#Olivia Prior

[purplebass]

2024 books - gallant by v.e. schwab

All her life, she wanted a house and a garden and a room of her own. But tucked inside that want was something else: a family. Parents who smothered her with love. Siblings who teased because they cared. Grandparents, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews—in her mind a family was a sprawling thing, an orchard full of roots and branches.

[andreai04]

“She wishes she had something to hold. A hand. Or a knife.”

[cliothedaydreamer]

⊱ ─ CLIO’S FANART

" How do you begin when the earth is ever changing? Neath the grove is a heart that's still in slumber You can remain, will you stay and tell a tale Or would you want to tear it all down, to see better? "

> Neath the grove is a heart, Yaelokre

[thepeculiarbird]

Moodboard for one my favorite book :)

[earthtomist]

“Free—a small word for such a magnificent thing.

I don’t know what it feels like, but I want to find out.”

v. e. schwab, gallant

[readingabookmostofthetimes]

It's the demon that write the letter to Olivia. I always thought it was Hannah

[ghostsessioned]

nothing to it, just furrifying olivia

[oceanusborealis]

Dune Prophecy: Season One – TV Review

TL;DR – A fascinating look into the Dune world when it was just starting, but it felt more like half a season than a full one.   ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 3.5 out of 5. Disclosure – I paid for the Bing service that viewed this series. Dune Prophecy Review – Before we dive into our best of 2024, there is one final review we have to finish, and that is for a TV version of one of my favourite novels and…

[lepmldraws]

How did they get in this situation? :0 And here's the last Power-up i'm doing for this while, it has been fun.

I'll go back to working on the Comic, if you wanna peek the new pages before i finish them? look at my Kofi i post their skeches there ^-^

I'm also taking requests and commissions. Until february you can use the code GHOSTIE for 45% discount :0

[endearng]

Distracted

Pairing: Spencer Reid x neighbour!fem!reader Summary: Finding time to date as a single mother is hard. Finding time to date as a FBI profiler is also hard. That's how you find yourself on a reckless date during a remote day of work. WC: 2.8k A/N: guess who failed miserably at trying to update more! me! Anyways so... this is Spencer and his neighbor having an impromptu date and forgetting everything around them as they should <33 neighbor!au masterlist | main masterlist

Olivia had disappeared under the giant umbrella she had to use that day — having forgotten her own at school, you lent her your own, while you let your raincoat try to shield you from the drops of water. Chuckling quietly to yourself, you kept an eye on her as she walked ahead of you for a couple of feet. As she reached the crossing, she waited for you and you tried to pick her up while balancing the weight of your daughter, your purse and her school bag. Once you both crossed the street, you put her back on the ground, sighing.

"Olivia?"

"Yes, mommy?" She asks, small hands gripping the handle of the umbrella, adjusting it so that her big doe eyes would look up at you.

"Remind me not to let aunt Jude ever borrow mommy's car again." You say in a serious-mock tone.

"Heheh, okay."

You both snickered, resuming your walk. As you dropped her off in her classroom, like you always did, you waved her goodbye and she returned the farewell, already searching the room for her friends. It made you smile internally, deadly proud of your daughter.

First days of school had a hint of terror in them that you could never shake off — it didn't matter if your first-days-of-school were all behind you by now, because everything could happen. New people? New friends? Enemies? Bullies? Teachers? Good or bad? Inspiring or dull? The chance to use your favorite notebook. The chance of not seeing a particular friend again. The chance of seeing them and possibly becoming friends. There were too many possibilities. And they were both terrifying and exhilarating.

Today, it was something special. It had made your heart flutter, churn, miss a beat, all within the same 10 minutes that a drive to Olivia's kindergarten school took. You braced yourself for her reaction, not knowing how it would be, even if the school had prepared a welcoming event to new students to get to know the building and the teachers a few days prior to the first day of actual class. Olivia walked the corridors cautiously, one hand holding yours and the other holding her father's. She looked at the two of you, questions behind her eyes that she didn't know how to phrase — or that she was too scared of the answers.

"Excuse me, hi. Good morning! Mrs. Davis, right?" You asked politely to a woman who appeared to be in her 50s in front of the classroom 205.

"Hello, good morning! And you are?"

You hastily held out your hand, a big, nervous smile on your face as you told her your name, that you and your husband were Olivia's parents. Mrs. Davis kneeled to Olivia's height to introduce herself properly. "Hello, Miss Olivia! I am Mrs. Davis, I'll be your first teacher." She said in a sweet tone.

"Hi... My Peacher?!"

You chuckled wetly already. It was an endearing sight, to say the least, Olivia in a uniform that was much too big for her small 3-year-old frame, making a few phonological exchanges — not to say mistakes. She squeezed Mrs. Davis hand, trusting, with a small, nervous smile. "Come in, dear. Your new friends wanna meet you."

Olivia stood in the threshold, looking at you and your husband, as if she wanted to know if you both were coming too. Why weren't you coming, too? You nodded, encouragingly, unable to speak anything as her eyes brimmed with tears. Your husband stood there, equally speechless, gazing at your daughter.

You managed to croak out, "Go on, dear. Your friends... wanna meet you."

Olivia nodded, her bottom lip jutting out. Carefully, your husband started, "Oli, baby, we'll come back... Go... go have fun," he said, a knot on his throat.

Olivia nodded yet again, even though her hand was reaching out to grab yours. You felt a tear on your cheek and you quickly brushed it away, not wanting her to see it. You smiled, trying to give her a bravery that you weren't sure even existed. "I'll see you soon, okay? Mommy loves you so much." You said, squeezing her hand lovingly.

Your husband kneeled to her height, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I love you, baby. We'll see you in a bit." He said, pinching his thumb and index finger together to emphasize the amount of time. Olivia opened a small smile, despite her tears and the crease between her eyebrows.

The memory had, simultaneously, made you smile and tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. Choosing a café close to Olivia's school, you set down your belongings and finally have something to eat (you make sure to get the cookies she likes so much), and get to work, revising yet another chapter of the book you're currently assigned to. As time goes by, the words on the laptop screen start to blur together, so you look up, squeezing your eyes shut. You hear a voice close to you, but you don't acknowledge it at first, eyes still closed, relishing in the feeling of resting them a little bit.

Eyes open, you search your surroundings. There were a few patrons minding their own business and for a moment, you stood there, people-watching. It always gave you a sense of comfort, people just... being. Existing. Sharing ordinary moments. Sharing important moments that a stranger wouldn't be able to totally grasp what was going on, but that it made you feel glad to witness love happening around you.

Glancing back at your computer screen, because of course you have to, you read, and then you read again, and for good measure, revise the chapter about thrice before you distract yourself with the external world again. It's about mid-day when your neighbor, Spencer, comes in, a caramel satchel bag slung over his shoulder and the usual serious expression on his face. Upon spotting you, something gave you the nerve to give him a small smile and raise your hand in a shy wave.

Oh. Quick explanation.

Spencer Reid, your good-looking, nice, gentle, kind, smart neighbor had asked you out on a date. But, considering your busy and unaligned schedules, said date hadn't taken place yet. It made you sad and you kept asking him all the time — it had come to a point where you two would meet at the elevator and after exchanging wishes of a good day, you or him would ask a hopeful "Tonight?" and then the other answer with a sad shake of the head.

It was starting to make you frustrated beyond belief.

Coming back to the present, he beamed instantly and hesitantly made his way to you.

"Hi," he greeted, a bashful happiness on his face.

You smiled back. "Hey... Um, wanna sit with me?"

He glanced at your computer and made a funny face. "I don't want to bother—"

"Please. That is a cry for help." He laughs at your interruption, taking the seat in front of you. "Hi, hey! How, um, how's everything going?" You ask, finally, smiling at the fact that he laughed over something you said.

"It's... going good, actually. Today is a rare, boring paperwork day. I, uh... I'm already done with mine, so I came here to grab coffee." He explains, fiddling with his fingers, hands sitting on his lap.

"It's mid-day," you grinned.

He rubs the back of his head, sheepishly. "Yeah, I, ah... I'm a bit fast when it comes to certain things." He admitted.

"Is that so?" You asked, a bit surprised. You figured that the paperwork would be very complex and that involved many details that one could easily miss if they didn't pay proper attention. "Well, I guess it's safe to say that I couldn't work for the FBI to save my life! I've been stuck in the same chapter for some time now—heh—I'm always scared to miss out on something."

"Really?" He asked, trying to take a peek at your computer screen, even though it was impossible, but his curiosity was once again getting the best of him. "What's the current book you're working on?"

Glancing down at the screen, you made a face. "Ah, an anniversary edition of Dracula. Speaking of which, have you read it?"

"Dracula," he muttered. "Yes, I have. I find the gothic elements and the way Stoker blends them with the horror aspects fascinating. The transformation of Dracula from charming and seductive to monstrous and vile... It's an intriguing character study. I actually first read the book—ahm..." He trailed off, unsure if he should keep going.

"You first read the book...?" You encouraged him.

"When I was 8. For the first time, I mean. I've read it a couple of times by now. I, um, I have a soft spot for Gothic Literature." He revealed, shyly. You smiled.

"I take it that you like it? Dracula, I mean." You asked, curiously.

"I do, as I've said, as a big enthusiast of gothic elements, the foreboding and the slow realizations made by the characters earn a few good points in favor of the novel." He replied, grinning. "Do you?"

"Eh, it's fine, yeah... it's a classic for a reason, right?" You say, a bit dismissively. He chuckles and you look up at him.

"You don't seem all that sure."

You chuckled. "It's just... When you have a different opinion on a classic, everyone is ready to throw rocks at you. It's not my cup of tea, but what can I say? It's... decent." You finish, a hint of humor in your voice.

"Mhm... Favorite character?" He asks, amused by your answer and forwardness.

"Mina Harker. She's the closest thing to a brave person in the book, not to mention that she was the one who found out all about Dracula. These men were just..." You trailed off, shaking your head, even though your tone was of pure mockery.

"Can't argue with that."

At that time, everything else had just... disappeared. Spencer was thrilled, to say the least, that someone was taking their time to listen to him. Not just someone, her. And it meant the world that she had basically dropped her job to talk to him over something so intricate and dear to him. His heart fluttered as he looked down on his lap, biting back a lovestruck smile. He was absolutely gone, to say the least.

By not looking at you, he missed the soft, adoring gaze you threw his way. Say something. Say. Something!

"Speaking of Mina, something that makes me a bit controversial is..." you start, and he glanced back at you, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, "I think that using the 21st centry lenses we have from our own age is not the wisest approach to a century-old work, whether poetry, of any kind, music, scientific records, novels, you name it. Anachronism doesn't always work, especially if you're thinking of older authors or artists. It's only going to lead you to disappointment." You say, shrugging a bit.

"That's for sure, actually. Some people are a product of their time. Writers are not an exception to that affirmation." He remarked, grinning. "It's nice to hear you have such a... clear view. I find it refreshing when I meet someone who doesn't try to... cancel... I hate that word... old authors just because their views don't align with the ones that are most common today. They were written almost a century and a half ago."

"That's right. And literature is also a form of documenting the thoughts of a certain era. Of course, there are authors way ahead of their time, and I do prefer to read them, of course, but human history so far is full of challenges and overcoming of such problems. With all that being said, Stoker was terrible at writing women other than Mina."

With your final sentence, Spencer laughed so heartily it almost sounded like a dream. Throwing his head back, even. It made you think that he was somehow exaggerating, but the humor and the hint of something in his eye told you that he was being genuine. You bit back a smile, looking at him fondly.

The glance was entirely disarming, the way your eyes crinkled at the edge as the prettiest grin spread on your face was too much to take. Spencer chuckled, totally flustered, by the fact that he had made you look at him like that.

"Yeah... I do read for a living. And Dracula is not my favorite because, in my humble, insignificant opinion, it is just too slow."

"Ouch."

"I blame it on the male characters."

"But you've just said that—"

Cutting him off, laughing, you defend yourself from the coming accusation. "No, I didn't. Pfft."

"But..."

"Nuh-uh."

"Okay, then, what's your gothic of choice?"

"Poe."

"Of course."

You hit your palms on the table, playfully. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He raised his own in mock surrender. God, this conversation was having an effect on him. "Nothing! It's just a safe choice. A good one." He laughs when he sees the skeptical look in your eye. "Favorites?"

"The Cask of Amontillado. The wording choices are just to die for," you giggled, "pun intended."

Spencer laughed, once again. Every time felt like the first that you made him laugh, not because he was shy or nervous, but because he had found something funny. Not only that, he had found something you said funny. It was silly, but mentally, you tapped yourself on the shoulder for the good job. You couldn't stop the endeared smile spreading across your face at the sound of his laughter. Your heart also beat like crazy.

Time stopped. As his laughter died down, you two stared at each other, almost as if analyzing each other's faces, just like the first time your eyes first landed on his figure. Had his eyesight not been this fucked up, Spencer could've probably be able to map out all the freckles of your face, so much was the intent on his gaze. You could feel your heart beat increase and your palms start to sweat, strong indicators of your rising shyness, but you didn't have it in yourself to look away, not when he looked at you like you meant something. Like you were something worth seeing.

"For God's sake," one of the baristas muttered in the background, clearly annoyed, shouting next, "SPENCER! ARE YOU STILL HERE?"

The yell broke you two out of your reverie, four eyes looking around to find the source of the sound. As Spencer bashfully and ungracefully stood up from his seat, being watched by every single patron and glared at by the angry barista, you couldn't help the chuckle that erupted from your lips. He awkwardly made his way over to the counter and got his order, returning hurriedly to the table he was sharing with you. You tried to cover the fact that you were highly amused by what had happened. It made you way too fond of him.

"Sorry about that," he said as he sat down, "I didn't... I didn't even realize my name was being called."

"It's okay. I didn't hear it either. I would've told you." You replied, smiling.

"I'm sure you would."

Staring contest, again. Your heart hammering inside your chest, again. Getting lost in those eyes which by now you could map at least three different colors—

Beep. beep. beep.

Picking your phone nervously, you answer the call without truly checking the ID. "H-hello?"

"Jesus, where the fuck are you? The meeting started 20 minutes ago!" A coworker, Paul, whisper-shouted over the phone. Your eyes went wide.

Spencer sipped on his coffee, watching your reactions closely.

"Be right there," and ending the call.

Looking at Spencer apologetically, you said, "I'm sorry... I had a meeting scheduled for—" you glanced at your, now, black computer screen. You had been chatting with Spencer for so long that your laptop had entered resting-mode. You blinked, now the one being embarrassed by reality calling you back. Spencer reached out and, during an exceptional display of bravery—nevermind the killers he chased for a living—, he placed his hand on top of one of your own, squeezing it lightly. The touch made shivers erupt on your skin and luckily, you had a long-sleeved top on that day.

"It's okay. I'm... I'm on my way back."

"Oh... okay... I just..."

He blurted out, not even thinking it through, "To be honest, I didn't want to say goodbye."

You smiled, giddily. "Me neither," but...

"Duty calls." He finished for you.

"Yeah."

He stood up to leave, removing his hand from yours. You missed it and the coldness it left was a bit too much to take. You fought the urge to wince, not wanting to look so out of place by his departure.

"Bye, Spencer."

"I'll see you."

He definitely would.

Fighting the urge to stand up and follow him outside to wherever he strayed to, you joined the meeting, silently comforting yourself with the thought that he definitely would. Screw schedules, screw everything. You two would make it happen.

[billiesbabygirleilish]

HEAR ME OUT billie x singer! reader who takes the place of someone like sabrina carpenter olivia rodrigo melanie martinez just anyone with a totally different aesthetic from billie and her reaction or opinion on readers songs and performances and stuff like am i a genius or what 🫡 (if u decide to write it ty babes)

Sweet Sorrow

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.*•.*.*•.*•.*•.*•.*•.*•.*.•🎀.*•.*•.*•.*•.*•.*•.*•.*•.*

Billie stood behind the heavy velvet curtain of the venue, excitement pulsing through her veins. Tonight, she was headlining her own show, but more than that, she was about to share the stage with someone she scarcely knew—someone whose musical world was the complete opposite of hers.

You were a bubblegum pop sensation, bursting onto the scene with your sugary sweet melodies and vibrant aesthetic. Your stage outfits sparkled with sequins and pastel colors, an explosion of sunshine in contrast to Billie’s often moody, understated style. Your latest single, “Sugar Rush,” was a catchy anthem that had taken the charts by storm, and now you were set to perform it as the opening act.

Billie had stumbled upon your music a few weeks prior while scrolling through streaming platforms. At first, she thought it was amusing—your bright, cheerful spirit seemed to defy everything she felt. Gradually, however, she found herself oddly entranced. The infectious energy and playful lyrics made her smile, a rare occurrence for the artist known for her haunting ballads and introspective lyrics.

As she watched the crowd buzz with excitement, she felt a hint of apprehension. She knew her music resonated with feelings of angst and darkness, while yours was all sunshine and sparkles. Would the audience appreciate your performance? Would you keep their attention? 

You bounded onto the stage, a smile stretching across your face as you greeted the crowd. The sound of squeals and cheers drowned out any remaining doubts Billie had; they were here for you, and they loved every second. You launched into your songs with an energy that was almost electric, the colorful lights dancing around you in perfect synchrony with the beats.

Billie found herself captivated. Your voice, bright and clear, floated through the air, and she couldn’t help but admire how you effortlessly engaged with the audience. Your choreography was sharp yet playful, and the way you interacted with the fans—winking and blowing kisses—was something that Billie, with her more introverted persona, couldn’t imagine doing.

As you spun gracefully across the stage, Billie felt her heart thawing just a little. You were unabashedly yourself, radiating confidence and joy, and somewhere deep inside, she envied that freedom. You were unapologetically girly, decked out in frills and glitter, and while it was worlds away from her own style, it felt refreshing.

After you finished your performance, Billie called you offstage, and you bounced over, your cheeks flushed with excitement. “You were amazing!” you gushed, still riding the high of the performance. “Did you see how they reacted to ‘Sugar Rush’? I can hardly believe it!”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised,” Billie replied, her own smile creeping in. “You really know how to work a crowd.”

Your eyes lit up. “Seriously, though! I’ve always admired your music. It’s so deep and emotional. I can’t even begin to imagine how you do it.”

Billie chuckled softly, the compliment warming her heart. “Thanks. I guess I just dive into my feelings, you know?” 

You nodded, your expression earnest. “I feel the same way! Just… in a really different way.” 

“Exactly. You bring joy and fun. That’s an art too, you know?” Billie admitted, glancing down as she considered her words. “It’s just different from what I do.”

In that moment, the two of you realized that while your aesthetics and musical styles diverged widely, there was an unspoken bond between you. Different experiences shaped your creativity, but both of you poured your souls into your music. It was beautiful, in all its contradictions.

As the night carried on and you performed an encore, Billie felt infused with a newfound appreciation for the bubblegum joy you brought to the stage. When it was finally time for her to take the spotlight, she felt invigorated, inspired by the colors and vibrancy of your world.

After the show, Billie caught up with you. “Want to maybe collaborate on something?” she asked, a playful glint in her eyes.

You gasped, bouncing on your heels. “Yes! How about a song that mixes both of our styles? We could do something with dark lyrics and a catchy melody! Like… a sapphic love song!”

Billie laughed, picturing the contrast of your sounds melding together. “I love it. Let’s do this.”

With renewed enthusiasm, the two of you exchanged numbers and vowed to create something remarkable together—two artists intertwined in a beautiful tapestry of sound and style, showing the world that artistry knows no boundaries. And as Billie headed home, she couldn’t help but hum along to the memory of your sugary hooks, knowing she wouldn’t mind that lingering sweetness one bit.

[s-4pphics]

make the bed. (e.w.)

“𝒜𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃'𝓉 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐼 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝒸𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝒶 𝓈𝒾𝑔𝓃.”

omggg my first writing challenge YIPPPEEEE shoutout to olivia rodrigo

ty to the post-pandemic prose and my babies @elliesbelle and @totheblood for pointers :D love yall down 

wc;cw: 1.1K, just angst YAAAAY, internalized homophobia, ellies so sad :(, mentions of alcohol

“lf I liked girls,” you slurred, your lips brushing against the shell of Ellie’s ear, the pounding speakers synched with the squeezes in her chest, “I swear t’god… you’d be mine.” 

Whenever you drunkenly murmur to her like this, Ellie wishes she didn’t hear you; She was shocked she could over the ruckus happening all around, rattling the bubble she created for the two of you. You always sounded so sure with your lies. They never fail to throw her into fight or flight mode. She tensed and her stomach churned in despair. 

“Y’so perfect, Ellie. Love y’so… fuckin’ much. All mine.” 

All she could do was nod and whirl you around with a pained smile before burying it into your clothed shoulder. You didn’t bat an eye; You were always the affectionate drunk. 

But she wanted to scream. To cry and beg and ask — demand that you fall into her right where you stand. To love her the way she’s loved you since she showed you how to ride a bicycle in elementary school. She flinched at every delicate kiss you planted on her neck, her hands squeezing at your hips. She doesn’t know if she wants to push or pull you closer. 

She knows. Her arms enclosed around your waist and you giggle into her skin. 

This is exactly how you two should be. She’s envisioned it since middle school: completely infatuated and engulfed in each other, secluded off in your own little world filled with nothing but solace. Closeness. Affection and desire. 

So why was she sick to her stomach at your scent? Lavender and sage no longer brought her the comfort that they used to in adolescence. She was being torn apart from the inside out, but she couldn’t scream. 

She only listened, digested every drunk fallacy that you directed to her in secret. With no one watching. No one ever watched. No one could know. That was your only rule when she climbed through your window months prior. Please just keep it between us, you’d whispered before leaning in to kiss her. 

At least Ellie could imagine that this was real as she held you tight: recreate the same image in her mind over and over. The two of you are together and happy to be in love with no selfishness or regrets in her mind. All she had to do was close her eyes, and you were all hers, just like you said. She’s so, so in love with you. 

But you didn’t want her. You never did. 

She’s instantly reminded of that day a few months ago. The memory feels like a ghost over her shoulder; Maybe that’s why she’s constantly peeking over it, picking at it with her nails. 

The two of you often reserved study rooms during exam season for review, but you had other plans. You were exactly where you were supposed to be — room 213 — but you weren’t by yourself. 

You — beautiful, as always — brought… friends. Friends that Ellie knew, that you knew, didn’t like her. She never actually talked to them, but she always felt… off. She was instantly riddled with anxiety, the books that she checked out ten minutes ago almost hitting the floor as her arms weakened. Sweat pebbled on her forehead as she stood and watched everyone stare at her. 

Why did it look like they were all laughing? She couldn’t hear any chuckles, but there was laughter. Someone’s laughing at her. Do they know? You have to know, but do they know about the two of you? About how Ellie feels—

Ellie? you’d called. 

… Mhm? she recalls almost fainting. 

Your eyes were confused; You knew something was off, and it made her even more nervous. 

Sit down, honey. Come meet everyone. You made sure to massage her knee under the table; It always soothed her. 

The introductions were surprisingly smooth. Ellie never expected your friends to be so polite considering how rowdy they seemed outside of class. She was pleasantly surprised and put at ease. Until the end of your study session. 

Everyone was packing their bags and cracking jokes. Ellie even got a couple laughs out of some of them during the quiet few hours. 

Ellie wasn’t sure what came over her, but she eased closer to you, still gathering your books. She relaxed at your scent. When you turned to face her with that gentle smile, her mouth moved on autopilot. 

I missed you so much. You never hit me back last night.  

Maybe it was the way Ellie said it. She shouldn’t have looked into your eyes the way she did, whispered to you like that, said she missed you with so much devotion. But she did, and she wished she didn’t. 

Your smile turned to worry instantaneously, and Ellie’s heart plummeted when your head whipped around the room to check if anyone heard before turning back to her. No one cared. 

Ellie felt like she’d been stabbed. It happened so quickly; she probably would’ve missed it if she blinked. Her nails dug into the hardcover of her books, tears jerking in her eyes before she tossed a stiff see you guys later over her shoulder and rushed out the room. You tried to grab her arm, but she shoved you off. She had to fight her instincts so she wouldn’t turn around and apologize for being too rough. 

She got back to her dorm and… trashed it while she cried. Disgust and anger flooded her system while she threw her clothes, her trinkets, the photo of you, Ellie, and her mother at your shared high school graduation across the room (she only sobbed harder when she noticed it cracked when it hit the floor). The emotions that rushed through her weren’t even for you, but for herself. Ellie’s own hope destroyed her, and she only has herself to blame. 

She should’ve known at the time to never speak to you again, but she loved you. She loves you. Every fiber, every cell of her being lived to see you at your happiest; It’s tortuous how you expose the darkest parts that she wished to keep hidden until the end of time. She hasn’t felt like this since she was a teenager. 

And yet, she still swayed you. Kept you close so she could breathe you in. This is the most you allow, at least: physical touch. She knew better than to allow you to mistreat her, but she couldn’t leave you. You both danced until your legs burned, and you fell into her bed the same night. 

She forced herself to lay in the massacred mattress that she’d tried to keep made since she was a kid. The least you could do was fluff the pillow you slept on every night.

[14dayswithyou]

Please wrap [REDACTED] in a warm blanket for me 🥺

What is Jae's job??? Every time I look at the map he's either off screen or in the ocean!! Is it Beach?

⌞♥⌝ Can't a man watch H20 and live out his dreams in peace??? If you don't want to play mermaid with him, stop pinging his location /silly

Canonically though?? Jae has multiple side jobs — mostly because nobody wants to hire him full-time — but also because I think it's funny watching his sprite move to random locations. He works at the newspaper stand by the pier on weekends, as an in-house cleaner for the elderly couple who owns the cabin he lives in (and all the others along the beach), at the local pet store, as a grocery clerk a few doors down from Olivia, etc!

But also... A little blonde birdie told me that Jae originally applied for a part-time job at the Corland Bay library!! >:3

Originally, I planned for Jae to be the newest employee at the library prior to Angel's arrival (the thought of Old Man Conan trying to do paperwork while Pro Roblox Player Jae explains DTI to him is somehow funny to me), but I scratched that idea because I felt like there were already too many people working at the library.

If I ever change my mind though, I might make it canon one day!! But until then... Jae will be Barbie hehe

[thepeculiarbird]

BIG Gallant Spoilers !!!

I just finished it , it's almost midnight . Yes , I cried . First time it happens to me . I mean , How dare the writer kill Matthew ???!!! He was one of my fav character and she decided to kill him 😭 The last sentences are literally saying "He fell asleep . He's never going to wake up" (something like that , idk i'm tired) . And Poor Thomas !! He was just a little child 😭

I need to make fanarts , this book deserves fanarts ! 5/5 stars even if the ending is the saddest I've ever read .

[storiesofsvu]

One ask wasn't enough! So, how about these prompts, with Cabot?

"I can't sleep, can I stay here?" and

"Don't... I'm ticklish!"

Thank youuuu 🥰🥰

Thank YOU so much!! Here ya go!

Insomnia Strikes

Alex Cabot x reader (more implied than anything else lol) Warnings: mentions of anxiety/insomnia, I think that's about it. Just a nice little comfort one shot.

Being the natural night owl that you were, you never had any problems swapping shifts around when someone on the squad got roped into an overnight shift. You honestly didn’t mind it, you basically chilled alone, ate snacks, scrolled through your phone and answered a handful of phone calls that the desk clerk downstairs didn’t catch. It was a very rare occasion where something actually made its way to you prior to six in the morning and by then you were usually only on intake, passing it off to the day team before heading home. It was a nice little break from the chaos that the squad room and a courtroom normally were.

You spent the first few hours catching up on paperwork, finishing all the nearly late files, scrawling your signature across them before popping them into Cragen’s inbox. The squad slowly disappearing as late evening hit until only Olivia remained and you tossed a crumpled up piece of paper onto her desk, telling her to get out of there. You knew she liked to stick around as late as she could, not wanting anyone to really be trapped all alone in the building and she was quick to ask if you’d eaten dinner yet. You laughed, saying you had your breakfast before you came in and that she better get home to get some sleep. If she complained of being tired when you finally did have to call her in, you’d hold it against her. That finally got her going, giving you a warm smile as she wished you goodnight and finally left the precinct.

Once office lights began to flick off and the downstairs desk attendant clocked in things fell into a state of stillness, quiet and calm seeping through the air. Your paperwork was actually done, the most recent case you’d been working on waiting on the jury and you appeared to be free from actual work. So you started on the more mundane tasks, things that didn’t get done until you were on night shift. You started out by cleaning your desk, tossing out old receipts, crumpled up pastry bags, pencils that were so slivered down they couldn’t be used. Grabbing the collection of coffee mugs from the bull pen you headed into the break room, loading up the sink with hot soapy water to take care of the dishes in there. The cleaning crew usually came through around midnight, so you tackled the fridge, throwing out anything and everything that wasn’t labelled, had been in there for too long or seemed to be growing its own ecosystem.

After a very thorough hand wash, you wandered back to your desk, phone in your hand as you ordered some food for dinner, though maybe it was technically your lunch. Having no messages, calls or emails waiting, you pulled out your I-pad, sitting it on your desk as you settled back into your chair, pulling up your most recent binge. You were starting to get a little antsy twenty minutes in, your foot tapping against the floor over and over again. If it were day shift you’d usually caught a case or had to trek over to the DA’s office by now, but you were still just sitting there wishing you had an easier way to get your steps in. Your prayers were partially answered when the desk sergeant called up saying your food was there and you got to jog down the stairs to pay the driver before wandering back up them to your desk.

You ate a couple of slices, snagged a soda from the machine and set the box off to the side as you turned your attention back to the screen in front of you. The cleaning crew came and went, efficiently working through the space in no time, waving a friendly hello and then goodbye to you once they were finished. It wasn’t much later after that when you heard the shuffling of feet coming from the hallway and you glanced up, half expecting the desk clerk to be coming to take advantage of the vending machines. Your head tilted when instead you spotted Alex, loose leggings and a fuzzy sweater wrapped around her frame, hair messily tied back.

“Lex?” You greeted and her head lifted up, a small smile on her cheeks when she saw you. “What’re you doing here? Please don’t tell me you’re gonna have to go wake up a judge.”

“No.” She replied with a small huff, leaning over to press a kiss to your temple before pulling over a spare chair and dropping into it. “Tried your apartment first, neighbour said they saw you leaving for work late so I figured you were stuck on night shift.”

“And you thought I needed a babysitter?” You asked with a tease and she shook her head at you.

“Long day. I just wanted to make sure I got to see you at some point.” She yawned, her hands sneaking under her glasses to rub furiously at her eyes.

“You could’ve just called.”

She glanced up at you, a nervous look in her eyes as she chewed on her lip for a minute before letting out a breath, “I can’t sleep. Can I just stay here?”

“Yeah.” You smiled, reaching out to squeeze at her knee, “course you can. Did you at least try to sleep? Or were you still up on the couch pouring over case files?”

“I did.” She revealed with a sigh, “stared at the ceiling tossing and turning for almost four hours before I gave up. My brain just won’t shut up.”

“Did you take your meds?” You asked and she glanced up at you with a sheepish look on her face, softly shaking her head.

“I ran out on Monday; didn’t realize I was so low and I couldn’t get an appointment for a refill until next Tuesday. I took the anxiety one at eight and doctor’s orders say I can’t take melatonin with it, so I’m just kinda out of luck.”

“Shit.” You frowned, squeezing at her leg again, “next time we’ll make sure you always have an immediate refill on hand.”

“Thanks.” Her hand caught yours, squeezing it softly as she smiled across at you.

“You eat?”

“Wasn’t really hungry.” She shrugged, “had a granola bar.”

“How about you dig into this,” you tugged the pizza box from the other side of the desk, flipping it open in front of her and when the smell wafted over to she felt her stomach begin to grumble. “I’ll see what they have for tea in the break room.”

Leaving a kiss on the top of her head you left her to it, commenting for her to change the Netflix to whatever she wanted while you were gone. Digging through the break room you were pleasantly surprised to find a box of chamomile tea, turning on the kettle and brewing a mug exactly the way Alex liked it. When you crossed back into the bull pen she was curled up in the spare chair, your NYPD hoodie you normally stashed in the lower drawer of your desk draped over her lap as her hands played with the fraying cuffs.

A warm smile overtook your features as you placed the mug down in front of her, kissing her cheek again before reminding her to eat. With a tired sigh she finally leant forward, taking a slice of pizza, a pleased groan leaving her when she found it still warm.

She’d chosen one of your mutual favourite comfort movies, a classic rom com with no drama or terribly corny jokes set in the city you’d made your home. She ate her slice and sipped at her tea while she watched, relaxing into your side as she did so. You had to answer a couple of texts over the course of the hour but otherwise you were pleasantly occupied and comfortable. There were about five minutes left in the movie when she was fully slumped on your shoulder, you could feel her steady breathing and were certain her eyes had finally closed even if she wasn’t asleep yet. Your fingers poked gently at her side and she grumbled, flinching away from your touch without moving her head off your shoulder.

“Don’t. I’m ticklish.”

“Sorry.” You murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “lets get you to the crib, you can get some actual sleep.”

“Come with me?” She finally looked up at you with sapphire puppy dog eyes and a pout on her lips. You smiled softly, letting out a breath of a laugh.

“Okay, but only ‘til you fall asleep. I am on duty after all.”

“Fine.” She scowled, yawning, her eyes still drooping as she reluctantly stood from the chair, your hoodie still curled in her arms.

Alex shuffled away to the bunk room, letting herself in and leading you to the bunk burrowed in the corner. You grabbed a couple of extra pillows and blankets, making sure she was more than comfortable, tucked in and relaxed as she curled up on her side face you. Perched on the edge of the bed you smoothed back her hair, tucking it behind her ear as her eyes fell shut again, letting out a content sigh.

“Thank you.” She murmured; her voice muffled by the pillow.

“Anytime baby.” You whispered back, fingers trailing across her cheek before you kissed her forehead.

By the time you’d sat upright she was out like a light, soft snores echoing through the small room and a small smile crept onto your lips. Pulling out your phone you quickly set an alarm so she would have enough time to get home and get dressed properly for the day before having to return to the DA’s office and quietly made your way from the room. You knew it wasn’t much, but it really was the little things, knowing that whenever Alex was fighting a bout of insomnia she found solace and relief in you, that no matter where you were, she would eventually be lulled into comfort and thus sleep as long as you were around.

________________________

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[yeoldenews]

Hello! I was wondering how common or uncommon was the name Sage in the Regency, Victorian, and Edwardian eras?

Sage is my given name and I love those three periods of time and so I am very curious about this, but figured you would know more or at least be able to point me in the right direction of where to find this information since you’re a researcher.

My go-to resource for seeing name popularity over time is behindthename.com.

The United States has tracked name popularity since 1880, and behindthename has a great tool in every entry where they visualize that data. (They also have info available for quite a few other countries, though many of them only have data going back a decade or so).

Here is the visualization for Sage's popularity in the US.

As you can see, Sage is a VERY modern name.

It did not appear in the top 1000 names in the US until 1991 (as a masculine name) and 1993 (as a feminine name).

The highest it has ever ranked was #143 (as a feminine name) - or .11 percent of all given names - in 2022 and 2023 (the 2024 stats haven't been released yet). So 1 out of every 1100 AFAB babies born in the US in 2022/2023 was named Sage.

(In the invented terminology of my Regency name survey that would place it in 'D tier' for 2022/2023.)

Prior to 1880 the name appears extremely rarely. Sage is also a surname, and most cases I can find of it being used as a first name pre-1880 appear to be instances of a family surname converted to a personal name, e.g. John Smith married Jane Sage and named their son Sage Smith.

Most sudden increases in name popularity have what I refer to as a "patient zero" - a celebrity or fictional character with the name that causes it to spike in popularity. I was curious if there was a similar cause for the small, but noticeable spike in Sages that last few years, So I literally just googled "sage character". It's obviously impossible to prove causation without personally interviewing parents to see where they were exposed to/why they chose the name - but the increases in babies named Sage does coincide with the release of the video game Valorant which has a character named Sage, in 2020.

And no, I am not being facetious here - this is actually how name popularity works. Many, many common names owe their popularity - or even their existence - to fictional characters or celebrities. Just ask the 4000+ Khaleesis born in the last decade. I would not be named Samantha without Bewitched. Virtually all Beths owe their name to Little Women (chiefly the 1949 movie adaptation), Madisons to the 1984 Tom Hanks movie Splash, and all the Jessicas/Olivias/Mirandas/Imogens and many more out there can thank Shakespeare.

I'll be interested to see where Sage ranks in the 2024 stats.

Hope that was helpful!