ive seen this “what if there was a be more chill reprise where michael sings for jeremy?” thing
and decided to just write the entire song
cause why the hell not
now, i know some parts might be a bit off with the melody, but i tried my best so bear with me!
also, im on mobile, so formatting sucks.
Be More Chill pt. 2
Michael, what are you doing?
Helping my friend.
Ooh, everything about you is so wonderful!
Everything about me is so terrible…
No! Everything about you is so full of life!
Everything about me makes me wanna die…
No! Jeremy, can’t you see? Buddy, just listen to me.. Listen to me!
Everything about you is just so freaking wonderful!
I love everything about you!
Everything about you is just so alive!
I could never live without you.. You’re not so left out or unsure, you’re not that lonely anymore!
Everything about you is so cool
Repeat after me. Please.
[Jeremy nods. Michael starts singing.]
Everything about you is so wonderful!
Everything about me is so.. wonderful?
Exactly! Everything about you is so full of life!
Everything about me is so.. full of life!
@missweber requested NHL!Bitty dealing with Hockey RPF. This got a little longer than expected, with a side pairing of Jack/philly-cheesesteak. Takes place a few months into Bitty’s second season with the Schooners.
The most annoying thing is that for all of the ‘Jack/Parse’, ‘Jack/Tater’, ‘Jack/Sid’, ‘Jack/fucking-every-player-on-the-east-coast’ fic, there are a whopping SIX ‘Jack/Eric’ fics on Ao3. Six.
On one hand, Eric’s proud they’ve hidden their relationship so well, on the other, Eric is insulted. But really, with their disappointing portmanteau of ‘Jeric’ or ‘Zittle’, it’s not surprising they’re horribly under-appreciated.
“I just wish my fans were more creative.”
Over Skype, Eric watches Jack plow through a Philly cheesesteak with no small measure of jealousy. He’s lonely and hungry, and his asshole boyfriend is doing this on purpose.
“You know,” Jack says, talking out of the side of his half-full mouth, “if you let the Schoons call you ‘Bitty’ our name could have been ‘Zimbits’. That’s kinda on you.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jungkook grumbled to himself, then pulled his key from the ignition as he shoved the truck’s door open. The dim lighting from inside the convenience store greeted him, but he only saw that guy again. He’d been watching for the past few minutes, waiting for you to clock out so he could take you home, but something was stopping you from that—him.
“Hey,” he loudly said upon walking inside. “You ready to go or what?”
“Jungkook.” He could hear the sigh of relief you gave upon seeing him. “Yeah. Sorry. I just need to go tell my manager I’m going home.”
Jungkook nodded, gesturing for you to go into the backroom with his head.
And that left him alone with some guy who would love nothing more than to get into your pants. Although that was something they had in common, there was no way in hell anyone but Jungkook would be doing that—if he could help it.
“You were here last time too, weren’t you?”
“What?” the guy asked, surprised. “I don’t know.”
To look even more suspicious, he grabbed at his cap and tried to conceal himself. Although, the pants full of holes and greasy hair didn’t help much.
Shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, Jungkook stared at the floor with his eyes darting from the man’s worn sneakers to an ant on the tile. He’d let it go last time just because you were watching, but not this time.
“I think you do,” Jungkook said, raising his head. “I saw you fucking here last time. I know I did. And I thought I told you to leave her alone.”
“I think if she wanted me to leave her alone, she’d tell me.”
Jungkook took a step forward at that. “Listen here, you fucking—”
“He just told me to check the register but we can go,” you said upon walking back out of the backroom, then glanced at the two of them. “What’s going on?”
“I’m just trying to explain to this douche here that you don’t like him.”
“Jungkook,” you scolded. “It’s fine. Let’s just go. Please.”
His head snapped in your direction. “You’re okay with this?!”
“Okay with what? I don’t want any trouble. Please. Can we go?”
Jungkook guffawed, then glared at the guy when he snorted. “I don’t care. You leave her alone. You come in here every night she works here and talk to her—”
“I didn’t realize it was a crime to talk to a girl…”
“It’s not but it is if she doesn’t want to talk to you. That’s harassment. You know she would get fired if she said anything, so you take advantage of that and keep talking to her anyway, hoping that she’ll give in. But you don’t know her like I do. She doesn’t care about your microscopic dick or want to fuck you.”
The guy laughed hollowly at that. “No one is harassing anyone, dude.”
“Yeah? If you aren’t, then what the fuck are you doing exactly? You haven’t even bought anything and you’ve been here for, like, twenty minutes. Maybe you don’t know what fucking time it is but for me, it’s almost eleven o’clock at night. If you want to get her number, maybe you should do it during the daytime when there’s other people around. Actually, how about you don’t do that at all and just get your beer and your bag of cheetos and get the fuck out of here.”
“Dude. Calm the fuck down. We were just talking.”
“All right. You call me ‘dude’ one more time—”
“Who the fuck even are you? Her boyfriend or something?”
“I don’t have to be her anything to get you to leave since I have fucking hands, but if I say yes, will that make this easier? And less painful—for you, that is.”
For a very dramatic and emotional experience, I recommend listening to From The Dining Table while reading this. Love you. x -heather
Was this the seventh drink? No, eights. Hell, ninth? Fuck it.
Harry chuckled to himself, lips sloppily drinking from his solo red cup the alcohol that was now swimming in his body.
“And can you feel the love tonight?” Harry drunkly sang to the empty house, hiccuping. “It is where we are.” He giggled, his cup falling from his hand on to the carpet, his head resting on the couch’s arm rest, eyes closing and his body curling. “It’s enough for a wide-eyed wanderer,” He sang quietly, mind drifting to that one particular memory.
“That we got this far.” He almost dragged in a whisper, ligh snores escaping his lips after.
yoo this was requested and i combined it with an idea i had so here ya go its super cheesy and gross and long
like 4k words
Hey! This is Stiles, you just missed me- you know what to do.
The generic beep of the voicemail sounded loudly through the phone and you hiccuped in surprise at the noise, clearly not expecting it. A small giggle slipped past your lips at the hiccup which you wouldn’t have normally found funny but to put it lightly- you were drunk out of your mind.
In your drunken state you were very easily distracted which you demonstrated as you nodded to a song that was playing your head, trying to remember why were you calling Stiles in the first place. As Stiles’ voicemail recorded your unusual and pitchy humming, you racked your brain to try recall why you were on the phone when it hit you: you had to tell Stiles you were in love with him.
If you were in the least bit sober, you maybe would’ve had the senses to realize that this wasn’t a good idea (no matter how much you drunken mind was saying it was.)
But, then again, sober-you didn’t have the sense not to drink that unattended bottle of gin when home alone, especially when you were feeling rather emotional about being in love with your best friend- smart definitely wasn’t the word to describe your decisions.
And so, here you were: leaving drunk voicemail’s to your best friend who you were hopelessly in love with.