#♡ ┆ ❝ take the long way just to dodge these flashing lights ❞ ⇢ ja'von thomspon

[silverskyeline]

ੈ♡˳ 'that funny feeling' - logan x gn!reader

summary: no matter how hard he tries, logan can't escape one simple fact. he's falling in love with you. (900 words) tags: fluffy, cutesy, short but sweet, feelings realisation, a lil angsty for logan thoughts, for the 'love' prompt for logan promptober.

logan finds you on his mind more than he'd like to admit. you've taken root inside his brain, infuriatingly made your home there, nestled between every thought and daydream. but he doesn't have the heart to evict you.

a heart, the dangerous thing, something logan thought he'd lost a long time ago. withered away, dying, fulfilling nothing more than its designed purpose - to keep him alive, without really having anything to live for.

until you. and he finds it's always you. you're the reason for so many things these days, he realises. how you've so sneakily, cheekily and annoyingly invaded every part of his life, slipped right under his finely tuned nose.

he doesn't mind cream in his coffee anymore, not since you introduced him, and he finds himself. . . humming? softly. tunes you listen to on your phone while in the shower or while driving. and for a moment you'd believe he's stopped surviving, and almost, just almost, started living.

yes, you're the reason for so many things these days.

logan didn't have a favourite colour before you. it wasn't something that concerned him. why would a two-hundred-year-old man need a favourite colour? it wasn't until the third time he met you, dressed all in yellow, that he realised he may have a favourite colour after all. and in yellow, every sunflower, every marigold, in the sun, he'd see you. and he'd smile.

in bed late at night, separated by distance, he thinks of you. he scolds himself for craving your touch, for growing accustomed to your presence in his life, knowing how easy it would be to lose you. . . but he can't help himself. you're too special, too important, no matter how much it frustrates him to think so.

what's happening to him? perhaps he's sick, maybe this is finally it. it's long overdue. that would explain the fevers, the sweaty palms, the aching in his chest. right? totally. he's just. . . sick.

but sickness doesn't explain his thoughts of you, the way he behaves with you versus all others. his rough, calloused hands trace tenderly across your skin. his eyes, sharp and focused, now soft and vulnerable as they commit every one of your features to memory.

sickness doesn't explain it, so what does?

it's frustrating, you're frustrating. and annoying. and persistent. and gentle. and kind. and sweet. and beautiful. and-

fuck.

this doesn't have to be more than it is, he thinks to himself. logan can keep it simple, as if he's ever had the capacity to keep anything simple in his long, long life. if he just distances himself. . .

no.

he can't. the thought fills him with fear. he couldn't.

what is it about you that has him on his knees, worshipping you, craving you? he wishes he knew, almost wishes he could forget you so he can be free from the worry that he'll have to watch you walk away one day. you'd walk away and he'd never get to tell you that-

he loves you.

what?

fuck.

no!

wait, he loves you? logan sits up in bed, heart racing. no, he can't possibly love you. he'd sworn off that disgusting feeling decades ago. it wasn't worth it, he'd said. no, you're irritating, the way you smile in the face of adversity. you're frustrating, in how you insist he takes care of himself. you're aggravating, because you're everything he's not.

so, why does he feel this way?

it's love. it always has been love. no matter how hard logan has tried and dodged and weaved to avoid that sickly sweet feeling, you're there with a bullet aimed straight at his heart - struck him, dead aim, no mercy.

he's in love.

of course he loves you, how could he not? visions of you flash in his mind and he finds himself smiling, on his bike, in the grocery store picking up that one wine you like, watching your name light up on his phone. you're. . . suddenly everything, everything he wants, everything he didn't know he needed.

it's you, it's always been you. no matter how hard he's tried to suppress it, to push it away, to kill it, strangle those feelings with his bare, tired hands, it always emerges stronger than ever.

he loves you.

god he loves you, so much so that it's overwhelming. it's pouring out of his chest, making a mess of his life, of everything he thought he knew. logan had sworn it off, everything he touches turns to shit. he's a poison, and you're. . . you're the sun.

and yet, you hold him like he's fragile, like he's not the monster he believes himself to be. you know the violence that lies beneath his calloused knuckles, but instead of running, you tenderly place a kiss to his weathered skin. you pull him closer. you welcome the monster into your life with open arms and a smile that brings the monster to his knees.

he really loves you.

logan is tired, tired of running from the feeling, of running from you. with every bone in his body, he loves you, all of you. and you him, monster and all.

yes, logan loves you. and he'll die before someone takes that feeling from him. the fire in his heart beats steady, steadfast, for you. he's alive, for the first time in a long time, he feels alive.

because of the love he feels for you.

[kuroppiii]

ㅤpictures of us ᵕ̈        timeskip!boyfie!suna rintarō x gn reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : your boyfriend really ⋮⋮ wants to catch a new movie coming ⋮⋮ out . what must be so special about ⋮⋮ it , anyway ?

📋 content     ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮     ♡ # 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵 🥛     ♡ # 1.2𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴

🎶 on shuffle " pictures of us " - beabadoobee

🧸 directory  ‹ ✩  like what you read ? check out more of my blog !  •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ how many times have i teared up in my car to this song ? that ' s up to YOU 🫵 to decide ! ”

suna rintarō begs you to see an exclusive screening of an upcoming independent film at a small local movie house.

as pretentious as the idea first sounded, you of course oblige because how can you resist your one and only boyfriend? especially when he’s clinging to you and hanging off you as he so sweetly asks, sneaking kisses along the expanse of your neck and shoulder in between points of how, “it’s really about the experience. it’s what the director would have wanted.”

he really wanted to go.

so you go with him when the day comes, but for some reason suna takes longer than usual to get ready so you end up arriving at the movie house when the last of the previews are wrapping up. usually you and him go early to see those, where he says things like, “that looks like ass,” or, “we’re going to see that one, for sure,” and it never fails to make you snicker in your seat beside him.

you’re just a smidge late for all that this time.

“but that’s ok,” you reassure him, “the previews always drag on anyway. plus, you look really nice from getting ready for so long.”

you giggle and give him a quick kiss on his cheek and when you pull back, he looks at you with just the most lovestruck look ever.

“you’re the best, y’know that?” he says, in a tone strangely more lovey-dovey (especially given the fact you’re in public) than usual. it wasn't like you don't compliment him on a regular basis, either.

okayyy…?

“i know,” you quickly joke with a light laugh, trying to dodge the odd feeling that him looking at you like that gives you.

after suna pays for your tickets, he takes you by the hand to pick out some snacks. and in another odd turn of events, he lets you get all the snacks and popcorn you want.

“you’re seriously going to pay for all this?” you raise an eyebrow at him–already attempting to put some back because you were just teasing when you grabbed so many, like you usually do when the two of you see movies together.

the worker behind the counter politely butts in, “a-actually, today there's a special deal where snacks are free!"

"seriously?" you gawk in response. suna nods at the worker with a smile before he gathers all your said snacks and treats and gestures at you to start following him.

weird...

but free snacks? you weren't going to complain.

you two quietly slip into the dark theater and suna must have perfectly remembered the seat numbers on your tickets because he walks right up to a row in the dead center of the room. as he sets your belongings down, you quickly double-check the seats he so-confidently led you to, but he was right about them. you don't recall him glancing at your tickets for more than a second since you bought them, though.

what a good memory he has?

you settle into your seat next to him and start picking at your big tub of popcorn. it looks like you arrived just in time as the last preview is starting up.

the preview colorfully flashes up to a start in a way that imitates old film, as a soft tune starts to ring through the speakers. it's a bunch of artsy close-ups of clothes and belongings shrewd about a hardwood floor, beams of sunlight hitting them gorgeously.

... hey, you own a sweatshirt that looks like that.

and then you see it: it's you up there on the big screen.

captions start to appear as a reel of videos containing you start to play.

[ i thought for the longest time i was perfectly fine on my own ]

a clip of you as you and suna walk to class in inarizaki’s halls, in your old uniform and glancing back at him now and then. your smile is wide and if it weren’t for the music playing over the video, you could almost hear your own laugh at probably some dumb joke suna just told you behind the camera.

[ but for the longest time, i didn't have a fucking clue what "perfect" really meant. ]

your head tucked in your arms with your hood up, sleeping mid-study-session on a college library’s table scattered with open notes and dog-eared textbook pages. your eyes peek out from the material of your hoodie, the glint of a smile reaching what can be seen before you bashfully bury your head further back into your original position.

[ i was an idiot for thinking i did know what "perfect" was. ]

your hands clutching at his pro jersey you’re wearing as you stand in front of the stadium building, thousands of unheard fans on the inside waiting to see him play. undoubtedly when after that clip was recorded, you two went in, and it was still only you he really looked for wearing his jersey in the crowd whenever his team scored a point.

[ because then i met you. ]

all the times when you’ve turned to see his fond eyes peeking above the back of his phone—as he photographs you like a rare and beautiful sight that’s fleeting, one he absolutely needed to snapshot at those exact moments in order to keep for himself forever—got laid out before you.

now you’re seeing them from his point of view, and it captivates you like nothing else.

[ you are perfect. ]

the b-roll of moments you and suna have shared over the years fades out, and the preview's title card shows up in a pretty and elegant font: "will you marry me? (directed by: suna rintarō)"

you don't even realize your jaw is hanging wide open in shock when you turn to face present-day suna next to you, and there he was again, his phone in front of his face. but you catch in the glare of the silver screen you're sat in front of, the eyes that peek over the camera are crinkled up as they look at you with unbridled joy and radiates a love in its purest form.

"rin..." you can barely speak, both because you're touched but also because you're bewildered out of your mind.

with a chuckle he finally lets up on his recording, sticking his phone into his pocket. he stands up and moves in front of you, getting down on one knee. your heart skips a beat.

the lights suddenly turn on in the theater, and your first instinct once your eyes get readjusted to the brightness is to look around–because a room full of theater goers were are being subjected to whatever it is suna has orchestrated here.

but as you look around, the whole ordeal feels even more surreal, because it's all your loved ones filling up the rows of seats. they look back at where you're sitting, smiling and with some of them also recording on their phones now, too.

"so..." suna starts, redirecting your attention back to him. he pulls out a tiny box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a ring that shines divinely in the dim lighting of the room, "will you?"

his delight is evident as he fights back a grin and his face and ears are dusted an adorable shade of pink. you're arguably more delighted than him–over the moon, even–as you utter out your answer...

"yes, i'll marry you."

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ y ' all ever seen that viral video of the guy that reanimated sleeping beauty to propose to his girlfriend ? yeah ”

🗒⋆ *. ୨୧⋆｡ taglist : @chloiyoomi , @rinsoap , @twusizz ( saw your reply ! here it is ! )

[simpingforstardew]

misty [chapter two]

pairing: sdv harvey x reader

synopsis: harvey has always been a man of routine and order— although just as he begins to tire of his life in pelican town, a new farmer moves to the valley and turns his life around. chapter two.

warnings: some angst in this one (tw/ description of familial death). pure fluff and romance; eventual smut, but that'll be tagged when the time comes !! please enjoy my harvey playlist while you read ♡ (this is crossposted from ao3).

word count: 1.6k

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The Stardrop Saloon, bathed in the soft glow of warm, dim lighting, welcomes its patrons with a comforting ambiance. The air carried the distinct aroma of aged wood and the faint scent of a crackling fireplace, giving the bar a rustic charm. The gentle hum of conversation mixed with the mellow tunes emanating from the vintage jukebox, creating an intimate symphony that echoed throughout the space.

In the games lounge, a haven within the heart of the saloon, the atmosphere took on a relaxed and casual vibe. Two arcade machines stand as silent sentinels; their screens flicker with pixelated adventures. The soft glow of the games cast dancing shadows on the well-worn couches nearby, a testament to the countless conversations and moments that must have been shared over the years. Adjacent stands the pool table adorned with worn-out felt and scarred by countless games. A haphazard arrangement of colourful pool balls wait patiently for their turn, illuminated by the warm glow of an overhead light.

“What the fuck? Fired?” Shane’s disbelief echoed through the saloon, as the cue ball he hits ricochets off the side of the pool table, “Just like that?”

“Yep,” You chuckle— both at the absurdity of your own misfortune, and Shane’s awful shot “HR claimed my ‘extended bereavement’ could lead to ‘performance issues’ and ‘wasting company resources’… Whatever that means”

Shane let out a snort, taking a swig of his beer. “And here I thought working in retail was a special kind of hell. Turns out even the corporate suits have their own issues.”

You accepted the pool cue he passed your way, unable to resist a playful jab, “Thanks, Shane. You’re making me feel so much better.”

The short man scoffs, grabbing his beer from the table behind him to take a long sip. “Just sayin’, you dodged a bullet getting the fuck outta there.”

Chuckling, you circled the pool table, searching for the perfect shot, “Well, it’s not all bad. Getting the boot from Joja pushed me to embrace farm life here. Guess I’m lucky in a weird way.”

“Yeah, lucky you,” he deadpanned, though a glimmer of curiosity flickered in his eyes. His attempt at sarcasm faltered as your shot proved victorious, sinking the 8-ball with a delicate tap.

“Talk shit all you want, but it seems like my luck’s holding up pretty well considering I just wiped the floor with you.” You flashed a triumphant grin, leaning the pool cue against the wall. Shane’s stoic exterior cracked, and for a moment, a genuine smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Beginner’s luck,” he huffed, yet the twinkle in his eye hinted at a begrudging acceptance of your presence, “That kinda luck doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, yeah— A win is a win, Shane!” You shrug on your coat with a smile, heading towards the front door of the saloon, “You owe me a drink next time I’m here!”

Without turning to see Shane roll his eyes, you step out into the quiet darkness of the night. Your smile quickly fades as the door of the saloon swings shut, leaving behind the warmth of the bar. As you enter the town square, a serene hush settles over Pelican Town, its sett streets bathe in the soft, ambient glow of vintage street lamps scattered along the thoroughfare. The spring breeze carries the distant melody of an insectile symphony, the noise of crickets underscoring the serene ambiance that envelopes the town.

Strolling through unfamiliar streets under the moonlit sky, your steps echo against the rough cobblestones beneath you. Your shoulders are hunched against the night chill and your gaze remains fixed on the ground, a mosaic of uneven stones beneath your feet. Each step whispers a story of the town’s resilience, of seasons changing, and the curious rhythm of life in Pelican Town.

Once inside the farmhouse, however, you realize that you have made a grave misstep. Arranging for your grandfather’s funeral, clearing your new land of trees and shrubbery, drinking with the townsfolk— these had all allowed you to keep your hands busy and your mind blank. Now, alone in your dark farmhouse, you had no distractions from your new reality.

The house itself was bleak. Each attempt to redecorate felt like an intrusion— as if the space itself was resisting your efforts to make it feel like home. The bed stood as a lonely sentinel in the corner of the room, illuminated by the crackling flames of the fireplace on the furthest wall. The room itself was adorned with remnants of your grandfather’s presence; even your sleeping cat— Pixel— was the runt of your grandfather’s cat’s litter.

A small pot of forget-me-nots, once vibrant, now drooped listlessly on the windowsill. You reached out, your fingers gently brushing against the frail petals, a silent acknowledgment of the grief that clung to every corner of the room. You are at least blessed with a working CRT television, although with access to only two channels in the valley, the device feels like a relic of a bygone era.

A cold draft sweeps through the room as you look above the TV: the otherwise barren wall displays a single faded family photograph, featuring your late grandfather, grandmother, and you. The glass of the frame cracked during the move and the photograph itself never seems to hang straight. You move to bring the photograph down from its place on the wall, holding it delicately in your hands— as if it could shatter at any moment. The photograph captures a moment frozen in the sepia hues of nostalgia.

In the centre, your grandfather stands tall, a patriarchal figure with calloused hands cradling a newborn lamb. His eyes, warm and crinkled with a lifetime of stories, radiate a quiet wisdom that guided your childhood. Besides him, your grandmother’s hands gently cup a cluster of wildflowers. The fabric of her apron was slightly swept, caught in the breeze. In the foreground, you: a child with innocent eyes and a smile that mirrored the joy of the moment. Clutched in your small hands was a clumsy, makeshift bouquet. The backdrop was the farmhouse itself, standing proudly amidst a sea of greenery; the sun bathed the scene in a warm glow. Yet, even in this idyllic tableau, there lingered a subtle melancholy, as if the photograph itself harboured the prescience of inevitable goodbyes.

The frame, once resplendent, now bears the scars of time—a crack here, a chip there. The glass that shields the captured memories has grown cloudy, as if the passage of years had draped a delicate veil over the faces of those who once shared laughter under the farmhouse’s sturdy roof. A sob escapes your throat as a tear splashes on the glass of the portrait; hesitantly, you place the photograph on top of your small table. You take a step back. You chuckle solemnly, wiping your eyes using the back of your sleeves as you yawn.

Pixel mews softly, as you climb into the cold sheets of your bed, before falling back to sleep. The silence of the farmhouse envelopes you like a weighted blanket, as moonlight floods through the windows of the farmhouse. It seemed that sleep was becoming increasingly elusive as you tossed and turned in bed.

The gratitude for your budding friendship with Elliot and Shane brings a bittersweet comfort, as you stare up at the ceiling, watching the way the moonlight casts a silver glow above. Elliot was the first person in the valley to approach you. His efforts to get to know you eased your anxiety about the new town. Shane was a tough nut to crack, but you suppose any stranger is your friend after too many beers— at the very least, you had a new drinking buddy.

The doctor you met before entering the saloon flashes through your mind as your eyes flutter shut.

‘Harvey,’ You mentally correct yourself, ‘His name is Harvey… and he doesn’t like decaf.’ You softly exhale, a smile tugging at your lips. He was… cute? A little bashful, sure, but he was more than gorgeous enough to make up for his nerves. Your face heats up thinking about his broad, towering figure; and the way his moustache curls up with his coy grin; and the way his dimpled, freckled cheeks blush so intensely when you look into his forest green eyes…

You turn to cover your face in your firm pillow, attempting to control your wondering thoughts; eventually, your breathing slows and your blush fades as you finally drift off.

[dandeliicnsarchived]

FULL NAME: Ja’von Obi Thompson

NICKNAME(S)  : Jay, King , Mr. Golden Gloves

GENDER  : male he/him pronouns

SUMMARY

Ja’von Thompson is the first male best friend Victoria has. Meeting in high school, Victoria was his tutor for all his science classes. Being the star athlete in basketball, he did struggle with his grades and requested Victoria’s help. As they studied together, Ja’von did develop a crush on Victoria but never spoke and pursued anything with her due to being nervous and fearful of rejection. Pushing his feelings aside, Victoria and Ja’von are very close friends still. 

Ja’von in addition to being close with Victoria is loved and adored by Rosalie and Tyler. The four of them often spent together and he knows of all the other friends that the Atlas’s have, but chooses to stay by Victoria. During Atlas Annual Balls, Ja’von and Victoria could be seen the corner telling each other jokes, making fun of some of the guests and sneaking off to spend time in the garden that the family owned. 

Currently, Ja’von is a personal trainer and works with Rosalie and Victoria on their physical fitness and teaches them how to box. Victoria in addition is an assistant to Ja’von with boxing to teach the females that are not comfortable with being close to men. Usually they train at night and often go for walks in Central Park.