#verve and call

[sparkinlowercase]

🌬️🌪️ something about simpler times

just going with the wind

#original art #digital art #original character #OC art #oc #delwyn abel #verve and call

[literateleah]

also somewhat related to that poll but being a journalist has kind of steamrolled my passion for literature bshfhsjsbdj

#i feel: neutral on this bc it kind of is what it is #but being like 24/7 on call speed running stories and edits and also managing a team who is doing that is: wild #and it’s reframed most of how i work as a writer in work school etc any environment #which is new #and neutral basically just. new #that passion is still there i just. can hardly pick up a novel anymore sadly #and i know this is a recent development over the last year #because last summer i TORE THROUGH my tbr with such verve #but this last year…. #she took something out of me dear god

[mylittlevsoldier]

hey! uh what r ur 3 songs that u want at ur funeral

hello!!!

bittersweet symphony - the verve

its called: freefall - rainbow kitten surprise

video games - trixe mattel

#song asks #bittersweet symphony #the verve #its called: freefall #rainbow kitten surprise #rks #trixie mattel #video games #spotify #music #cover

[psychewritesbs]

What can I do to get me to you?

#v gives bad music recs #cowboy bebop #ah listening to this song #it has massive the verve’s bittersweet symphony vibes #steve conte #yoko kanno #got to get to you but I don’t know how #call me call me #let me know it’s all right #please won’t you call and ease my mind #holy shit this song #after all these years still hits home

[beomcoups]

Caller #17

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: basketball player!Soonyoung x college dj reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, angst, 90s au

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: PG-13

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing, talks of tough family dynamics, bit of heavy angst, kissing

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 8.8k

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You could easily name 10 things that you hate about him. But when you bond over music and families, you realize there's more to him than meets the surface.

𝐀𝐍: This was not an easy fic. It took me way longer than I planned to write, and the story I had mapped out went in a different direction. I still feel proud of this one, my longest fic yet, and I hope that you will enjoy it too 🥹 This is a part of my very own Now That's 90's collab hosted by me and @mingsolo. Thank you to @wooahaeproductions for reading this over and @hobeemin for making a banner for me at the last minute 💙

“Thank you for calling into C.A.R.A.T radio! What’s your song of the week?” “Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve!” “You got it! Thanks for calling into C.A.R.A.T radio at 526 AM.” Hitting play on the record, the orchestra's melody hits your ears, sending you into an out-of-body experience, your soul floating to cloud nine. The hairs on the back of your neck stand every time the song is played, and you imagine yourself playing the violin, getting lost in the beautiful and complicated sinfonia.  Working at the college radio station was your life. It’s the only place to lose yourself to TLC, Nirvana, and Weezer for hours without judgment. You are in your 3rd year of college, getting your bachelor’s in music theory so you can be one of the most prominent songwriters in the world. While everyone in high school didn’t know what they would be doing with their life, you always imagined yourself getting a Grammy for Song of the Year on stage. That is your real passion: creating musical poetry for the masses.

You slowly take the headphones off and set them down, looking at the big clock plastered on the wall. You let out a heavy sigh, sad that your time at the station is ending. You are allotted two hours a day on Saturday as a part of credit for your program. If you had it your way, you would be here daily, listening to your favorite records and writing songs between commercial breaks.

“Hey,” your professor Kim calls out from her office. “Come in here before you leave.”

You gather your things to leave, looking at the station one last time before entering the smaller space. This isn’t her regular office, but it has everything you think you would need: a desk, a comfortable chair, and bookshelves full of books and ornaments for decoration. You have spent a lot of time in here, pitching new ideas for the station and getting turned down every single time.

“What's up?” You sit in the chair opposite of her.

“So we will be introducing a new segment to the radio where callers can call in and ask for advice about anything, and then you can recommend a song based on what they are calling in about.:” She pauses to take a sip of water. “I want you to be a part of it.”

You don’t answer right away. You are peeved that Professor Kim wants you to head any segment. You have never shown any initiative to want to talk to anyone who calls in besides listening to music. It’s just not your thing. You are a loner at heart, and that’s how you plan to stay.

“Why me?” You finally speak up. “There are other people who are better at this than I am. Hell, ask Emily. She has been foaming at the mouth to talk about anything other than music.”

“Because you are who I want,” she shrugs. “I see how you look when you talk about your favorite releases. You go deep with the lyrics and how you can relate that to any part of your life. You are more than the person behind the voice, and it’s time other people see that.” “Well, I am not trying to be the next Oprah or Ricki Lake,” you scoff. I just want to play music, write my songs, and do whatever I need to do for the class.”

“No one said you would be the next talk show anything,” Professor Kim retorted. “This will be considered a project, and it’s worth 20% of your grade. Plus, when you are in the industry and have sessions with the artists about the song's lyrics, don’t you need to talk to them about their life and what they need? Think about that.” You nod, feeling defeated because you know you can’t talk your way out of this. You know she is right, but you will never admit it. “Plus, it’ll be a good idea to get out of your shell and work on those social skills,” she says. “We will start in a couple of weeks, so get your mind ready because before you know it, you will be there.” You nod and leave the office, your stomach grumbling loudly as you put your headphones on and listen to the latest Backstreet Boys release. It’s a quarter past seven, and dusk officially sets in the sky as you walk across campus. Working at the radio station is the highlight of your week, as you can’t play music loud at your dorm without others complaining. Fortunately, your dorm is set where you have your own space, but the walls are thin, and you can hear everything. You considered buying noise-canceling foam to cover your door but were told it was “against” the rules. Whatever. Your stomach rumbles again, and you are determined to get a burger and fries in your stomach and drink an Oreo milkshake. You cross the street, open your bag, and grab your wallet before being met with a screeching halt from a car in front of you, its headlights blaring in your eyes. “What the fuck?” You mouth at the driver. The driver pokes his head out the window, and you instantly recognize him as Soonyoung, the star point guard of the basketball team. His black Jeep is crowded, full of guys and girls, with Usher blasting through the speakers. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” he waves. “Yeah, no shit,” you retort, walking to the end before the car pulls off. Jeers and boos could be heard, but you could care less. People like that always get in your way no matter what. You avoid people like that as much as people, as you don’t want to be mixed in with that crowd. Soonyoung will eventually go pro and live the NBA life, whereas you will be on the stage accepting awards, with millions of people cheering your name.

The segment started as planned, and you sat and listened to every caller asking for advice. Most of them wanted advice on how to ask someone out for a date, makeup, and things you didn’t care about. The only thing that made it worth it was you got to pick the music to go with the advice, which allowed you to show off your taste in music, from Britney Spears to Mandy Moore, Usher, Sugar Ray, etc. It made the time go by faster as well. You look through the glass, and Professor Kim gives you a thumbs up to take the last call. Letting out a sigh of relief, you let the call ring a few times before you answer. “Welcome to C.A.R.A.T radio. You are lucky caller number 17. What’s on your mind?” “H-hello?” a tenured male voice booms through the speakers. You groan, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “You’ve reached C.A.R.A.T radio! What’s on your mind?”

“Hey. You can use this line to ask for advice, right?”

“Yep,” you say, a bit annoyed. “Whatcha got?”

There is a lengthy pause, your fingers tapping dramatically on the soundboard. You raise an eyebrow at the professor, who shrugs and walks out of your view. You hear shuffling in the background, followed by what sounds like something being sipped from a cup.

“S-sorry, I am a bit nervous,” he apologizes. “It’s my first time calling in.”

“It’s alright,” you reassure him. “I know how it is. How can I help?”

“So I already have this path carved out for me by my family and everyone who cares about me. Sports is all I have known all my life, and I have worked very hard to get here.” He stops for a brief second. “Everyone expects me to act like this all-star college boy, and no one ever talks to me about anything else than sports, and I am starting to hate it.”

“Do you mind telling me what kind of sports you’re in?”

“I play ball.”

“Okay, that's good. Well, what is it that you want?”

“I’m tired of being what everyone wants me to be: this golden retriever everyone loves. I just want to be me.” You understood how he felt. Maybe not in sports, but people pushing you to be something you’re not. You come from a family of doctors and lawyers who expected you to be the same. “Get good grades so you can get into an Ivy League school” is all you heard growing up. When you were seven, you expressed interest in music, sitting in front of the family piano on Christmas and playing Jingle Bells, which you learned on your own. Your parents cared for a while, putting you in piano lessons and taking you all over the state for recitals. They figured if you kept this up until high school, it would look good on college applications, but nothing that they took you seriously for. It wasn’t until you learned how to play the guitar in secret that you fell in love with how the strings strummed against your fingers that you realized that your passion is music. Thanks to your choir teacher, you had a good voice and kept it in tune while practicing writing music. You soon sang in front of the school, getting high praise from people all over for your voice and how you would “make it big one day.” Your parents insisted that it was just a phase and that eventually you would become a doctor and make a “real” living. You were determined to prove them wrong by applying to one of the best music schools and getting in on a full ride. You did that, but it came with a cost: being cut off by everyone in your family but your grandparents. They believed in you from the beginning and made sure you were okay. You will pay them back in tenfold one day. “Hello?” the deep voice cut through your thoughts. “Y-yeah, sorry,” you snap back into focus. “Do you want my advice?” “Yeah, I do,” you hear him clear your throat. ‘I think you should be who you want to be. It may feel a little different at first, but eventually, you will be happier being yourself.” “I mean…” he pauses for another second. “How do I go about that? How do I show people the real me?” “Hmm,” you think out loud. “Why don’t you try easing into it? Start a random conversation about something you are interested in that no one knows about. Gauge their reactions, and if they treat you weirdly, then start making new friends. It might be a little harder with your family, but they will come around. But either way, it’s exhausting having to hide yourself at the time. It’s the 90s and a new era!” “Yeah,” he says slowly. I’ll try that.Thanks.” “No problem!” You say. “Check out this song that’ll hopefully speak to your heart. This is me signing off on CARAT Radio, 800am.” You played “You Gotta Be” by Des’ree, a personal favorite, closing out the end of your segment. Admittedly, it wasn't as bad as you thought it would be. Sure, some questions were annoying, but it allowed you to pass on music to people and help them get over whatever. You can’t call that a total loss. You push the mic to the side and leave the room, checking in with your professor before leaving. “Great job,” she leaned back into her seat. “You were well-spoken and composed, and the music selections were excellent. Have you thought about being a radio DJ?” “NO,” you snort. “I want to be more behind the scenes, writing songs and getting Grammys.” “Okay, okay,” Professor Kim chuckles. “But don’t rule it out. You are a natural at it.” You nod and head out the door with a small smile. Getting complimented about your work feels good, but you rule out being a radio DJ. You deal with people if you have to, but you prefer to have time for yourself a lot of times. You’re just introverted like that. However, that last call was in the back of your mind. You just want to live and succeed at your dream job. It was nice knowing someone out there felt the same way you did. 

Before you knew it, a few weeks had passed, and you had secretly liked doing the segment every Saturday, talking to people from different backgrounds and listening to their troubles. You had a song for every call, and you bragged to your professor at the end of your shift that you had impeccable taste. The analytics showed that more people were tuning in during your segment than at any other time on the radio. Not gonna lie; it stroked your ego quite a bit.

The mystery guy called in on Saturdays, ironically being caller #17 every time. He would call and ask for advice about getting his grades up, coming out of his comfort zone, trying new things, etc. You got to know him a little, see how he solves problems, and see his sense of humor. You have no idea what he looked like, but you imagined he was just your type, like a Keanu Reeves, Theo Mizuhara, or Merlin Santana. Is it crazy that you sometimes daydream about a man you never met?

Today was the last day of the advice segment, and everyone called in with their usual advice and well wishes. Like clockwork, the mystery guy was caller #17. His breathing was labored when you answered, followed by a clunk of metal hitting the floor. “Welcome to C.A.R.A.T radio. You are lucky caller number 17. What’s your damage?”

“H-hey.” You know it was him; the sound of his voice was familiar to you. You shift in your seat, sitting straight and placing your elbows on the desk. You try to keep a poker face, your professor watching you with curious eyes. “Hey there,” you clear your throat. “How can I help?” “I heard today is the last day to ask for advice,” he says. “I can’t say I won’t miss calling and hearing your voice every Saturday.” “Oh yeah?” you chuckle. “ That’s good to know. Well, what is the last piece of advice that I can give you?” “So, there is this girl,” he starts. “I really like her. She’s cute, a bit of a hard ass, and I really like her mind. She’s not like anyone that I’ve met. How do I ask her out?” “Does she know you exist?” “Yeah. I almost ran into her once, but we talked a lot.” “Ah. Do you think she might like you?” “I-I’m not sure,” he stutters. “We get along and everything and we have some things in common. I just don’t know if she would be into me.” “Okay, well, it wouldn’t hurt to ask her out? The worst that can happen is that she says no; at least you’d know.” “Yeah,” he sighs. “I’m nervous as hell, that’s all. Have you dated anyone before?” You are taken aback, your professor raising her eyebrows through the glass. You nod, licking your lips before responding. “I’ve dated here and there,” you say slyly. “It wasn't anything serious. What about you?” ‘Um, yeah, I have,” he snorts.

“Well, there you go then, tiger.” You’re clearly entertained by this conversation. “Remember how you felt when you asked the other girls out, and apply that same confidence to this girl. You never know. She might say yes.” “Okay, I will take your word for it. Thank you.” “Not a problem!” You beam. “Here is the last song I leave you with: ’ 4-page letter’ by Aaliyah. Have a good night, ya’ll.”

You play the final track of the night, setting down the headphones while Professor Kim claps her hands in applause. You roll your eyes playfully, pushing your chair onto the desk and exiting the booth. You feel light as a feather, dopamine taking over your body as you meet your professor in her office. “Great job,” she smiles. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” “Maybe,” you plop down on a chair. “It was fun giving out music suggestions.” “Mhmm,” she nods. “Well, get out there and enjoy your Saturday. I will see you in class on Friday.” You grab your things and leave the station, your stomach rumbling and your mouth parched. It’s after 8, and the nearest thing open is the local pizza joint with the best pepperoni pizza with the cheesiest cheese you’ve ever had. You go there often, and the owners, Dante and Gabriella, get your order ready before you sit down. “The usual?” they always ask, knowing that you are a creature of habit. Aside from your grandparents, they were the closest thing to family to you, always making sure your pizza was hot and crispy with a tall cup of Coke to go with it. They asked about your studies, and Gabriella always asked when you’d get a boyfriend. 

“Ah, stop it, amore mio,” Dante jokingly shushes her. “She has all her life to find the love of her life.”

More people started coming in, and they left you to your food and your walkman. You gleefully put Parmesan cheese over your pizza, taking the first bite and feeling instant gratification. A slice of heaven, literally. You take your headphones on, listening to Kurt Cobain croon on Nirvana’s Something In The Way. The “Nevermind” album got you through some tough times, especially when your family cut off communication with you. It hurt you and made you feel isolated and misunderstood. On the outside, your mom and dad put on this persona of being open-minded and willing to do anything for the family. Why were you the exception? You feel the tears well up, and you get yourself together before people start to notice, eating the rest of your pizza before you call it a night. You look around, seeing people on dates or hanging out with their friends, and you miss that. You had friends back home, but you all split up before you went to college. Who knows what their lives are like now. It’s not like you are visiting home anyway. You clean up your mess and walk into the bathroom, relieving yourself and washing your hands before returning to your dorm. You looked at yourself in the mirror: your jean jacket covered your black button-up shirt, shorts, and stockings underneath. Your eyes were slightly red, a contrast from your fresh face. Stifling a yawn, you leave and wave goodbye to Dante, opening the side door and bumping into someone in the process. You look up, facing Soonyoung, his cheerful eyes meeting yours. “We gotta stop meeting like this,” you mutter, backing up and adjusting your jacket. “Yeah, we shouldn’t,” he responds, opening the door to let you out. Your head snaps up, half expecting him to not hear you.  You rake your fingers through your hair, walking out of the restaurant. He’s a handsome guy, you can admit that, with his fresh, faded haircut and trendy clothes. You get why he is popular with everyone. “I’m sorry for almost hitting you with my car the other day,” he calls out. “It’s alright,” you turn around. “Just don’t make it a habit.” “Alright.” He chuckles and goes inside, and you speed walk to your dorm. Did I just flirt with him? You think to yourself. What the fuck was that? You aren’t even interested in Soonyoung in that way. You two are the two opposites of each other. You’re clearly losing your mind.

The cool air calms you down, and the slight breeze underneath the moonlight keeps you at bay until you get to your building. It’s Saturday night, and everyone’s out; the only sound being heard is your boots hitting the tiled floor as you walk down the hallway to your dorm. Unlocking your door, you notice an envelope tucked underneath it. You sit on the bed, open it, and pull out a letter. I know this isn't a four-page letter, but I like you. You’re funny, have good jams, and are down to earth. Did I say that you’re cute? I like talking to you every Saturday and don’t want it to stop. 

 I want to take you out to a concert on Friday. I’ll pick you up at 4 at your dorm. I know you've said yes if you’re there when I arrive. —Caller #17

“What do you think of this?” Your former roommate and good friend, Nikki Prince, holds up a black leather jacket in your size. You asked her to go shopping with you for an outfit for tomorrow's impending date, and you needed another set of eyes. She majors in architecture and design but models on the side thanks to her striking looks. A tall, tanned skin and green-eyed beauty, she now lives with her much older chef boyfriend, Caelan, but whenever you need her, she’s always there. She’s French, stylish, and brutally honest. You loved that about her. “I dig that,” you take it from her and try it on. It fits you just right. It would be chilly, so you bought new boots, a white shirt, and black jean shorts to wear with black stockings underneath. You wanted to be comfortable as you would be on your feet all night. 

“Are you sure about this date?” Nikki’s foreign accent comes through. “How do you know this guy isn’t some serial killer? We’ve all seen Scream.” “Gee, thanks, mom,” you roll your eyes. “If he tries anything with me, I’ll just show him the moves I learned from the YMCA.” 

“I’m serious. This is risque for you, no?” You shrug, slowly taking off the jacket and heading to the cashier. “I get your point, and if anything happens, I can defend myself. But I have a feeling that it won’t happen.” You greet the cashier and pay for the jacket. “I’ll call you before I leave and tell you about it the next day. Deal?” Nikki nods, and you both walk out of the store, satisfied with what you bought. The mall is busy for a Thursday night, with young adults frolicking at stores like Rave and Wet Seal, looking for the latest fashion trends. The mall isn’t really your scene, as you prefer to thrift shop for your clothes. You have been lucky to find some hidden gems there, especially since you are on a limited budget. Nikki, however, said it was a special occasion, and you quote, “You are not going on a date in someone else’s vêtements.”

You stop at Auntie Anne’s, buying a massive pretzel with cheese on the side, while Nikki opts for a small lemonade. You offer her a piece, which she declines, saying her boyfriend, Caelan, will make her dinner later. “How is that going, by the way?” You sit down at a table. “It’s going good,” she enthuses, raking her fingers through her long black tresses. “He’s so mature and sophisticated. Imagine not having to cook and clean after a man and have good sex.” “Well, yeah, he’s about six years older,” you remark. He better know a thing or two if he wants to keep his model.” Nikki gloats as you finish your pretzel, talking about the elaborate French dishes her boyfriend makes for her and how he worships the ground she walks on. Since you’ve known her, she has always been opinionated and refused to associate with people within your age group. Whenever you see her in the hallways, she always talks with teachers or ignores the lustful looks of college boys. You two got on well because you were roommates, and both were Scorpio risings. You understood each other. “Oh shoot, I better head back to the flat,” Nikki says, looking at her watch. Caelan is going to be home soon, and he is making steak frites tonight.” 

“Yeah, I gotta head to the dorm anyway. Early class tomorrow.”

You walk out of the mall into the chilly night air. She offers you a ride home, and you decline at first, saying that you will walk as it's pretty close. But a slight wind blows, bringing chills down your spine.

“Wait,” you shout after her. “I’ll take that ride.”

The ride was short and quiet, your mind occupied with your date with this mystery stranger. Nikki was right, you don’t know him, and he could be this crazy guy. But you’re also excited; the butterflies haven’t left your stomach since Saturday. You feel like you know him, and you don’t even know his name. He is just caller #17.

She pulls up to your building, and you hug her, preparing to run inside and shower. You know Nikki is still worried and means well, even if she sometimes acts like an overbearing old sister.

“Come over tomorrow at two if you can,” you announce. “You can help me get ready and meet my date in case anything goes crazy.”

“Alright,” Nikki seems relieved. “I’ll be there.”

You shut the door and shout your goodbyes before sprinting inside.

“Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah!”

The next day went fast, like a blur. You slept past your alarm and woke up after twelve, making you two hours late.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK,” you shout as you scrambled out of bed and tripped over a blanket. You throw on a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater from the University, your hair in a wild ponytail as you brush your teeth and high-tailed it out the door. You ran to class, forming an apology along the way, your heart beating out of your chest. You are met, however, with a closed door and a white paper plastered on the door:

NO CLASS TODAY. ENJOY YOUR WEEKEND.

“Really?” You huffed, leaning against the wall. It’s not like you are late for class; your alarm was

set despite you being up late last night. But whatever, fuck it. You aren’t about to let this ruin your day.

The leaves flow softly with the wind as you walk back to your dorm, the sun playing hide and seek in the clouds. All you can think about is tonight and what concert you are going to. Maybe it’s a huge concert, and that’s why he is picking you up early… or perhaps it’s a local indie band at a bar. Your mind runs with endless possibilities, excitement pumping through your veins. You aren’t a hopeless romantic or a love-at-first-sight kind of person, but something about this person makes you feel good… like you finally have someone who can relate to you on some level. Granted, you have only talked with him on the phone, but you have a gut feeling and are rarely wrong about these things. You finally return to your dorm and take a well-needed shower, washing and detangling your hair with much-needed privacy. Your dorm has shared showers; you usually take them when everyone is asleep at night. Fortunately, there were only a few people, allowing you to have time for yourself. You allow yourself to think of the water running down your body as him, his hands caressing your body, his lips maybe touching yours— “Is anyone in here?” You snap out of your daydream quickly, and the water turns cold right on queue. “Y-yeah?” “I am here to clean the showers,” a woman’s voice calls from the door. “O-okay, give me a second.” Cursing silently, you quickly step out and dry yourself, throwing on your robe and grabbing your shower caddy before exiting the bathroom. You are met by an older woman wearing a shirt representing your college and sweats, with cleaning supplies in tow. “You were in there for a while,” she remarks as she sets out the wet floor sign. Do you have a hot date tonight?” “Something like that,” you shrug. You walk back to your room, and to your surprise, Nikki is outside your door. “You’re early,” you remark, unlocking the door. “Yes, I know,” she said. “But we will need more than two hours to get yourself right.” “You act like I can’t dress myself,” you scoff. “I just wanted your company, that’s all.”

“Oh yeah? Mon ami, when was the last time you changed your makeup?” You open your mouth to rebuttal but close it immediately. You hate to say it, but Nikki’s right. It’s not like you are going anywhere besides school, the music store, and the pizzeria. “Exactly,” Nikki says, setting her stuff down on her bed. “I went and got you makeup close to your teint, just in case.” She pulls out brand-new makeup from Revlon from mascaras, concealers, powders, and assortments of lipsticks of my choosing. She also bought nail polishes, saying it was time to add some color to your life. As much as you want to roll your eyes at her, she is right. As harsh as Nikki seems sometimes, she has a big heart and always looks out for you when you least expect it. You know a thing or two about style, but she takes it to a whole different level and isn’t shy about giving advice on it. You appreciate her so much. Being honest with yourself, you are nervous as hell. You have had crushes before, but you have never been pursued like this, where someone likes you enough to ask you out formerly, even if it was via a note. This person cares about your mind or seems to. You aren’t sure how to feel; you want to be excited and have a good time, but you have a wall up for a reason. You don’t want to be disappointed again like your family has. You figured if the people you love the most can abandon you like that, there is no hope for you out there. You lived with that hard truth for a long time, and you were content with that. But god, this guy has you curious. “What’s on your mind?” Nikki finishes with your makeup and hair, gazing at you through the mirror. “Butterflies in my stomach are killing me,” you grimace. “I can’t believe I am even doing this.” “Oh, relax,” she blows a raspberry. “You always do this thing where you talk yourself out of things you deserve. Stop that. D'accord? “Yes, mother,” you tease. She sucks her teeth, and you get dressed, putting on the new clothes you bought and your black leather boots. Checking out your appearance, you are satisfied with your look, and Nikki gives you a thumbs up while she cleans up. Knock, Knock! You look at the door, the butterflies fluttering deeper in your stomach. You look in the mirror one last time as Nikki opens the door, a brief silence followed by a heart chuckle. “Mon ami, your date is here.”

You see him, and you're stunned. It dawns on you why he’s here, and you feel your heart drop all the way to your ass. This has to be some kind of joke. “Soonyoung? What are you doing here?” He walks more into your view, wearing a grey jean jacket with matching pants. His right hand is in his pocket, and he has a small bouquet of irises in his other hand. “I’m here to take you to the concert?” Nikki is behind him, trying to keep her composure and mask her giggles. Of all the people you thought would show up, Soonyoung was the LAST person on your mind. This is the person who was calling in every Friday and wanting to talk to you? Yeah fucking right. “What happened?” you accost him. “Did you lose some bet, and you had to ask me out? Or do you feel bad for almost hitting me with your car?” “No?!” he scoffs, clearly offended. “I mean, yes, I feel bad about almost hitting, but no one dared me to do anything. Do you think I am that kind of person?” “Well, yes.” You wish you could take back what you said, but it was too late. You knew you hurt his feelings, the crestfallen look on his face saying it all. “This was a mistake,” he sighs dejectedly. “Sorry, I wasted your time.” He handed Nikki the flowers and walked away, the air feeling thick and awkward. You couldn’t even look at her in the eyes. You knew you fucked up. “Well, that was awkward,” you huff. “And shitty.” You raise an eyebrow at her, and she stares you down. You don’t want to feel worse than you already do, and Nikki isn’t helping. “Honestly, I think the guy was telling the truth,” Nikki surmises. “He looked like a sad puppy.” You think about this caller #17 guy who would call in every week and share his thoughts with you about everything, with you having to do very little. You think about how scared he felt about being his true, authentic self and how much courage it probably took to ask you out. You know you are a tough cookie to crack and understand better than anyone how it feels to go against the grain and be who you are. “I fucked up Nik,” you slump on your bed. “Yeah, you did.” God, you hate her bluntness sometimes, but she’s right. You need to go find him and make this right. “Do you think he’s still here?” you ask, sitting up and grabbing your purse. “He couldn’t have left that fast.” “Only way to find out is to get off your ass and find him,” she says, pulling your arm. “Go find your guy.” You both rush out of your dorm, jogging down the hallway and out of the building, looking for a silhouette of him. You were scared you missed him and felt defeated, not seeing any sight of him anywhere. Surveying the area one last time, you noticed a black Jeep peeling out of the parking lot. It stops at the stop sign, the second to last car to go. This is your only chance. “WAIT!”

You sprint towards the car, barely meeting him as he is about to turn.

“STOP,” you exhale, relieved that you caught him. “Don’t go.” Soonyoung steps out as you rest your hands on the hood of his car, trying to catch your breath. He touches your arm, his hands soft as silk, sending shocks throughout your body.

“Are you okay?” He asks, taking a good look at you.

“Aside from me about to pass out, I’m good.” You take a deep breath. “Listen. I’m sorry. I was a jerk and an asshole and—”

“MOVING YOUR FUCKING CAR!”

A middle-aged woman leans out of the window and gives you the bird, followed by a slew of car horns beeping in annoyance behind you and Soonyoung.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung curses, realizing the amount of cars behind him. “Get in the car.”

You both get in the car and drive off from the angry drivers, pulling into the nearest gas station. You sit with your hands in your lap, this weight of regret sitting on your chest and guilt eating you from the inside. You look at him, and he seems surprisingly relaxed as if you didn’t reject him

not even thirty minutes ago.

“I’m going to get some gas,” he announces. “Wait here.” 

You watch him walk inside to pay and let out the deepest, most agonizing sigh. He should be calling you every name in the book, and rightfully so, as you insulted him. Why is he being so nice? Does he really like you that much?

He returns a few minutes later, shoving his pockets with change left over, and you both lock eyes with each other. In another situation, you would’ve been able to appreciate his good looks, trendy clothes, and tiger-like appearance. But instead, you feel sick to your stomach, disappointed in how you acted. You look down, twiddling your thumbs until he finishes pumping his gas and returning to the car. This is not like you at all. “Hey,” he says. “Hi,” you stammer. “I’m sorry again. I feel like a terrible person, and I shouldn’t have bit your head off like that.” “I know you were intense, but Jesus Christ,” he exhaled. “Why do you think I wouldn’t be interested in you? You made it seem like I lost a bet to ask you out. You made me feel like crap.” Every word felt like a punch in the gut, and you deserved it. Despite your parents' many flaws, they always taught you not to judge a book by its cover, and that’s precisely what you did. You were pretentious and stuck up about him. In some ways, you aren’t any different from them. “I guess…” your voice trails off. “I just saw you as the athlete that everyone is in love with. Your friends, I know the type, and we’ve never really crossed paths with each other unless I was bumping into you or almost getting hit by your car.” “So… you saw me as the very thing I told you I didn’t want to be seen as.” You didn’t have to answer back. You both knew the answer, and it was eating you up inside. “I’m sorry, I am just gonna go.” Before he could stop you, you exited the Jeep and started walking back toward your dorm. You are embarrassed and can never face him again. This is why you don’t don’t talk to anyone. This is awkward; it feels weird. You lose yourself in your thoughts until you reach the street light, waiting for your turn to go. The air is slightly chilly than usual, the smell of the ocean taking over your senses that you would enjoy any other time. Yeah, a walk to the beach sounds nice, you say to yourself just as the street signal turns green. You feel someone’s hand pulling you away, and you twirl around, facing Soonyoung’s back as he takes you back to his car.

“You’re dramatic as hell, you know that, right?” He shouts over his shoulder. “You didn’t even let me respond; you just hopped out like you were on the run.” 

You stayed silent. What more could you say? He was right. He opens the passenger side, letting you slide in and shutting the door behind you. A few seconds later, he is on your other side, turning on the ignition. 

“You not a terrible person,” he breathes. “A terrible person wouldn’t come sprinting out of their doom in boots and a nice outfit trying to apologize. You said you’re sorry, and it’s fine.” “Is it?” 

“I mean, I’ll get over it,” he shrugs. “I wouldn’t have pulled you back here if I didn’t want to be around you. Now, do you still want to go back and forth about this, or do you want to make it up to me by going to this concert?” It’s a brief moment of silence as you seriously consider your options. You can tell Soonyoung is still bothered by what you did, but his small smile clarifies your decision. “Lead the way, tiger.”

He chuckles as he pulls out of the lot, pulling into a line of cars headed in the same direction. The sun starts to set, the golden hour hitting the horizon at the sea. You fold your arms, confused as to why he is being so nice to you, despite you being a bitch to him earlier. You haven’t felt forgiveness in a long time, which feels foreign. Uncomfortable. You hope this feeling will go away as the night goes on.

You mainly rode in silence aside from the music on the radio, and the hour trip to the venue seemed to be double that. You pull up to Bayfront Amphitheater, packed to the brim with people screaming their hearts out to the band onstage. Your heart skips in excitement, realizing what concert Soonyoung took you to. 

“The Foo Fighters?” you grin, unbuckling your seatbelt. “I’ve been wanting to see them forever.: “Yeah, I remember you were talking about it on the radio, so I figured why not,” his voice trails off. 

Your heart feels like it is going to burst at the seams. This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for you, and you had the nerve to be a bitch to him earlier. 

“Hey,” you clear your throat. “I’m sorry again. I feel really shitty about it.”

“I know,” he says. “Look, let’s just enjoy this concert, and I’ll forget about it, okay?” You nod, walking towards the loud music. The rhythm of the drums and guitar blended together, hyping the crowd. You let Soonyoung lead the way, checking your tickets and guiding you to your seats. The crowd is thick, with the smell of cigarettes and alcohol flowing freely, and everyone is caught in their own zone. You wouldn’t say you are claustrophobic, but being packed like sardines isn’t your definition of a good time. Soonyoung notices your discomfort and grabs your hand, holding tight until he finds your assigned seats. You felt safe with him, a tiny spark in you that made you swoon. 

“Are you okay?” He shouts over the noise. “Do you want a beer or anything?” “Nah, I’m good,” you shake your head. 

The opening act finishes their set, the crowd politely cheering as the members walk off the stage. There is a small intermission, with people disbursing from their seats to grab drinks or making quick trips to the bathroom. You can feel Soonyoung looking at you, his eyes burning into the left side of your face. You lick your lips and pull strands of your hair to the back of your ear, a blatant attempt at flirting. 

“Are you gonna stare at me all night?” You feel bold, turning your body towards him. “I might,” he purrs. “I have a beautiful, mysterious girl sitting beside me.”

“I’m not that mysterious. We’ve been talking for weeks.” ‘Yeah, in front of thousands of people on the radio. Now I have you all to myself, and I want to get to know the real you.”

“Uh huh,” you nod. “Well, I’m always the same on and off air. You’ll see.” “I hope so.” He smiles at you, and gotta admit the man can flirt. Soonyoung is devastatingly handsome, and he’s quick with his words. It excites you. You like being around people you can banter with and not take shit personally. It takes a load off your shoulders, not having to hold yourself back every time. You just want to be you and be free. It feels like Soonyoung is chasing the same thing. 

“I wouldn’t have predicted you’d be into rock bands like the Foo Fighters. What made you want to go to their concert aside from me?”

“Well, you might be surprised to hear this, but I actually like the band,” he laughs. “I’ve been following them since their debut.”

“Really?” you say. “That’s cool.” “What?” Soonyoung leans closer, your shoulder barely touching his. “Do I not seem like the Foo Fighters type?” “Aht aht,” you playfully wave your finger at him. “I’m not getting tripped up on that question.” You fell into a rhythm of laughter that felt natural as if you had been doing this all your life. Despite your fuck up, he makes you feel cozy and open. The sun makes one final appearance, shining its glorious light on his beautiful, tanned skin. You can fully admit to yourself that he’s handsome as fuck, taking him all in before the sun dips below the horizon. “No, but seriously, I don’t seem like the type to be into them?” You pause before responding, being careful with your answer. “On the surface, no. But I am learning that there is more to a person than meets the eye.” There is a comfortable silence between you two, the sweet-smelling breeze keeping you at bay as you sit and enjoy each other’s company. You have so much you want to say but don’t simultaneously. You savor this tiny bit of peace with him. “I think I am gonna grab a drink,” Soonyoung gets up suddenly. “Do you want anything?” “Yeah, like a juice or something.” You watch him leave, checking out his ass as he stands in the concessions line. Nice and firm, definitely a football player’s ass. You look away before being caught, watching the crew prepare for the next act. You feel like a young girl who just realized you have a crush on a boy. You’re giddy inside, hypersensitive to everything around you and how you look. You hope he finds you as attractive as he says he does, or if not, keep up the lie a little longer. You’ve been dealt many disappointments in your life, and you can’t let this be one of them. 

“Here. I got you a lemonade.”

You gaze up at Soonyoung, carefully grabbing the cup from his hand. He has a cup of beer in the other, sipping before making a face. You laugh in your cup, tasting your sweet drink with some tart. You feel refreshed and a little bit alive, thanks to him. “Ladies and gentlemen, who’s ready for the FOO FIGHTERS?”

The crowd erupts into a roar as the band joins the stage, getting their placements to perform. Jolts of electric excitement course throughout your body, screaming your heart out before the first string is played on the guitar. You’ve always wanted to see them in concert, being a huge fan of Nirvana and following Dave Grohl after. Despite everything, he seems like a rad guy, and

if you ever had the opportunity, you would want to pick his brain and jam out with him. “ARE YOU MUTHAFUCKERS READY?” Dave Grohl shouts into the mic. 

 You both scream as the first song is played, the drums scratching the excellent part of your brain while the guitars take you to another level. You look at Soonyoung, his attention on the band with his arms folded, in awe of the performance being given. He looks adorable, and all you can do is smile, satisfied that you are in this space and can experience this moment. The band keeps playing hit after hit, the energy around you making you want to levitate in the clouds. You haven’t been this happy in a long time. You reach the last song of the night, and the key changes, the guitars riffing into a song you know all too well. “I want everyone to sing this song with us— this is for the regular heroes out there.” 

You feel the emotion and intensity in Dave Grohl’s voice, making you emotional. The song is about the ordinary person and their potential; you wish your family saw your potential. You wish you could share your music with them and see you thrive in the elements you’re most comfortable in. But instead, you’ve been cast out, and as much as you worked hard to get over it, it hurts you deeply. “Are you okay?” Soonyoung looks at you wide-eyed; you’re unaware of the tears trickling down your face. All you want to do is be held and told everything will be okay. As if he read your mind, he holds your hand, his thumb rubbing your palm softly, keeping you anchored in your emotional storm. Nothing else needed to be said between you two; the song lyrics moved your spirit. Kudos, my hero

Leavin' all the mess

You know my hero

The one that's on

There goes my hero

Watch him as he goes

There goes my hero

He's ordinary

“Thank you for taking me to the concert. I had a really good time.”

You sit with Soonyoung in his car, sitting outside of your dorm. You talked about music all the

way back home, singling your hearts out to whatever is on the radio. Soonyoung is surprisingly a good singer, hitting some notes even better than you can. You wonder if he had any training. “I’m glad I was able to make it up to you,” he grins. “Oh, please,” you wave him off. I’m the one who started us on the wrong foot.” “True. But I think you more than made up for it tonight.” “Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes playfully. “Can I ask you something?” “Sure.” 

“Why were you crying during the concert?” You knew this question would come eventually, but you still felt unprepared. You hadn’t really talked about your family life with anyone besides Nikki, but you were determined to keep it to yourself. But he makes you want to open up. “The song really hits me,” you point at your chest. “I feel every word and every percussion note as it plays. It reminds me of my mom and dad, and I wish they saw me as a normal person with their own aspirations rather than the person they want me to be. It was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Soonyoung nodded his head, understanding what you were saying. 

“My parents wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer, and I just don’t see myself doing that. I fell in love with music and singing, and when I shared that I wanted to do songwriting full-time, they made me feel so low. Like I am stupid and naive for wanting a career, I would actually be happy.” You huff, wiping fresh tears off of your face. “I just wanted them to support me, but they couldn’t even do that. Aside from my grandparents, they cut me off completely.” “That’s not cool,” Soonyoung scoffs. “So they just went cold turkey and quit talking to you?” You nod, bitterly reliving the last conversation you had with them before you made no contact. “Why can’t our parents just let us live the lives we want? It’s like they want to live vicariously through us.” “Right?!” You exclaim. “See, you get it!”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” he mumbled. You turn your body to look at him, studying his face and the possible thoughts he is having. You may see more eye to eye than you realize. ‘So, what’s your damage?” You poke at him. “It’s the same as yours,” he revealed. “They just want me to keep playing basketball so I can go into the big leagues and take care of everyone. I am essentially everyone’s meal ticket.” “Well, you don’t have to be,” you say. “You could just say fuck ‘em and live for yourself.” “Easier said than done,” he sighs. “I’m the first person in my family to attend college, and I actually like playing basketball. I believe in it, bleed it, all that… but whenever I am around my folks or friends, that’s all they want me to be about it. It’s like I’m not real. I am a person with complex interests and feelings, too.” 

“I know exactly what you mean, tiger.” 

You smile reassuringly; you understand that last sentence all too well. Your family would rather consider you the family fuck up, the black sheep, instead of understanding that you wanted different things. Why is that so fucking complicated? You stifle a yawn, looking at your watch and seeing how late it was.

“I really like talking to you and being around you,” Soonyoung confesses. I hope we can do it more.” “Yeah,” you gaze into his eyes. “ I would love that.” He walks you to your dorm, opens the doors, and holds your waist as you walk up the steps. His hands bring jitters and butterflies in your stomach that you hope you can experience more. You know you have a hard, cold exterior on the outside, but deep down, you want to feel love and adoration from someone. You hope Soonyoung can bring that. 

You never want this feeling to go away.

“Thank you for walking me in,” you say, unlocking the keys to your room. “I know I was being a bitch early, but thank you for showing me a good time anyway.” 

“It was worth it, seeing a smile on your face.” 

“Was it?” 

“Yeah,” he leans in closer. “I want to see it more.”

His lips touch yours, your chest bursting like fireworks as he deepens the kiss. Your arms rest on his shoulders, feeling natural and comfortable like a glove. He is gentle and kind, not doing too much but making you feel safe and like you can depend on him. It's crazy how one kiss can have you seeing your future. 

“We should do that more often,” you joke, leaving one last peck. He chuckles, pulling you into a hug. “We will. I’ll make sure to do it more often.” 

“Okay,” you say, walking into your dorm. “I’ll hold you to it.”

#kvanity #kwritersworldnet #svthub #svt fanfic #svt oneshot #svt scenarios #svt imagines #soonyoung fanfic #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung fluff #soonyoung angst #svt fluff #svt angst #hoshi fluff #hoshi angst #hoshi x reader

[syyskirjat]

Sueños de piedra (ch1)

Okay, I promised (to myself) to check out whatever media won the ultimate obscure blorbo tournament ( @who-do-i-know-this-man (I wasn't sure whether to tag you or not but in the end I figured I might as well, hope you don't mind I guess))

Turns out that it's a guy from a 2015 Spanish YA fantasy book

And turns out there's a free sample available! Which is lucky for me because I'm currently very broke

Sueños de piedra by Iria G. Parente and Selene M. Pascual

I don't speak Spanish so I'm gonna rely on the translator quite a lot lmao (well I understand some Spanish actually, but definitely not enough to read a whole book)

The title translates to something like "Dreams of Stone" I think?

Once upon a time in a kingdom far, far away, a prince rewarded a wizard for helping rescue a young girl in trouble. Charming. Too bad none of this is true. In reality, the prince dreams of glory and revenge; the magician, with her spells not always being a disaster and the young woman in trouble, with fleeing from a past that torments her... and from the memory of the man she has killed. Once upon a time...

(Yes this is just Google Translate, sorry)

Okay so, prince, magician and a damsel in distress? Prince wants revenge for something, who knows what, magician is having trouble doing the magic, and the damsel is in fact a killer? Ok ok

The dedication goes as follows:

To all those who embark on a direct journey towards their dreams every day. May you always reach your destination.

Okay so Marabilia is a place? That's apparently also the name of this book series. Is this like the kingdom then? So it consists of three islands, two small ones and one big? Or is it supposed to be a continent? It definitely seems too small to be a continent

I know the blorbo is called Arthmael de Silfos so I'm guessing he's from the Silfos area in the north of the big island then. I can see what's probably a city called Duan and a forest called "Merlon Forest". We also have different towers around the big island, one of which seems to be called the Tower of Black Magic. (I didn't even need to use the translator for those yay xD)

Okay the first chapter is called Arthmael so I guess we're meeting our blorbo already, which is nice

— Let me make it clear: are you going to give my crown to a bastard?

Okay..... the very first line and I already think Arthmael might be a bit of a spoiled brat (I assume he's in fact the prince)

Apparently Arthmael just found out that he has an illegitimate older brother but I guess this brother's mother is noble anyway so it's legit? I dunno yet. Arthmael thinks this guy is blackmailing his father somehow and is already considering poison as a solution

And anyway, what kind of a name is Jacques for a king?

lmao, so much shade to all the kings called Jacques

Okay so Jacques's family is very powerful and loved by the people of Silfos and the king fears a civil war if he disrespects his claim to the throne. Alright. Kinda weird since based on Arthmael's thoughts, this society has a similar attitude to bastards as in European history, but okay then. I wonder if Jacques is even actually the king's son or is this some kind of a ruse?

Arthmael is very cheeky and even references his dad's love life directly to his face, his dad is not very happy

The king tells him to just be a good boy and hopefully they'll find him some crown princess to marry so he'll get a kingdom that way

I guess these different areas on the map are kingdoms then, that makes sense. They look like very small kingdoms but this is a small place in general.

Arthmael doesn't seem to mind this idea except that there's only one possible princess like that in Marabilia and that's Ivy de Dione. Not sure what's wrong with her.

Well, who knows? Maybe, if I wait a few moons, some other bastard, in Verves or Idyll, will come out from under a rock and come offer me her hand.

Somebody's very snarky, that's cute

Arthmael is very haughty about how the people have always known him as the crown prince and accepted him as such, Jacques laughs and asks what has he even done for the people. He's like well he hasn't really done much yet because he was planning to do things once he became king, but he's been supporting the local business (taverns) and employing servants (lmao). Also apparently there are some girls he's seeing...

Apparently Jacques's family are big traders and business people (despite being noblemen) and create lots of jobs, and also big on charity, so everybody loves them

Arthmael is jealous of how proud his dad looks when Jacques says this, and how he's never looked at him like that

Well, I guess you're kind of a little shit so it makes sense, Arthmael

— If the smartest thing is to become the idol of a few starving people in order to be king, I can do it too.

Oh my god, this little brat

He declares that he's going to be a hero, to overshadow the charity of Jacques' family, because heroes are remembered by history while philanthropist aren't

So he plans to become a storybook Prince Charming, saving damsels in distress etc.

Jacques finds this understandably hilarious, the king is not amused

Once Jacques leaves, the king again offers to arrange a marriage to Arthmael, specifically with the princess of Dione

I'm almost tempted. I have never been to Dione, but they say that their ships are the lightest and fastest, and that sailors come to their shores from the other side of the sea, speaking strange languages that only they understand. Who come from lands where women wear short dresses, if they wear anything at all. Places where war is so normal that, as soon as a child is strong enough to pick up a sword, they push him to the front lines.

Alright then, I see what he fixates on

Was there anything wrong with the princess then or?

Barbarians. I remove the thought from my mind.

Oh okay. What a charming young man /s

Dione is like right next to Silfos according to the map btw, is this like one of those neighbourly feuds?

Okay he says it's because he doesn't want a foreign kingdom, he wants to keep his home, which is fair I guess

The king is like what do you want me to do, kill Jacques and his pregnant wife? And Arthmael is just like yeah great idea, because he's a dumbass. The king is like wtf

Apparently Jacques' family is from that Duan city that I noted earlier, and his mother died a few days ago and apparently "her loss is greatly felt"

The king regrets spoiling Arthmael too much, and talks about how Arthmael doesn't understand anything about suffering or anything and only cares about girls

Arthmael is already considering faking his death to make them all feel sorry, because of course he is, he's exactly that kind of guy

He says he doesn't want to go try to charm the princess, he'd rather just go off on his own (also there's a whole bit about how only a man can rule Dione or something and the king of Dione won't accept his daughter to become a ruler)

His dad tells him no, just stay here and be a good boy, don't make everybody gossip about drama in the royal family

Arthmael is like hey you managed to hide your bastard son for years, you can hide my disappearance

They fight a bit more but then Arthmael just storms out, grabs a few things from his room and leaves

a change of clothes, a bag of coins, my sword, and my favourite cloak. I do not need anything else.

Okay then, good luck I guess

To be a hero you only need a brave heart. Or so they say.

I feel like you also need to not be a selfish prick but maybe that's optional

Okay end of first chapter!

Our blorbo seems like a real brat!

But I guess the point is probably that he needs to learn some lessons along the way, or something like that, idk. I'm sure there's a reason for why whoever entered him into the tournament likes him so much

I'm guessing the damsel in distress is not the princess? Probably? She wasn't called a princess anyway. TBH she's the character I'm currently the most curious about. The next chapter is from the point of view of someone called Lynne and I hope that's her. Could be the magician too though I guess? No wait, I think the magician is a guy. Altho idk maybe Lynne could be a guy's name, I don't fucking know.

I'm guessing that Arthmael will try to rescue the damsel so he can be a hero, because that's what heroes are supposed to do, but then it'll go wrong somehow? And then the magician will get involved somehow, I have no clue.

That's all my predictions I suppose. Altho I'm guessing that Jacques might turn out to be a villain somehow, I didn't get the vibe that he was particularly great either, just not as much of a brat as Arthmael, and it would then be something for Arthmael to do when he gets back home. Then again maybe the book will surprise me, who knows. To be honest, it would feel a bit like a cop out if it turns out that the guy he hates actually is evil, but it could be handled well, and it's not like I like Jacques either so far. He seems extremely sus too

No guesses as to what the title refers to yet, it could be anything

Idk, like I said, the damsel's storyline is the one that interests me the most rn, it might actually get me to read further (good job, blurb, you got me)

I still have a surprisingly good amount of the free sample left, there's actually nine chapters here, so idk, maybe I'll keep going? We'll see

I'm pretty happy with how much I was able to follow the text even on my own, altho I definitely had to rely on the translator. I would not have had the patience to try to translate all of this myself. But I definitely understood multiple full sentences! Yaaay xD

Apologies to fans of this book series, I hope I didn't seem too rude

#sueños de piedra

[starleska]

If you're still doing headcanon requests, what about a Wally x workaholic perfectionist?

Love your writing and whenever you have the time I'd love to see what you think of this :)

ahhh thank you sweet and precious anon!!! 🥰 oooh now this one is hitting home...i'm guessing you are a workaholic perfectionist yourself? you may have guessed from the outpouring of fanworks i've made both for Welcome Home in general that i also fit into this category 🙈 thank you for this cathartic writing opportunity!

Wally Darling x Workaholic, Perfectionist Reader headcanons

💖 it's your passion which draws Wally to you in the first place. an easy-going, less-thoughts-in-the-head-than-most sort of fellow, Wally prefers to take life at a leisurely pace - but all of that is thrown out of the window when he meets you. you're so full of verve, forever jotting down notes or scribbling sketches in your notebooks, or coming up with grand ideas for outings and events. in fact, when the two of you first meet Wally says very little at all: he's quite content to sit with his chin cradled in his palm, gazing whilst you infodump about your latest obsession and the countless related projects you're going to create. Wally feels that you're an unstoppable force, and he's an immovable object...but he's so excited to be in the presence of such a tour de force of enthusiasm 🔥

💖 however, Wally doesn't always understand why your work makes you so upset. Wally understands the concept of a job - after all, his good friend Howdy Pillar has a fantastic job, working at the bugdega! but the kind of work typical of the Neighbourhood is much less structured and capitalism-driven, and the laxness of this system gives you severe anxiety. Wally grows concerned when he notices you staying up later and later, hunched over your desk and crumpling up endless sheets of paper. when the darkness shifts into a burgeoning dawn, a fuzzy hand grips your wrist, stilling it against your desk. "You don't need to have one perfect idea," Wally says, picking up and uncrumpling one of your discarded sheets. "You just need to enjoy having ideas in the first place!"

💖 eventually, Wally realises that your perfectionistic, workaholic tendencies aren't going away - so he compromises. on more than one occasion when you've passed out on the couch surrounded by half-read books, you've awoken to find your shoulders draped with Wally's soft cardigan. but some days are so stressful that no amount of cosy fabric will calm you down. when days where you're driven to distraction and frazzled by tasks read their heads, Wally likes to play a game of his own invention: something he calls Puppet Time. if Wally senses you're about to have a breakdown, he will announce, "it's Puppet Time!" and launch himself right into your arms. once contact is established, Wally will go completely limp, meaning there's nothing you can do but drop whatever you're holding and grab Wally before he hits the ground. no matter how stressed you are, this never fails to make you burst into laughter, and you're always much more receptive to a rest afterwards. Wally will continue his boneless routine even as you swing him up over your shoulders, giving him a free ride to a different room for a well-deserved break ✨

haha, this was a seriously fun one!! i hope you know you deserve to rest when you need it, anon. take care 🥰

#wally darling x reader #wally darling x you #wally darling #welcome home #welcome home arg #starleskasks #starleskawrites

[thepotentialof2007]

Quick reference for the LH excerpts from Kate Wagner's behind the scenes at COTA article.

All sports are powered by the personalities of their practitioners, and Formula 1 has those in spades—the chipper, effusive Daniel Ricciardo; Mr. Suave, Carlos Sainz; plucky George Russell; the deep-feeling Charles Leclerc; and, perhaps above all, the sport's longtime great champion, a man from some of the humblest beginnings in motorsport, the regal and soft-spoken Lewis Hamilton, who just announced an absolutely shocking move to Ferrari after an illustrious 11 years and six championships behind the wheel of a Mercedes (and six seasons and one championship with Mercedes-powered McLarens).

. . . .

The day's activities commenced with a tour of the garage. In the garage, there are many mysteries one is not allowed to know or see. The use of phones is forbidden lest one incur accusations of espionage. When we got into the garage, Lewis's car was naked, its insides visible for all to see. I think this was the moment where my respect for the sport as it exists really made itself clear. It is hard to describe what I felt looking at that car. The closest phrase I have at my disposal is the technological sublime. I pictured a living, breathing animal of extraterrestrial origin, hooked up to a thousand arcane sensors that delivered messages in little pulses. All the tubes and sculpted carbon-fiber parts and the endless net of wires all working in service to the godhead engine, formed something totally incomprehensible to me, a feat of engineering so vast it breached the realm of magic. Hamilton himself walked through in his helmet, unexpectedly on an errand. After being in the presence of the car, I perceived him differently than before, when he was just a guy driving in circles on TV. The scope of his capabilities became more directly known to me in the face of that which I believed to be unknowable. All of that was built in service of him. He stopped and looked into the open maw of the car. The tour guide led us hurriedly into the back room where the coffee and tire bags were stored so that no one could listen to what Lewis said.

About half an hour later, they brought him up to the paddock to talk to us. It wasn't a press conference, but rather a kind of a TED Talk. The questions were rote and a guy with a microphone asked them as though they were being broadcast on television. Hamilton talked rotely about how much he loved America and the fans here, talked—to the people who needed reassurance—about how the car was "getting there" but made it pointedly certain that they knew it still needed some work, which surprised me, making me realize this was still a private setting. I come from a sport where chivalry never died and no one is allowed to say anything negative because it is "unsportsmanlike" and every cyclist has to play his part in the farcical pageant of being a dull, humble farmer's son. It is a pretty open secret that a lot of cyclists don't like their bike sponsors but they would never, ever, ever say it. It's somewhat contradictory, but the sheer financial calculus of F1 is what makes it possible for Hamilton to be critical. This is a multibillion-dollar industry putting its full heft behind him doing well. It's reminiscent of the patronage system of precapitalist times, when rulers and nobles with endless riches paid musicians and composers to live in the palace with them.

. . . .

Frustrated, I returned to watching the cars as they started up again, knowing that the drivers were pushing them to their limits, engrossed in their personal kaleidoscope of motion and color. Hamilton was in one of them. In the last shootout, he drove differently than before. A great verve frayed the lines he was making, something we can only call effort, push. Watching him, I understood what was so interesting about this sport, even though I was watching it in its most bare-bones form—cars going around in circles. The driver is the apotheosis of quick-moving prowess, total focus and control. The car is both the most studied piece of human engineering, tuned and devised in lab-like environments and at the same time a variable entity, something that must be wrestled with and pushed. The numbers are crunched, the forms wind-tunneled. And yet some spirit escapes their control, and that spirit is known only by the driver. Yes, we watch this perfect blend of man and machine, but we speak of the machine as though it were not of human origin, as though the machine, being born from science could—eventually, through its iterative processes—sublimate human flaws. The driver, being human, knows this is false. His intimacy with the machine is the necessary missing connection, and even if the machine were perfect, it was made for imperfect hands. But it is never perfect. The gaps in its perfection are where disasters transpire, but also miracles. As we waited for the van to take us where we were parked, a part of the track was still visible to us. Hamilton distinguished himself by the lines he cut along the corner and the loudness of his engine, that pushing. We heard over a loudspeaker that he had finished third, a remarkable improvement above the last two sprints, where he lagged behind in the midfield. This made everyone in our camp happy. They always called him by his first name. It reminded me of how I used to talk about cyclists after I started interviewing them, with the swagger of knowing them.

. . . .

When Hamilton came into the room he was wearing a cool pair of pants with shimmery colored mesh sewed in and had an exhausted appearance, having come just from the track. We were allowed to talk to him but were told not to make any recordings or transcriptions. When he spoke, it was notable how often he mentioned his father and how deeply-felt his political convictions were. Some people are totally different off the record, but Lewis was simply a more lively version of himself. I find him a fascinating figure. A lot of fans either love or hate him, see him, paradoxically, as both humble and arrogant. The word quiet is better. Not reserved, not shy, just quiet. He belongs to a special group of people. The ones I've met in life include the violinist Hilary Hahn and Pogačar, the Tour de France winner—human beings who walk the earth differently, with an aura that transcends it. He appeared perpetually relaxed, controlled and refined, both present with us in the room but on a higher plane within. We used to call this magnificence when we believed in kings. I don't know what we call it now. Excellence, maybe. The irony of parading someone incredible like that around in the backrooms of petrochemical executives is not lost on me. I was grateful that I got the opportunity to speak to Lewis Hamilton, someone I am not ashamed to say I admire. I would have preferred it if they let him go home and rest instead.

#lewis hamilton #present but on a higher plane #character study #kate wagner #cota #2023 #mercedes amg f1 #ineos #press event #motorsport journalism

[fanfictionvibesworld]

(A/n: Your wish is my command 😊. sorry for the long wait This kept deleting on its own.)

Words: 1.7k

So different but eerily so similar

Warning: some blood and violence

Running

That is all what seems to happen often these days, well mostly today and even a couple days before that.

Why were you running? people may ask. Well.... How are you supposed to explain to people that currently you, your friend sister Irene, and father Burke are currently running away and trying to defeat a 7 foot tall demonic nun that was in the first place called from the monastery itself calling uponit?

.

.

That's what I thought

The air was cold but heavy. it was to the point that anywhere in the monastery seemed to suffocate you which to be honest, it probably is. But all of this didn't stop sister Irene, father Burke, nor me from giving up so easily. To be honest when sister Irene was comfortable enough with me and told me about her sightings with this demonic nun I couldn't help but be curious about the creature, since I have never heard of such a thing, but.... I felt a feeling of familiarity with the title "demonic nun". Ever since was little my family was always so skittish nuns or anything that included religious which always puzzled me but I didn’t speak much of it.

When I told my family that I was to become a nun I can definitely tell the air around them intensified. It's like they know something I don't...... I seem to be the only person who doesn't know....

I ran as fast as my legs could carry me as the wind was whipping past me. I somehow end up outside the monastery in the cemetery, alone. I started to slow down as l've actually never been in this part of the monastery from the outside.

My thoughts were running with how I could help defeat this demonic entity as the overwhelming of the situation as well as the seriousness, on what could happen, or the situations that will come more with it could make anyone pull there hair out. I was now just walking the cobblestone path as I looked around the cemetery taking in the surroundings. I saw that there was a rundown fountain in the middle of the cemetery.

It wasn't too big, nor small as it stood straight and tall. If you looked close enough, you could see verv intricate details that you couldn't see if you w farther away, As there was of course some baby angels on it. angel statues on it. I walk over to it. I saw the water was green and cloudy to to the point we're you couldn't see the bottom of the fountain floor which indicated that it hasn't been running for a while. I decide to take a seat at the fountain flat edge as I was trying to think of my next move to make.

I was deep in thought when suddenly I heard a noise of low splashing coming from the fountain water behind me. This made my heart beat go fast as I felt once again like I was being suffocated.

I slowly turn my head as I looked back down at the water. There was nothing. I then turn my upper body as I now put both of my hands on the cement edge of the fountain, leaning over to look even closer at the water to see if anything could be in there. I felt the air electrified as l did this even though I was outside in the open. My nerves started to get to me as my breath quickened. I leaned even closer to the water. The silence was becoming unbearable.

In the cloudy green water I saw a small black shadow that was slowly coming to the surface. The object got closer and closer to the surface as my heart was racing faster.

As the small black object fully came up to the surface........was only a frog. As I see this and let out a sigh in relief as i thought it was something else entirely. I backed my face away from the water being glad how the outcome came as I sat up right again. But..... immediately a very large pitch black arm reached out from the fountain water The arm tactically grabbed the ends of my hair that was close to the water and harshly pulled me in the water. I let out a scream from this but it wasn't heard from me being dragged in the fountain water so quickly.

My heart was now jumping out of my chest as fear consumed me whole at this point. I start to struggle, thrashing around like a fish out of water. The grip that was on my hair tightened more and pulled even harsher. With every breath of air that I could get. I was now fully submerged in the water. Holdings my breath as I continue to thrash, all I could hear now is the Luke warm water moving from my thrashing and my heartbeat in my ears. I opened my eyes at some point as I saw clear from the green and cloudy water was just two inhuman like still beady yellow eyes staring right back at me.

My eyes and the yellow ones never flatter from each other as l knew...... this was the demon. But what caught my attention was the look of familiarity on both of our parts when looking at each this long enough. At that split second I was then harshly thrown out of the water to a cobblestone wall of the monastery. I gasped for air as I finally was out of water and start coughing from being underwater for that much time. I groaned lowly from the throw like I was some rag doll.

I touched the spot on my head softly where its was pulling my hair, there was definitely a big that will be left there. I touched the spot on my head softly where its hand was pulling my hair, there was definitely a big bruise that will be left there. I realized just then that my nun veil was gone as my hair and face was more exposed in the opened. It was all wet from the water like the rest of my nun gown

I slowly got up in a daze as l gather my thoughts on what just happened only mere seconds ago. I looked around and saw I was actually back into the monastery but specifically in the basement. I quickly stood up, though which I almost fell back down but I kept my control and balance. I looked at the new scenery that this thing took me to. My eyes widened as I looked at one specific corner wall of the room. I couldn't believe my eyes what l was seeing, my eyes was filled with fright.

father Burke and sister Irene who was both was sitting on the cobblestone floor and leaning there upper bodies back on the cobblestone wall propped up. There bodies was stained with blood making it looking more gruesome. I also notice that the blood of Jesus that we planed to use which it would work like the first time we used it , its bottle was shattered but… The blood was gone.

I felt like I was going to throw up and cry in the time instantly at the sight. They both were alive minutes ago, but now there dead. I start to slowly step back as I had a hand over mouth when I continue to look at the scene. I walk back 3 steps until my back suddenly hit against something. I froze immediately in fear that I couldn't hide anymore of. It has won and knows it. the powerful demonic presence was more presents than ever in here as instead of feeling cold, it started to feel hot.

I slowly turn around slowly as the tension in the air once again intensified as I was now fully turned around and cranked my neck to look up. It was the demon again....just staying down at me, almost piercing through my soul. I started to shut my eyes tightly as I didn't wanna see what it was gonna do to me next.

But, surprisingly, and unbelievably they weren't doing anything other then just looking at me. My eyes were still close as I preparing myself for any minute now that it would kill me in the same way it did to father Burke and sister Irene.

Nothing was happing though other than the intense stare down from it, the powerful presence was getting overwhelming. It did something shocking as it spoke for the first time and it seemed like it ha talked to any humans in a LONG while. The sly evil smirk permanently look in place on its face

" So we meet again...Agnes..... My little viper....”

Their voice was truly deep. So deep that it almost felt like the floor shook and sounded like an echo of different kinds of voices in the background of its own voice.

My eyes slowly opened as I looked up at them. I was filled with all different sorts of emotions but there were three that was more going on in me then most.

Fear, confusion, and disbelief at this situation. That wasn't my name, that's my...... great, great grandmother. My family talked about her once in a while but never got into detail about her like my other ancestors. I push pass my nerves as i replied, not taking my eyes away from its own

“....My names not Agnes It's Y/n.... How do you know m—“

I said shakingly as it spoke again immediately after what I said, cutting me off in the process but this time in a more malicious then the last

“I know that. I know a lot of things Y/n, ALC your her descendant and rightfully so...... I will drag you down the same rabbit hole like I did to HER all those years ago...... My little viper in training..."

#dead evil rise deadite x reader #everyone #fypage #lucifer morningstar x reader #slashers x reader #the nun #valak x reader #valak smut #valak the nun #valak #the conjuring #the warrens #x reader #x y/n #y/n #alastor #tumblr fyp #demonology

[historia-vitae-magistras]

In one of your last posts about Matt and Katya, you mentioned Alfred and Ivan’s dynamic, and that perhaps there is more beyond the hate sex they have had.

Do you mind expanding on that? What is your interpretation of their relationship, if it can even be called that?

LMAO god, gonna make me use the two and a half years I spent special interesting my way through Eastern European history on my way to a degree in 20th Century history, are you? About time I did lmao. Alfred/Ivan is one of those ships I don't enjoy purely as a ship, but it's so compelling. Much too compelling to the history to leave out entirely.

So, at the dawn. You have this old state in Ivan, considered backwards and rural by the Western European imperial powers, which has largely lost its verve for even trying most of the time. He has usurped his sister, who built most of their culture and claimed the power he has from the remnants of several cultures and expanded eastwards. And he comes across this young upstart, similarly held on the fringe of the powers of Western Europe. He's had similar obsessions with Jan when the Dutch Republic was new and a lasting one with François when he was the heart of European culture. Moreover, he's not only interested in and admiring of Alfred and the American experiment, but Ivan likes Alfred. Everyone likes Alfred. It's impossible not to like Alfred. There's an affection and attachment, a kind of love if I want to push. By the 19th century, Ivan wished him success because he and Arthur were locked into the Great Game in Central Asia. He spites Arthur, Matt, and Katya by selling Alaska to Alfred when he and Russia can no longer benefit. He's happy to raise a glass to American success. Alfred was touched by the gestures during his Civil War and the purchase of Seward's Icebox.

Afterwards, things declined quite quickly. Between the end of the American Civil War and the beginning of World War One, over 3 million people from the Russian Empire settled in the United States. But less than 5% of them were ethnic Russians. Most are Jewish, Polish and Lithuanian. Feliks mostly stays in Poland, a firebrand devoted to his survival, but Alfred meets Tolys, and he loves him. He lives with Tolys and his memories, perceptions, and opinions. Matt is up to his tonsils in Katya any moment he possibly can be, with a mouth full of their father's loathing of Ivan and a chest heaving with Katya's life. Alfred is increasingly their father's heir. The Pacific acquisition of Alaska was just the first step. If Alfred is the Christ to Arthur's God and lord knows he thinks of himself as a saviour, the Russian empire just looks shittier and shittier.

But he still has that reputation of being an outsider. He's not quite in with the European powers. He brokers the end to Russia's ultimate humiliation against Japan. Ivan, to a certain if somewhat limited extent, believes Alfred's bullshit. The deal is fairer than he would have otherwise gotten. But this is the high point of the pre-war Kiku, and Alfred's strange, tense and intimate relationship and opinion is still vastly with Japan during the war.

Then comes the Russian Revolution and the Polar Bear Expedition. Alfred is keener to do business with Ivan's new government when revolution breaks out. It must be an improvement over the Tsar, surely. He's not entirely in his complete form yet; he gets looped into the Entente's support, but he's pretty vocal about this thin line of hope that this may go well. The way his revolution went. There's this brief moment where Ivan and Alfred look at the world with a thought to a common future. They're looking at each other again with an ancient hope, maybe some mutual admiration. This may work. Maybe Ivan will get his shit together. Maybe Alfred won't become the heir to Arthur's Great Game. Maybe, maybe.

And then it goes up in fucking flames. Even American leftists became disillusioned with the USSR somewhat quickly. He helped lay down new states in the newly free Eastern Europe; God knows Tolys and Matt are doing their best to keep Alfred on-side. It took almost fifteen years, until 1933, for the US to acknowledge the USSR. Alfred is repulsed by the USSR even if he does cool his jets as interwar isolationism has slowed the process of him stepping into the fray as the head of his family.

By World War Two, Alfred is happy to write his redemption story and just dump treasure and materiel at the USSR. He's the balance of power between Arthur and Ivan, and Ivan is delighted to see Alfred snap at Arthur whenever he fucking pleases. But he's also miserable that he is the one dragging himself on his belly over the broken glass and ruins of Eastern Europe and doing the largest share against the Nazis. But there's a little hope that Alfred and Ivan will rule the world when this is over and find common ground in their power. It's only in the waning days of the war when Alfred's clearly suffering from the campaign in the Pacific and Eisenhower lets Zhukov have Berlin, that they shack up in some way or form. Alfred has more hope than Ivan, but Ivan is at least a little satisfied to see that Alfred has had a piece carved out of his idealism by his war against Japan.

It doesn't last. Alfred might be happy to take Arthur down a notch, but when the crown comes upon his head, as has been arranged, he wears it with a certain ease no one expected. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, but what is the weight to a man who fancies himself Atlas and Prometheus all in one. And it comes with the confidence to hate Ivan's ideas and opinions even as he revels in their fucking. Sex isn't love, and the feelings he gets throughout all of it are not love to Alfred. I still somewhat adhere to the thought that McCarthy almost denounced Alfred as both a communist sympathizer and a homosexual in the 1950s for this apparent attachment, but the intelligence apparatus intervened and prevented it.

And that is where I will leave off because I'm damn near at 1000 words RIP.

#I love how I managed to cover only half the fucking century #rusame #Ivan and Alfred || Atomic Hellfire and Nuclear Winter #the ask box || probis pateo

[humansofnewyork]

“I call it God’s Gift; it’s priceless. 1981 Oldsmobile Cutlass, right? I got a great deal on it. And I knew it matched my vibe. In the beginning it was all about the exterior. Visual stuff, you know what I mean: add-ons, and new rims, and new tires with fresh white walls. But I ended up losing my first engine. Because I never paid much attention to things like maintenance, and oil changes. How clean it should be on the inside. When they lifted the old engine out of the car, I remember thinking: it looks just like a mechanical heart. It made me think about the food I was eating. There were never many healthy choices in my community. It was McDonald’s every day after school. Either that or corner store food: powdered donuts, sunflower seeds, bag of chips. I grew up on that, heavily. Those are low vibrational foods. And I think they were responsible for a lot of my most negative behaviors. Right now I’m in transition to a plant-based diet. And I definitely try to stay away from anything man-made. People in my community see me in the street, just by my panache, my verve. They notice it. And they want to know: what can they do to obtain it? I tell them the truth: the diet. Then I invite them to stop by my place for a juice. I make it every morning in the kitchen. All my ingredients come from a local market in Yonkers. I choose rare, exotic fruits: things that can be out of reach: passion fruit, dragon fruit, sour sop, purple carrots, golden beets. My specialty is sea moss. Sea moss has 92 out of the 100 minerals that your body needs. And I mix it right. A lot of this stuff is new to the people in my community. But I can tell you right now, never had anyone yet, make a funny face about one of my drinks.”

[sparkinlowercase]

🧙‍♀️✨ plush attack!!

finally have the chance to do some art just for fun again. it's nice

#digital art #oc #original character #art #witch #verve and call #Blair Grimalkin #swarm of little guys Go

[poemsfor-her]

SONGS FOR GIRLBOSSES ♡⠀࣭⠀ֹ⠀͡꒱

rumors - lindsay lohan

power - kanye west

better than revenge - taylor swift

bitter sweet symphony - the verve

money power glory - lana del rey

praise the lord (da shine) - a$ap rocky, skepta

vigilante shit - taylor swift

don't call me angel - ariana grande, miley cyrus and lana del rey

fashion killa - a$ap rocky

wicked witch - nardo wick

make me proud - drake ft, nicki minaj

yikes - nicki minaj

the hydra - le sserafim

the world is my oyster - le sserafim

#gossip girl #blair waldorf #high value woman #high value mindset #self love #self concept #pink pilates girl #affirm and persist #affirmations #gaslight gatekeep girlblog #girlblogging #law of assumption #self growth #it girl #self help #self development #self improvement #divine feminine #barbie #femme fatale #girlblog #this is a girlblog #gaslight gatekeep girlboss

[aloysiavirgata]

Prompt: M&S playing Cards Against Humanity with the Gunmen. Scully’s deal. The white cards (you pick the black card): Two midgets shitting into a box, Pixelated bukkake, Making the penises kiss, Meatloaf, the man.

She’s high.

She’s really fucking high, the way Agent Scully never could be but in the way Doctor Scully gets from time to time. Agent Scully doesn’t get to vote on these decisions anymore. She never had any fun.

Well, very little fun. She was sad a lot. She made questionable choices.

“Still way too weird,” Frohike says, eyeing her.

“Like that time in Vegas,” Langley says in his adenoidal voice, as he does every time she is stoned.

She remembers Vegas a bit, would absolutely murder someone for a cigarette right now, Christ.

“I would absolutely murder someone for a cigarette right now,” she says, cheerfully.

“Murder them later. Come on, Scully.”

“Meatloaf the man,” she murmurs, then cracks up, tears running down her cheeks.

Mulder groans. “That’s the third time you’ve read that one out loud! Pick a card.”

She frowns at him, wounded. Sticks her lip out with Shirley Temple verve. “I’m weighing my options.”

The Gunmen sigh in unison.

“Get your woman in line,” Frohike grouses.

Scully throws a corn chip at him, misses by a yard.

“I’m like a sniper,” she whispers loudly. “I snipe.”

“How high are you?” Mulder hisses at her.

“About 5’2,” she hisses back.

Mulder flicks her ear. “I’m counting to three. One -“

Scully chews her lower lip, then proudly lays “Making the penises kiss” on the table, face up. “A romantic, candlelit dinner would be incomplete without…” she reminds them. Helpfully.

“BYERS IS THE CARD CZAR!” everyone shouts at her.

Scully, unperturbed, pats Byers on the cheek. “You’re doing a good job,” she says. “I’m proud.”

Byers sighs and dips a piece of celery into the bean dip. “Thanks, Scully.”

She beams. “Two midgets shitting in a box, that’s…what’s it called if it isn’t racist but still very bad about specific people?”

Mulder considers this. “Offensive? Derogatory? Condescending?”

“Yes,” she says, solemn. “Those. Do we have any corn?”

“What was her last one?” Frohike asks. “She never read it.

“Pixelated bukkake.”

“Mulder!” she exclaims, scandalized. “That one isn’t appropriate.”

He guffaws. “For whom?”

She nods her chin towards the Nativity. “The baby Jesus.”

Langley cackles.

Scully frowns at him. “Even pixelated, Ringo. The Blessed Infant shouldn’t be exposed to oral sex. Kissing is G rated.”

Mulder puts his head on the table. “I quit.”

“No,” she says, aghast. “You retired! Skinner said so.”

There are tears of silent laughter running down Frohike’s cheeks. His shoulders are shaking.

“How long is Maggie keeping William,” Byers asks, watching as Scully makes a sandwich of two pieces of cheddar cheese and half of a strawberry.

“Noon at least,” Mulder says into the napkin holder.

“Meatloaf the man,” Scully squeaks, and laughs hysterically into Byers’s shoulder.

#xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #my fic #prompt #the lone gunmen #au

[strangelittlestories]

Three weeks into the latest depressive episode A magazine calls - they want me on the cover

I tell them they’ve made a mistake I tell them the only reason I picked up Was for the sticky ‘ew’ feeling Of answering a phone call In this day and age

I tell them I haven’t showered And all I’ve eaten today Is a pack of six bake-at-home cinnamon buns And I feel a bit sick

He tells me I work for ‘Not Okay’ Magazine And we don’t make mistakes

Well, okay, we do Often But most of the time they’re sexy mistakes. We both know he’s lying, But I agree out of exhaustion.

They send a photographer to my flat We agree on a series of tasteful nudes With unwashed laundry And mouldy mugs In all the right places. They ooze attitude They also ooze literal ‘ooze’ Because of the, y’know, mould.

I list my nearest and dearest So they can ask for quotes. The one they print reads: “I wouldn’t really call us friends I haven’t heard from them In years I assumed they were mad at me.”

We chat in my living room Over a single measuring jug filled With expired instant coffee The interviewer breathes in a waft Of bovril-smelling caffeine slurry  And wipes the awe from his eyes Then says:

“A few years ago No-one knew you You were medium sad The human equivalent of a drive-thru restaurant Bad, sure, but everyone knew what they were getting. You were … a C minus.

But now? You’re a landmark A national trust ruin They may as well tattoo ‘This is not a place of honour’ On the small of your back.

My doctor heard I was interviewing you And referred me for therapy  As a precaution. So let me ask the question on everyone’s lips? What’s your secret?”

“What a great question.” I say, wrestling the coffee From his hands Because I deserve it

“It takes a lot of practice. You’ve just got to make time To remap your synapses I try to fit in one life-changingly bad event a year To really forge new wide-ranging roads Through my internal atlas Away from those depots of cloying serotonin I know I don’t deserve. Y’know, something really verve-destroying.

I’ve careened across the map Wheels burning into redundancy town Double-parking at heartbreak hotel (did you know you could fail a break-up?) Getting a ticket on bereavement boulevard A hit-and-run through jury service-ville (leaving my faith in humanity behind)

And of course Pandemic City was a blessing  for all us sad-sacks But an extra spicy affair if you worked in healthcare

Finally, I crashed the metaphor into a river On the coldest night on record But it was pretty shallow And I think the cold probably helped Shock me out of it. Plus, I made it home with my trousers only partially frozen.

We are creatures of habit, Michael Can I call you Michael?”

(He quickly corrects me - Michael is not his name - “I didn’t ask you what your fucking name was I asked if I could call you Michael” He says yes)

“Like I said - creatures of habit If you *practice* If you really dig your feet in If you cut a wide furrow through the mud Some part of you will start to think Of the hole you burrowed in the dirt As home.

Your highest landmarks Are distant skyline and To visit would feel like trespassing.”

At the end of the interview I ask Michael If he’s sure I’m qualified To be a coverperson

After all There are so many people More ‘not okay’ than me Or who have more reason to be Yet remain seemingly functional.

“That’s the beauty of Not Okay magazine,” he says, with a smile like marshmallow “We don’t judge or rank. We ask for one thing: That today you are not okay.

In its own way, every sadness is interesting Even when it feels boring as the road you grew up on Tomorrow you might even be happy That’s okay too. Tomorrow is an impossibility of sunrises. Today - you are seen.”

#writing #poetry #verse #depression #cw veiled reference to suicide

[optiwashere]

minthara/lae'zel A4!

This prompt might have been made with this ship in mind... Thank you so much for requesting this one! 💜

You can send a prompt from this list + a ship or platonic pair, and I'll write a ficlet!

---

A4. Teaching one another their language(s)

Standing on the battlement of the High Hall's curtain wall, Minthara leaned between the shattered merlons and rested her weight on tired arms. She surveyed the destruction of Baldur's Gate. So much potential lost, so many souls burned away who might have been useful for something more than dragonfire fodder.

All without even a throne to lay claim to in the end. The power of the Netherbrain had been denied by their foolish leader, and Minthara had no intentions of joining their victory parade down in the streets. Not while she had another waiting on her.

Eyes closed in meditation, legs crossed beneath her, Lae'zel murmured. She said words that Minthara knew to be gith, but she barely understood more than a smattering of ideas and phrases.

"To whom do you now pray?" asked Minthara, her voice carrying on the quiet evening's air.

"It is not a prayer. It is rectification of an old lie," Lae'zel corrected. "It's an old githyanki hymn. A mantra we believed to be passed down from Mother Gith herself."

"Share it with me."

"Taking an interest in more advanced cultures, drow?"

"I know a little of the gith," Minthara explained, "but I know even less of what you hold dear about your people." She turned to lean against the embrasure, watching Lae'zel's eyes scan her. "Come. Speak it with the verve and strength I expect from you."

With that, Lae'zel slowly repeated a string of harsh consonants that Minthara learned to expect from the language. Minthara caught a particular rhythm that felt like stanzas, and she heard what might have been called a rhyming scheme.

It was a jagged series of sounds, sharp and angry. A curved sword on Lae'zel's tongue.

"It is beautiful," Minthara whispered. "And it means?"

"Live, but only if you live free. Die so as to remain standing." Lae'zel spoke slowly with reverence. Then, her voice became darker, and her wide eyes slitted into lines. "Fire in the skies, blood in the water. Look to the spirit, turn from sensation."

"I take it the last few lines were a rather recent addition."

"They're Vlaakith's words, and I wonder why it is I trusted them."

Minthara chuckled. "There's a saying in drowic that you might like, then."

Lae'zel merely stared at her.

"Jal khaless zhah waela," Minthara said while she unbuckled her gauntlet straps. Tossing aside her gauntlets, she continued. "All trust is foolish, literally. Or to most drow, paranoia and fear are your greatest allies. Curious how Lolth and Vlaakith both demand such things from their children."

"It is almost as if these goddesses forget who gives them power," growled Lae'zel as she stood to her feet.

"As if the words we were taught to speak were pointed, intentional shackles on our ambition." Minthara approached her, heat burning in her chest. "On what we are owed."

Lae'zel's small nose flared and her pupils darted about, searching Minthara's face. Her breaths accelerated. Her fingers curled into her palms.

"My," said Minthara, "you are so easily moved."

"Whenever you speak, my heart listens enraptured." Lae'zel rested her hand on Minthara's waist. "I become dust that flows in the storm of your words."

"And when you crumble for me," Minthara breathed, gripping Lae'zel's hips until her fingers dug into flesh, "I yearn to put you back together."

#bg3 fanfiction #minthara baenre #lae'zel #minthara x lae'zel #my fic #anotheropti prompt fics #my rarepair to end all rarepairs 😔 #my power couple that wants to suplex their goddesses angrily and with murder in their hearts 😔