he can’t quite explain. It stems from where she gripped his hands, spreading throughout his whole body. Although he enjoys the contact, most often it’s just too much for any more.” This is overstimulation due to the contact. He likes it, but he is not used to it, so his mind overreacts.

- “The eyeliner really made his golden eyes pop, and the purple lipstick made his grin look even more sinister.” BJ is no makeup expert, so he doesn’t catch that Lydia bases the look she applies on Frank-N-Furter’s makeup.

- I set Rocky Horror Picture Show as a backdrop to Lydia’s coming out as a lesbian (and possibly more) as a sort of fun nod to how pivotal the film was to my own gender identity journey!

- “what brought on this amazin’ revelation? Any lucky ladies in particular catch your fancy?” There were indeed some “lucky ladies” who brought this on, but they are fictional: Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, and Ellen Ripley from Alien!

- “Lydia gasps, stepping away from the clone to inspect it. “He-… it’s you?”” All of the clones use it/its pronouns!

- “He had no say in what his clones looked like, he found, so he had long since stopped trying.” that is not entirely true - he can influence what they look like with a lot of concentration, but our dear demon severely lacks in that department.

- “The clone flutters it’s eyelashes and puts a hand on it’s cheek, waving its other hand in a sort of bashful ‘oh, stop!’ motion.” This is one of the two ways I react to compliments as well. (The other is saying “shut up” then immediately apologizing)

- “A red poncho with a spider-web pattern,” This is, of course, a reference to Lydia’s outfit in the cartoon!

- “a “mermaid style” black dress after a particular television character,” This dress is based on Morticia Addams, obviously

- “a fetching light pink dress covered in little red flowers and finished with a bright pink belt.” this is a nod to her dress in the film!

- “He had no idea why she asked, and similarly not a Scooby-Doo what it meant himself.” This is a silly way of saying “a clue”. More people (in person) are stumped by this than you’d think!

- “As Beetlejuice pulls the good ol’ fashioned midwestern special, slapping his thighs and going “welp” to signal it’s time for him to go,” shout out to my coworker for the phrasing of “good ol’ fashioned midwestern special” when he called me out for doing this.

- “Every part of the second day, especially the latter half, is especially draining to him. He’s not sure why, but he often chooses to blame it on his liberal use of his powers…” It is the use of his powers, but also the physical contact, socialization, and abundance of stimuli.

Chapter three:

- This title is from “Dinner Is Not Over” by Jack Stauber, my favorite musician! It actually promotes suicide prevention. The song talks about having many experiences, including a brush with death. The idea of death is very tempting to the person singing, but he says it’s “for desert” and he can “have it when dinner is done”. (Basically, yes death is tempting, but there’s so much more to your life to experience and look forward to.) It’s a hauntingly beautiful song, while also being uplifting and catchy! The lyric for the title in particular refers to how Beetlejuice’s own constant brushes with death and eternal rest is seeming more and more desirable with each passing loop, but he keeps going for Lydia and the Maitlands.

- “You’re Lawrence Betelgeuse Shoggoth. There’s no fixing that. You were born rotten and broken, and that’s all you’ll ever be.” This is a reference to a scene in BoJack Horseman that hit me really deep. Beatrice, the main character’s mother, tells him, “You were born broken. That's your birthright. ... You're BoJack Horseman. There's no cure for that." I feel like Beatrice and Juno have quite a bit in common, and I wanted to nod to it to help give the reader a better understanding of the demoness in this short scene. She really influences Beetlejuice’s actions, so I think getting a read on her is important.

- “Barbara opens it moments later, all smiles and cheery greetings. It fades very quickly when she realizes who it is, but he often likes to imagine it’s for him.” Barbara thought it was Lydia coming to her senses about the whole situation.

- “Beetlejuice clacks his teeth together out of excitement before he can help it. (He’s probably imagining it, but he swears sometimes he can see Barbara smile then.)” The first hints at Barbara finding him endearing. Most would find the clacking off-putting, but she likes strange men. I cannot judge. My type is weird too.

- “Got a good couple shots of your graves. Real well loved and placed, if you ask me.” This is inspired by Adam talking about how he wishes he could see their graves in the movie.

- “He began to scratch at the counter through his jacket sleeve to, once again, ground himself with the pain.” Another stim taken straight from me. Unfortunately, I absentmindedly scratch harshly at my skin sometimes when very anxious or overstimulated. Sometimes it breaks skin, but it mostly just irritates it. Beej has sharp as fuck claws, so he accidentally does more than break skin much more often.

- “… Beetlejuice flinched as he heard one of the clones hit the ground with a ridiculous ‘splat’ noise. He forced the nonplussed smile back onto his face and ignored the dull ache in his legs. He’d clean it up later.” This will come up later, but BJ feels what his clones feel, just way less intense.

- “Several large, round ‘terracotta’ pots (he had read they were real good for plants) lined the other two edges of the roof.” He got these both because he read they're good for plants and because he knows (well, thinks) Barbara appreciates good pottery.

- “I mean, that you had those little plants in the window of your kitchen,” “Like how he knew Barbara would sing to the plants to help them grow.”, “I, uh… I got a buncha stuff for a ‘salad garden’, since you were trying to start one up before.” These are all references to similar things that Barbara’s original broadway actor, Kerry Butler did in her dressing room! She seems like a real sweetie.

- “Tomatoes, lettuce, peppers, par-… pars-…” Beetlejuice is trying to say parsley, but he’s never heard of that herb before. Unlike Alex Brightman, he does not Know His Herbs.

- ““These are marguerite daisies,” She finally said, soft but just loud enough to stop his endless word vomit.” Daisies represent friendship, joy, and well wishes. BJ didn’t purposefully pick flowers with those meanings, but I did!

- “Who would want to hug a wretched, rotten little beast like him?” The phase “wretched, rotten little beast” is from the Five Nights at Freddy’s movie, which I am obsessed with.

- “She smelled faintly of perfume and blood and the iced tea she drank just before she died.” “Aftershave stung at his nose, followed swiftly by the faint scent of blood, but he found he didn’t mind it too much.” Only Beetlejuice can smell the blood and the iced tea. Everyone can smell the perfume and aftershave.

- “He’d sometimes spend the time rooting through the garage fridge for soda cans, then play a game he called ‘who can knock out the most teeth with an exploding soda can?’ with three of his clones.” This is based on a game I played with my friends once when I was eight. I won. Do not recommend.

- Although he is using her as a segway to get Lydia to talk about her mom, BJ did actually have a beloved pet possum named Rabies. (And he did get rabies.) He found her abandoned by her mother, and she often clung to his back and ate the bugs in his hair. He took great care of her until she died of natural causes. He does genuinely miss her, and kept her skull as a way to remember her.

- “Beetlejuice had to bite back the ugly jealousy bubbling up in his throat. He would’ve loved to have a mother like Emily Deetz, instead of the horrible demoness Juno. Maybe in another lifetime.” This is a cheeky reference to the wonderful fic that inspired me to write LoopJuice, moonbunnyblues’s Lawrence “BJ” Deetz AU! Give it a read, it’s a work of art.

- ““Oh yeah, I’m in my prime, kiddo. This is what a real professional bio-exorcist looks like.” “… if you say so.”” she doesn’t believe him here, but at this point she doesn’t know him well enough to care to ask further questions.

- “Can I touch it?” Lydia was not allowed to touch it.

- “Fuck. He had rolled his sleeve up for dramatic effect. He had completely forgotten about the counter.” He had rolled his sleeves up to make a comment about how he did “all the work around here and got no thanks”.

- “It was astounding to see the array of things you could have brought right to your doorstep. Holy water was one of those things.” I looked this up. You really can order holy water on amazon!

Chapter four:

- This title is from “Deviltown” by Cavetown, specifically V.2 because that is my favorite version. It’s about growing up in a tumultuous home, specifically being a child of divorce. The cyclical and downtrodden nature of the song reflects BJ’s outlook at this point in the story, but the title line specifically refers to how his pain is being lessened by no longer being alone in his suffering.

- “He reminded her of the infuriating type of people that made the couple stop attending those improv classes last year; someone who just didn’t know when to stop, when to turn it off.” This is a cheeky reference to how I view the original film’s Beetlejuice. I will say no more on that subject.

- “Beetlejuice kept his distance, always remaining out of arm’s reach. If anyone besides Lydia got too close, he seemed to find an excuse to sidle away again.” He avoids contact from anyone but his BFFF (and the double thank you hug) at this point because it’s overstimulating.

- “Barbara thinks she remembers him flinching at the screams of terror he claimed to love.” Even his favorite sound is too overstimulating at this point.

- “It honestly reminded her of the times she had seen Adam go through burnout.” I WONDER WHY

- “reaching out to pull the demon waiting on the other side through it by the forearm. Beetlejuice, obviously startled, wrenched his arm away and- did he just hiss at them?” , “desperately grasping at Beetlejuice’s arm and pulling it from Adam’s now limp grasp to check the number again. 91,250. She must have grabbed him too harshly, as the demon sucked in a breath through his teeth and yanked his arm away from her.” They both unknowingly caused immense pain to the scratches around the counter.

- “Now, though, after only a few seconds, he became wheezy, the laughter tapering off into a rather wet sounding coughing fit. Beetlejuice slammed a fist against his chest with a hollow ‘thump’ sound a few times until the coughing subsided.” He is still somewhat recovering from Juno breaking his ribs. He likely will never be fully healed from it.

- “She’d learnt about this method from one of her and Adam’s true crime documentary nights.” Barbara enjoys them, Adam finds them macabre but irresistible.

- “He was holding it with his right hand, but his grip was off, like he wasn’t quite used to using that hand. Maybe he is just really out of practice? What do demons even really need to write?” Beej is left handed, but using his right hand. I wonder why! (He also is just generally out of practice and doesn’t have good handwriting anyways.)

- Beetlejuice struggles with the math because I also had to struggle with the math.

- “Beetlejuice hesitantly nodded, glancing at the door out of the attic before continuing to stare up at Barbara.” He is considering bolting here. He thinks the Maitlands are mad at him.

- “Going through the motions again and again, suffering the heartache and real physical pain.” Another cheeky reference, this time to the title of the first chapter.

- “Eventually, he let out a little growl of frustration. (A literal growl. It reminded Barbara of a small dog trying it’s best to be intimidating.)” I’d describe his growl as between a dog’s and a cat’s. Throaty, not very intimidating unless he really means it. Then it’s more like that of a Rottweiler.

Chapter five:

- This title is from “So Long” by Tokyo Elvis. I can’t find much online about the song, but it has that good cyclical feeling I look for in songs for this fic. This line specifically refers to how Beetlejuice is trying to hold on to the fleeting joy he finds among the routine of the loop, but he can’t hold on to it forever.

- “It would be an understatement to call Adam Maitland a nervous wreck. He was more like a bundle of nerves fumbling around in a bipedal visage of a man.” This is taken from how Overly Sarcastic Productions described H.P. Lovecraft in their video about the nasty man. I thought it was very fitting for Adam!

- “Beetlejuice seemed pretty preoccupied with the task of staring blankly at the ground and cracking all of his fingers one by one over and over again.” Another unsettling stim I share with Beej <3

- “Beetlejuice is quiet at first. His eyes dart from Adam’s to Barbara’s, then to various different spots in the attic. Eventually, he lets out an exasperated sigh, leaning heavily back onto the couch. The navy blue of his hair and suit phases back to the same indigo from before in the blink of an eye. “I don’t have a Scooby-Doo, A-Dog,” he groans. He dramatically rests his left wrist against his forehead. The strange phrasing and sudden change in energy threw Adam off quite a bit. He floundered somewhat, trying to process as the demon continued to speak. “Your guess is as good as mine at this point. Probably even better.”” On goes the mask! He’s totally a great liar. I’m sure this won’t bite him in the ass later.

- “ “Well, it obviously has to do with you, right?” Beetlejuice’s eyes snapped back open to stare him down.” He got real worried that Adam caught on here.

- “summoning other demons,” I wonder if this will come back later!

- “No matter how… persuasive I was, you humans always gave me the boot.” He is too proud to admit he was begging on his knees.

- “Follow the script.” “The… hold on now, ‘the script’? What are you talking about?” Barbara and Adam don’t capitalize the same things as Beej because they don’t categorize things the way he does.

- “The demon put a hand over where his heart would be.” Adam is unaware, but Beej does have a heart! It just doesn’t really work.

- “Beetlejuice held his arms out at his sides in exasperation.” This pose was specifically meant to emulate Mae Borowski from Night in the Woods, since she and Beetlejuice are both “total trash mammals”.

- “Sure it does. And I’m a Tony award winner.” This is, of course, a joke about his original Broadway actor being a Tony award winner. And a way of the text sorta telling Beej that he’s wrong, and his pain does matter.

- “Beetlejuice let out a snarl that actually caused a primal sort of fear to grip at Adam’s psyche.” There’s the Rottweiler growl! Any shows of aggression from a demon causes the human brain to go all “ahhh danger run away”.

- “I’m Lawrence Betelgeuse Shoggoth, I’m a fuckin’ demon … I’m a rotten, irredeemable monster…” Hmmm, I wonder where we heard this from before?

- “… vanished in a puff of green smoke. (The weird little trick actually worked this time.)” This is a reference to Beetlejuice having a malfunctioning smokebomb in the Broadway show.

- “He pretended to be fatally wounded when Lydia chucked an amethyst at his chest…” Amethysts represent sincerity and promote friendship! At least according to my friend who has a million crystals.

- “Beetlejuice scooped Lydia up into his arms bridal style…” Hehe.

And here’s a few fun comments I left on the doc containing the fic for myself:

[bellysoupset]

This is a part 2 to this fic, where Vince goes to his parent's house with Wendy and doesn't disclose to them he's lactose intolerant. For @ellegreenwaysgf

---------

Vince muffled a chuckle as he watched his little sister follow Wendy around the house like a little duckling. Livia had practically imprinted on his girlfriend, the fact that Wendy dressed like a real life Disney princess definitely being a large part of it.

"Hi bambina," He said, crouching down next to the two of them in the backyard. Wendy looked up, opening a big smile. He had been snatched away by Sophia about an hour before, "mamma is calling us back inside, she's got a surprise."

"A surprise?" Livia's head snapped up and then she looked with wide eyes back at Wendy, "do you know what it is?"

"Nope," Wendy grinned, accepting Vince's outstretched hand to pull her up, "why don't we go back inside and find out, Liv?"

The surprise, she immediately learned upon walking through the backdoor was tiramisu. A huge tray of tiramisu, that Sophia tried to grab a bite off, only to have her hand slapped away.

"It's your brother's gift, so he gets the first slice," Magda scolded lightly. Wendy shook her head, glancing at Vince.

"Actually-"

"Thank you mamma," he had a giant smile across his face as his mother cut him an equally large smile and handed him the plate, finally allowing the other people to get in the dessert.

Wendy glared at him, "Vince!" then she lowered her voice, all but whispering, "there's milk-"

"It's delicious, mum," he said proudly, prompting drowning her voice out, "Wen, get a slice, honey."

"Here, yours is already cut too," Maggie handed her, scoffing as she saw Livia sneak behind her back to stick her finger in the tray, "Livia!"

Wendy ignored the cute domestic scene, glaring at her boyfriend. Tiramisu was loaded with milk, had he lost his mind?

He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her back to the living room, "stop," Vince whispered in her ear, "don't tell her."

"You're crazy," she hissed back, "you'll be sick."

"Doesn't matter, she spent all evening at this," he sighed, immediately forcing another smile as his two sisters joined them in the living room.

"We're not watching Frozen 2 for the 100th time, give me the remote Livia!" Sophia argued just as Livia rushed ahead to grab it. Vince let out a snort, still dutifully polishing off his plate, while Wendy watched with a grimace on.

She couldn't imagine this would turn out alright, considering just a splash of milk had given him a tummy ache the day before.

"Stop," Vince said casually, tugging at her arm to cuddle next to him on the couch, "don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

"Again, you don't know what that word means," Wendy sighed, but gladly cuddled up with him. To his mother's credit, the tiramisu was amazing.

She quickly got sucked in by the movie, Livia scooting closer to sit on the rug right next to them, her head resting on Wendy's knee as she sang along the songs.

Wendy hadn't ever watched the movie, so she was still processing the colonization subtext of the movie when suddenly Livia groaned, "I don't want mine anymore," and turned around.

She crawled on the rug, dumping the rest of her dessert in her brother's empty plate. It was clear this was something she did frequently. Wendy cringed.

"You don't have to eat it," she whispered, reaching for his plate. He shook his head and ignored her, finishing off Liv's slice in two bites, then muffled a burp against his fist.

He smiled as Wendy pursed her lips in annoyance. Vince knew she couldn't understand why he was doing this to himself, but he just... He couldn't break his mom's heart like that, she had spent hours working on this.

Vin pulled her once again against him and his girlfriend let out a huff, "you're being a dummy," she whispered darkly, halfway lying across him on the couch, partially pressing against his stomach.

With her pressed on his side, head resting on his chest, Vince knew she could feel just as his belly realized the ungodly amount of lactose he had just eaten. It started slow, but quickly picked up into some awful churning, gurgling nonstop and pressing against his throat.

He gulped down, tasting the tiramisu all over again.

"Not feeling so great now, are you?" Wendy scoffed, as a particularly bad cramp made his belly growl. She rolled her eyes, before clearly regretting it as she caught a good look of Vince's face. It was one thing to scold his silly behavior, another to kick him while he was down.

And down he was. He had already a light sheen of sweat covering his face and a wrinkle deep between his brows, looking like he was in pain.

"Vin?" Wendy sighed, cupping his face with one hand, "honey?"

On the opposite couch from them, Sophia looked up, raising an eyebrow, "what's going on?"

"Nothing, it's fine," Vince mumbled, but his voice was thick with nausea. Livia let out a groan, poking Wendy's knee.

"You're not watching!"

"I am, sugar," Wendy reassured her, "just a second- Vince? Vin, you're not looking too hot..."

Sophia frowned, "what's wrong with you? You're like super pale..."

"He's not feeling well," Wendy replied, then stood up, circling the couch and grabbing his arm, "we'll be back later, keep the movie going."

"No!" Livia pouted, still sitting down, "you're supposed to watch with me!"

"Sorry, bambi," Vince forced a small smile through the nausea, "we can watch it again later..." his voice trailed off and grimaced, then swallowed in thickly, "shit."

"Vin?" now Soph sounded concerned. She glanced at him, but Vince really couldn't open his mouth, so she turned to Wendy, "What's going on...?"

"I'm fine, don't worry," Vince managed to choke out, then slowly got up. He felt like his whole body was burning with the prickles of the cramps squeezing his abdomen all over, "just- Keep watching the movie..."

His belly let out a disgusting whine, one he knew Wendy had heard too, because her eyebrows jumped up. Vince almost whimpered as the next cramp hit him with full force, causing him to squeeze the couch's arm.

His little sister was pouting, but Sophia just looked concerned, staring at him with big eyes, "should I get mamma?"

He shook his head no, cheeks burning with embarrassment. He already felt humiliated and it'd only get worse, Vince thought as he felt a bunch of bubbles explode inside his gut, "no-" he practically burped the word out, "no, I'm fine. I just need a minute..."

Or a couple days.

He fanned himself fruitlessly, pushing away from the couch and starting to rush. Vince really doubted he'd make it to his room, but most importantly, he had to get rid of Wendy too.

He didn't care if she was into tummy aches, there was no fucking way he was gonna let her overhear while his bowels emptied out. His romantic relationship would not survive that.

"Wendy, no," he groaned as she followed him like a lost puppy up the stairs, "no, I... Stay with the girls."

She blinked, not computing his words, "don't be silly, you're in pain-"

"Wendy," another cramp squeezed him and he wasn't sure if he was going to shit himself or vomit. Either way, "please. Just stay here."

Then he turned around and ran the rest of the steps, or at least as fast as his aching belly allowed him.

His hands were trembling when he entered his own bathroom and slammed the door behind him. Vince braced against the sink, squeezing his stomach with one hand and the granite with the other.

Another burp snuck up and then a cramp that had him lightheaded and frantically pushing his pants down. His jeans, that were recently quite loose on him, had just left a red dent on his tummy.

He sat down on the toilet, hugging his stomach as his bowels emptied out with a rush, quick enough to leave him dizzy and to burn his fucking ass- Nausea hit him like a ton of bricks and Vince wasn't fast enough to grab the trash.

Instead he coughed and then there was tiramisu pouring out of his mouth, stinging his nose, choking him. He coughed again, tearing up with the cramps and glared down. His jeans and boxers, pooling at his feet were covered in vomit.

The sight alone caused Vince to gag again, but now he successfully managed to choke it down, hugging his upset belly with both arms. The cramps were relentless and he felt lightheaded, like his heart was drumming in his ear.

He let out a whimper, emotions all over the place thanks to the cramps, which always messed with his head. They were painful, but most importantly, they didn't stop, frying his nerves quickly once they set in.

Vince shuddered as another wave of diarrhea hit him, only to leave him feeling sore and empty.

There was a knock on the door.

"Wendy, go away, please-"

"Amore mio, cosa c'è che non va? Tua sorella ha detto che non ti senti bene?" his mom's voice traveled through the door and Vince almost sobbed. (*my love, what's wrong? Your sister said you're sick?)

He pressed his fist to his mouth, muffling a burp, and told his mom he'd be out in a minute, his own Italian feeling very flimsy at the moment.

With now the renewed motivation of his mother being right out of the door, Vince slowly forced himself to clean up. There was no salvation for his clothes or his legs, so instead of even attempting, he shuffled everything into the shower, himself included and allowed the hot water to do most of the work.

He wrapped the towel around his hip and finally moved out of the bathroom, still nauseous as all hell and lightheaded.

His mother was standing with her arms crossed near the door, but her eyes widened as she saw him and Vince immediately sat down on the bed, without any energy to dry himself.

"mom-"

She was frantic, english entirely lost as Maggie cupped his face, asking what was wrong and if they needed a doctor. Vince groaned, shaking his head. All the quick questioning and touching were only making him feel worse.

"Vicenzo!" she snapped him out of it, "answer me!"

"I'm not sick," Vince mumbled sluggishly, "I'm lactose intolerant and..." his stomach gurgled, loud enough that his mom heard and only looked more worried, "and the tiramisu..."

"You're not lactose intolerant," Magda scoffed, "I think I'd know-"

"I developed it at the start of the year," he was pretty close to tears, "I didn't want to tell you, because you and papa would worry and then have to go out of your way when I visit and it's expensive and-"

"Vincenzo!" She exclaimed, "sweetheart, don't you ever put money over your health! Ever-"

"Mom, stop," Vince groaned, wrapping an arm around his stomach. He didn't feel well at all, "stop."

"How do we fix this? Is there medicine you need?" then she frowned, "why did you eat the tiramisu, sweetheart? You know it has milk, you used to help me make it..."

Vince's shoulders dropped and he sniffed, pitifully and feeling like the definition of pathetic, "because you were in the kitchen all day and if I had told you beforehand about the lactose intolerance you wouldn't have cooked it, but I didn't so I had to-"

"Oh baby," Magda scoffed, hugging him tightly, "you shouldn't have. I wouldn't be mad or sad," she rubbed his naked back, "il mio cucciolo."

He let out a huff, fully melting against her "I'm sorry..." Vince groaned, then hiccupped as another cramp seized the top of his stomach, "you're not mad?"

"I'm furious," his mother scoffed, kissing the side of his head, "when you're feeling better we'll have a conversation."

"Mamma-"

"When you're feeling better," she rubbed his arm again, "let me get you some pants..." then switched to italian, a teasing soft smile on as Magda moved around the room, "your girlfriend is pacing downstairs like a caged tiger."

Vince opened a small smile, taking the sweatpants his mother handed him and ditching the towel for those. He didn't bother with a shirt.

"Can you tell her to come in?"

"Of course," Maggie pointed the bed, "do you need anything?"

"A bucket," He sighed, lying back down against the pillows. Much to his mother's credit, she only looked half annoyed by the fact he had made himself sick.

"Alright."

Vince rolled onto his side, pressing his face to the pillow. His stomach was still churning, far from done with him, but at least for now his intestines seemed to have calmed down. He let out a burp, then swallowed thickly as it tasted like fucking milk.

"I come bearing gifts," Wendy said entering the room a couple minutes later. He lifted his head up just in time to see her close the door with her hip, a bowl in her hand, as well as a squeeze of water and his sister's hot water bottle in the other.

Vince allowed his head to fall back down, without any energy for witty banter. Wendy's seemed even more worried as she gingerly sat down on the bed.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like the stupidest person on earth," Vince groaned, "fucking hurts, Wen."

"You're not the stupidest person on earth," she scoffed, grabbing the hot water bottle and pressing it against his belly, "within top 10 probably, but not the stupidest person."

"Such bedside manners, you should be a doctor," he said bitterly and she smiled.

"Lucky you, I am," she stroked his cheek with her free hand, "tell me your symptoms."

"I feel like death," Vince scoffed and she let out a little hmmm, thumb still on his cheek. Another burp snuck up on him, wet and disgusting, "nauseous."

"Gonna be sick nauseous?" Wendy's voice took a dip, no longer all playful, but tethering on the doctor voice he had heard her use multiple times.

"Yeah," Vince nodded, letting out another breathy burp, "help me up."

She helped him sit up against the headboard and Vince groaned as the hot water bottle fell to his lap.

"Here," Wendy handed him the bowl, then climbed on the bed and grabbed the heating pad, pressing it against his belly again, "better?"

"Helps with the- the cramps..." he breathed shallowly over the bowl, trying to ignore the horrible sensation of his stomach churning and twisting. Vince burped again, then huffed as he felt Wendy's hand kneading gently on his tummy, "what are you doing?"

"Am I hurting you?" she asked and he considered it for a second, then shook his head.

"Just be... Be gentl-" the rest of his word got swallowed in another burp-gag and Vince panted over the bowl, cursing and letting out a whimper. He swallowed convulsively and Wendy kissed his naked shoulder.

"What are you doing, honey? You need to let it up, otherwise you'll just suffer longer..."

"I don't-" he could barely form the words, his mouth was watering like crazy, "don't wanna-"

It didn't really matter what he wanted or not. The next cramp had him gasping and then Vince retched and a stream of pale beige vomit hit the bowl, still smelling just like sugar. He squeezed the plastic rim, groaning and belching up another wave, then being hit by a strong gagging fit as the flakes of the cookie filling got stuck in his throat.

He coughed then spat yet another thin stream that was mostly drool, hanging over the bowl, completely spent.

"Done?" Wendy asked after a minute of silence, her hand planted in the middle of his back, the other one resting on his leg.

"For now..." Vince burped again, more sweet tasting drool falling in the bowl, "fuck, that's gross."

"Let me clean this," Wendy crawled out of the bed, "and take some sips of water."

"Not gonna stay down," he warned her, not daring to lie back down despite being exhausted. His stomach felt messy enough that he didn't want to risk it.

He heard as Wendy emptied out the bowl in the bathroom and then rinsed it, returning to the bedroom with the toilet roll too. She planted the bowl on his bedside table, handing him the paper to clean his mouth.

Vince wiped his chin, then muffled a retch in his hand and Wendy frowned, still standing, hand back on the bowl, "Vin?"

"No-" he shook his head, more out of pure denial than anything else and gagged again, hand firmly clasped over his lips. His shoulders rolled with a heave and Wendy let out a scoff.

"Don't do that," she held the bowl for him again, "c'mon, get it up."

He breathed strongly through his nose, almost managing to push the nausea down and then a gurgle rolled through his stomach and Vince couldn't help but heave. He burped up another weak stream of cloudy liquid and hug over the bowl, panting.

His stomach sloshed and Vince gagged, the sensation was enough to revolt his sensitive belly, "please, no-" another belch brought up more saliva and specs of food.

For the longest minute, he kept burping emptily over the bowl, retching hard enough to feel his ear pop, but bringing up nothing besides some more spit.

"Honey, I think you're empty," Wendy cupped his face, wiping the drool away, "breathe."

"I still-" he burped, squeezing his eyes, "still feel fucking sick."

"Take a deep breath, you're all worked up," she pulled the bowl away, forcing him to straighten up from his hunched position, "breathe, honey."

He took a deep breath, then let it go slowly through his mouth, only to gag slightly at the end, "Wen..."

"Another one," she ignored the heave, stuffing her chest so he'd mimic and Vince groaned, doing as she asked. Very slowly the breathing exercise helped with the panicked sensation, but the underlying queasiness was still present.

He fell back down against the pillows, curling up against the heating pad, "I feel disgusting," he mumbled, exhausted.

Wendy crawled back into bed with him, running her fingers through his hair, which was still humid from the shower, "you'll feel better in a couple of hours," she whispered, resting her cheek against his arm.

Vince nodded, blowing out another burp away from her face, then reached around him, grabbing her hand and planting it on his belly, "be delicate," he warned her.

He could feel her hide a smile against his naked bicep, as her fingers gently traced the curve of his bloated belly, "I will be, try to nap."

"Remind me to never be this dumb again."

Wendy snorted, her palm resting over his belly button, "that's a full time job, Vin."

"Yeah, I know. Get on it," he sighed, opening a small smile as he felt Wendy press a kiss to his shoulder.

[itsdrawingmen]

Hey I am the same anon who came up with the headcannon (or maybe partially cannon) that yoosung can sing and has a sweet voice and to be honest

I would like both fics and headcannon posts and basically EVERYTHING related to it. Let your imagination run wild I really love your work

Secondly rn i cannot find the chat where he mentions that he was in a band but I will try to find it as soon as i get time. Cuz I CLEARLY remember seeing that but now it feels like some sort of Mandela effect. I hope its not mandela effect😭😭😭😭

Ooh, lovely anon, so basically my headcanons are as follows:

Yoosung’s story of artistic endeavours is a little similar to Zen’s in that his parents never took it seriously because you can’t monetize it consistently, or they perceive it as something you must have ‘talent’ to do. Yoosung is not extraordinary, so they’re dismissive. So all he can do, he’s mostly self-taught, with some inconsistent help from especially sweet teachers

He’s extremely embarrassed, especially in front of Zen who’s a professional

Singing is one of his ways of dealing with strong emotions. He picks songs with lyrics that resonate and pours his soul out

He was in a band, so he definitely has a good ear and a sense of rhythm, better than he gives himself credit for, but because he doesn’t have a formal education, he’s self-conscious. In the band, he sang and played percussion.

And also, you're in luck, because I put together a little something - it's more of a 'sketch' honestly, but I like it, so let's leave it here.

The house feels like home, Zen thinks as he passes around it.

His gaze brushes habitually across the textures of the wall, across the familiar cracks, then the ancient graffiti. He stops at the spot, and can almost imagine the heels of his sneakers falling into place, as if there is a slot for them. He smiles. The habituality feels good. The house feels like home. The more now that there’s a light in his windows, poking just over the asphalt.

It’s his favourite place to smoke: behind the house, right by his own windows. Out of the way, away from the prying eyes, where he would only bother himself. Zen pulls out the pack of cigarettes and the lighter. I will quit, he tells himself. One of these days. Yes, definitely one of these days.

The little light flickers, summoned by his fingers. Zen lights up the cigarette and takes a drag.

Then he hears it, rising from down below, quiet still, but his ear catches it immediately.

The voice.

Zen turns his head. The kitchen window is open into the warm spring air.

The light means Yoosung.

The voice.

He lowers down until he is crouching and bates his breath. Yes, there is no doubt. Yoosung is singing.

He can hear the running water and the clinking dishes faintly, and over them, the voice rises, timid at first, then louder and louder, little by little, until it opens heartily into a refrain.

‘Healing, o-oh! Healing, touching, for living!’

That’s such an old song, how does he even know it? He puts so much heart in that refrain, the choice of song is definitely not random. He knows it, no, more than that, he feels it.

Yoosung’s voice betrays a trembly vibrato in the verse. His breathing is wrong, Zen thinks. A normal mistake. He needs to use his belly. He forces it, just a little, but it’s so easily fixed.

He has such a nice voice, though, he can’t help but notice. It’s soft and mellow, on the tenor side — just a tiny bit rough around the edges, evidently untrained, but still already so good. Zen takes a drag of his cigarette and closes his eyes as he exhales. Yoosung’s voice is clear, stable on the notes, if a little inconsistent with the breath, but that gives it charm. After all, the song itself almost asks for it.

He plays around the phrase, his voice growing in confidence.

‘Healing, and help is coming.’

He has a sweet accent, too.

Where did you learn to sing, Yoosungie?

He puts out the cigarette on the asphalt and finds his jar to throw the butt in. Rises quietly, as if not to disturb. Yoosung’s voice has grown, bloomed in confidence, covering the hum of the running water.

‘And so, we need it, all I know, we need it, and so…’

Such an old song. He remembers trying it by ear on his guitar. The strings were so bad, but he had no money for new ones. Healing, he sang, touching. Did he believe, then, that healing and help were coming?

He hasn’t played in so long. He feels his fingertips itch. Will Yoosung sing if he plays?

Quiet, stupid heart.

He doesn’t want to think why his chest feels so full, so fluttery.

He steps springily away, passes around the house that feels like home. Opens the door, descends the stairs. Puts the key into the keyhole as quietly as he can. Presses the doorknob so slowly, so carefully.

As he opens the door, the flat is filled with the voice. He sings something else now, but something even more familiar — Zen knows this song, he remembers singing it for an audition. He remembers his director calling him, telling him he has got the role. ‘Even though the song choice was godawful,’ he told him then.

A good song.

A sad song.

A song about love.

It suits Yoosung’s voice so well, or maybe he just sings it so heartfelt.

He locks the door, he’s slow, quiet. But his chest can no longer contain his voice. He covers the last few steps till the kitchen, and then he joins in.

Then, the song stops, abruptly, leaving Zen hanging. Yoosung turns around sharply, Zen meets his gaze: a little lost, a little glazed, a little bewildered.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Why’d you stop?’

‘Z-Zen?’

‘You never told me you had such a cool voice.’

A blush creeps over Yoosung’s cheeks.

‘I… oh, it’s… nothing, really…’

‘Come on, I wanted to sing, too.’

‘Go on…’

Zen huffs, smiles.

‘Come on. Sing with me.’

He's curious now. He wants to know how they will sound. Yoosung’s wet hand reaches up, runs through his hair.

‘Oh, I’m not… I don’t sound well…’

‘You do. Come on. I love that song, indulge me.’

Yoosung smiles awkwardly, apologetically.

‘I’ll ruin it for you.’

‘Try me.’

Zen comes up to the table and leans on it.

‘Come on. Start. I’ll join.’

Yoosung’s smile grows even more helpless.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Deffo.’

Yoosung hesitates for a moment more. Then clears his throat. Zen encourages him with a smile and a nod. Yoosung turns away, stops the running water.

There is a long moment of silence. And then he sings.

And Zen lets him have that verse, then takes a breath and joins in.

His voice is lower, and it supports Yoosung’s so well. They blend together nicely, Zen thinks. Make a good duet. Needs a little polishing, but undoubtedly a good duet. Yoosung turns around to face him slowly, and Zen sees a little smile blooming on his face.

‘You were in love with someone else, but I just wanted you to stay by my side…’

He feels Yoosung’s voice jump off of his own, finally finding a solid base, growing stronger off him. The gaze of Yoosung’s different eyes travels up to fix on Zen’s.

‘You were more beautiful than anyone else, it hurts that I can’t even hold you in my arms…’

Zen has to look away. There’s something in Yoosung’s gaze, in Yoosung’s voice, that reaches deep into him, deeper than he wants to let him.

‘It hurts…’

He allows himself to play with modifications, and Yoosung’s voice holds the melody steady. He has done this before, Zen thinks. It’s impossible he has such a good ear without any learning or practice.

He tries not to think about that something in his gaze.

He honestly tries.

‘I won’t ask anymore, I won’t hope anymore.’

He finally dares to look at Yoosung, at his eyes, now closed as he pours his heart out into the song. He watches him sing, and he notices all the overforced notes, all the oversqueezed falsettos, but still somehow it all falls together into something so honest, so brutal — so perfect. A blue vein pulses on Yoosung’s throat, bulging as he puts effort in, and Zen catches himself transfixed. Yoosung is out of breath now, but he still holds the note before opening his eyes and meeting Zen’s gaze.

‘It hurts…’

Zen is silent. Yoosung’s voice, soft, mellow again, fills the kitchen air, seeps through Zen’s very heart before dissolving.

Then, Zen raises his hands and claps.

We should do this again sometime, he thinks. I should play, you should sing. I will pick up and learn your favourite songs, and I’ll tell you how to breathe with the belly. You’ll tell me where you’ve done this before.

But as Yoosung’s different eyes are fixed on him, and the aftermath of his song still rings through the beige kitchen, all Zen does is simply stand and clap.

[whoreanghae]

sweet nothing ; chwe hansol

genre - non-idol au, friends to lovers, forced proximity kind of

wordcount - 2.0k

disclaimers - not proofread, lowercase on purpose, reader's gender not specified, fic under the cut

a/n - this is partially a continuation of my last fic, question...?, its not like directly connected but reading that one would make little parts of this one make more sense! this one is also loosely based off of a taylor swift song, that song being sweet nothing from her new album. vernon and taylor is very special to me. i hope u enjoy! this is just a self indulgent fluff fic (aka most of what i write anyways). if you guys like this i might make an svt x midnights kind of series thing, im not sure if thats something anyone would be interested in but either way i hope u enjoy this one ^^

since your friendship rekindling, you and vernon had spent more and more time together with every week. he practically lived with you for a week or two. you both enjoyed having each others company, and were both eager to catch up and learn new things together. movie nights, 2am walks, baking (and burning) cookies. it was as if you had never lost any time. 

in your reunition, you both agreed to try to steer away from romance for a little while. you both didnt want to rush into things, and just wanted to focus on re-befriending each other first. in the moment, it seemed like a great idea. and it was. except for during the overtly domestic moments you two spend together.

one rainy night while you were both watching movies in the comfort of your living room, you weren’t exactly focused on the movie. you were doing everything in your power to not constantly look at vernon. he was beautiful. like, beautiful. you glanced over at him from your opposite side of the sofa, his eyes locked into the tv and his features relaxed. seeing him made you feel warm. he made you feel like home. seeing him in this light reminded you of being in high school and staying up way later than you should have on school nights. 

you two were always the pair that everyone assumed would grow old together. everyone thought you were bound to be the high school sweethearts who remained sweethearts. in high school, you both were adamant about the fact that you were just friends. albeit, you always wanted more, but youd never dare to tell vernon that. little did you know, he wouldve scooped you up at the first opportunity. you were always comfortable with your friendship. that being said, you both did drunkenly kiss at a couple parties. but that was ‘forgotten’ by morning.

as the end credits rolled on the tv, you got up and made your way to your bedroom in order to stop yourself from falling completely head over heels in love with vernon. you were convinced that five more minutes on that couch with him would have driven you to insanity. you run your fingers through your hair and plug your phone in, anything to keep your mind busy. you sit down at your desk, running your fingers along the small items that take up space there. your eyes fixate on a small rock. you pick it up and roll it around in your palm. vernon always had a habit of giving you simple things that caught his eye, even when you were kids. its nice to know that some things never change.

you lay the rock back down in its place on your desk as you stand up and head back out into the main part of your apartment. vernon is sitting in his same position on the couch, scrolling on his phone. you yawn and sit back down, browsing the different movies and tv shows on netflix. you feel vernons eyes on you as you yawn again. “are you tired? we can just go to bed you know.” you try to play it off and act like youre not tired but yet another yawn proves you wrong. vernon laughs and stands up, folding the blanket that was in his lap and placing it back down onto the sofa. he stretches his arms over his head, and you practically have to peel your eyes away from watching his shirt trail up his stomach, revealing a thin strip of skin above the waistband of his sweatpants. 

you both make your way to bed, vernon retreating to the guest bedroom that he had basically made his home for weeks. with small smiles and a mumbled ‘goodnight’, you both head off to bed. you flick the switch on your bedside lamp as you crawl into bed and scroll on your phone. in the silence, you hear the rain outside begin to pick up more. then follows the thunder. the lightning of the storm illuminates your room, and before long the entire apartment is drained of light. usually if the power goes out, it comes back on within the minute. but you wait for what seems like forever, and nothing. you never were scared of the dark, but power outages always make the hair stand up on the back of your neck. you sit up in your bed and turn on the flashlight on your phone, filling the room with enough light for you to see. you quickly send a text to vernon and await his response.

y/n : are you awake?

vern :P : yeah, the storm kept me awake. why arent you asleep? 

y/n : i was on my phone, but now im kind of spooked because of the power outage and cant sleep :/

vern :P : come to my room, even just until the power comes back on 

you meekly make your way out into the hall, quietly pushing your bedroom door shut behind you. as you open the door to the guest bedroom, your phone flashlight fills the room. vernon is laying in the bed with the blanket pulled up to his chest, and you catch a glimpse of his bare shoulders. he pulls the blanket back and invites you in, and you happily oblige. its nice and warm under the covers, so you settle in next to vernon. you face each other in bed, exchanging smiles in the dark. after a moment, you feel yourself drifting off. a chill runs down your body, which signals vernon to move in closer. you feel his breath warm against your forehead as his arm wraps around your waist, tugging you even closer to his body. you hope you can melt fully into his touch. the place on your waist where his arm lays feels as though it is about to burst into flames. in a final effort to hide your bright red cheeks and ears, you bury your face into his neck. even though he wouldnt have been able to see your blush in the dark, he feels the warmth of your face against his skin anyways. but he’ll let you believe you were being discrete. 

you wake up to the streaks of light coming in through the window. you shift to your back, picking up your phone to check the time. 8:04am. vernon stirs in his sleep and wraps both arms around your torso, squeezing you close to his body. you smile to yourself as you run your arms around his neck and settle back into the bed. as you drift back into sleep, you swear you feel a small kiss pressed to your temple. you both wake up a couple hours later, bodies intertwined and breaths shared. vernon hovers over you as he reaches for his phone and you look up at him as his hair falls around his face. when he settles back down next to you, you reach for your own phone. you both lay in silence before you swing your legs over the side of the bed and get up. vernon makes a noise of disapproval as you stand up and turn to face him. he pouts as you laugh at his mannerisms. 

“where are you going?” he drops his phone on the mattress and turns to face you entirely. “vernon its 11am, we have to get up at some point.” you say as you chuckle. he slowly reaches over and grabs the hem of your shirt, causing you to lose your balance and land back in the bed with him. he has a satisfied smile on his face as he tucks his face into your neck. you cant help but smile as you run a hand through his hair, which makes him shiver. you both sit like that for a few minutes before vernon obliges and lets you get ready for the day. at that point, you just wanted to lay with vernon forever. but you knew that wasnt an option. 

vernon has to go home for some things that day, so you decide to work on some assignments that you have coming up. you spend all day in your office, working away and listening to music. you dont realize how long youve been working until vernon lightly taps on your office door, startling you slightly. you pause your music as you turn towards him. he smiles at your slightly shocked but happy face. “i brought us food, i know youve had a long week.” your heart feels warm at the kind gesture. “oh vern youre the best. let me finish up this paper and ill be right out okay?” he nods with a kind smile as he turns away back to the kitchen. you try to finish the assignment as quick as you can so you can spend more time with vernon. finally clicking the submit button, you turn off your computer and head out to the kitchen.

as you get closer to the kitchen, you hear a quiet humming meeting your ears. as you stand in the doorway, you encounter the source of the tune. vernon stands at the fridge, humming the tune of a song you dont recognize. he doesnt realize youre in the room yet, so you stand and observe him. he has to crouch to see into your fridge, hes taller now than he was when you saw him last. you smile to yourself. you cant believe how lucky you are, to be reunited with the person you never thought youd see again. as youre staring fondly, he closes the fridge door and stands up. he jumps slightly when he notices you, but he smiles after. seems you were both scaring each other today. you giggle as you step closer to him and he pulls you into his arms. you both sway back and forth in the dimmed kitchen lights. this is love. platonic or romantic, it doesnt matter. its love. he rests his cheek on top of your head as you close your eyes and sink into his chest. you stand in silence before he breaks it. “wanna go turn on another movie while we eat?” you nod and break away to the sofa. 

you both spend 5 minutes trying to find a good movie to watch before you start eating. it was always a tradition between you two, you couldnt start a meal until you both settled on a movie or tv show to watch. you both finally found the perfect movie, so you were able to start with your meal. after you both finished eating, you realized there was only one blanket left on the sofa. you glance at each other before vernon unfolds it and pats his chest, signalling you to share the blanket with him. obviously you take his offer. you lay your head on vernons chest, legs intertwined and the sound of his heartbeat playing in your ear like its your favourite song. he runs his fingers through your hair, and all of a sudden the movie is no more. you turn to lay on your stomach and look into vernons eyes. you see his eyes flicker down to your lips, the same way they did that night at the party when you met each other again for the first time in years. you lean in first this time, tenderly kissing him in the tv light. you feel him pull you closer as he deepens the kiss. when you both pull away, breathless, we gives you one more kiss on the forehead as you lay your head back onto his chest and slowly drift off to sleep. when he thinks youre asleep, vernon whispers “i love you” into your hair. you smile as you quietly say “i love you too” without opening your eyes to see his reaction.

[mylittlesecrethaven]

Season 2 Episode 7 Just.... Hits Home

Not in a relationship way cause I've never had a relationship like Fizz and Ozzie (but by I wish I did), but just the feeling of being weighed down because of something you can't leave even if it's killing you.

Also, a few thoughts on the episode.

The music? Absolutely amazing. So many songs in one episode. Fucking love it.

The episode was longer than usual, which I'm not complaining about, but I hope the animators aren't overworking themselves.

Blitz and Fizz's relationship is getting better and I'm really happy about that.

Mammon can go fuck himself. I didn't think he'd be that bad of a demon but holy hell.

I like seeing the bigger demon forms. We saw Beelzebub's (I know for a fact I spelled that wrong, but I'm not looking it up) form, and I'm really glad we get to see the others. I didn't like Mammon's cause he looked like a bug and I have a slight fear of bugs.

I hope Fizz and Ozzie's relationship won't cause problems. That would fucking suck. I wonder, if it does cause problems, if it's cause of rules Lucifer has in place, or if Ozzie is just gonna lose public favor.

And one last thing.... The fucking signing for the kid from Fizz? Loved it! I fucking loved how sweet he was with the kid and how he pointed him out in the crowd. I'm kinda wondering now if it's a basic practice in hell to know sign language (also if they have their own sign language since there's American Sign Language and British Sign Language (and maybe more since I don't know a lot about sign language)) or if Fizz learned it because he was partially deaf after the fire incident. (I didn't come up with that theory it came from.... *checking notes because I do wanna give credit when it's due* .... @_dragon_soldier_9_306 on YouTube. I triple checked that, so I really hope it's not wrong.