#and also like 70% of the city he was raised in speaks. was he closing his ears to the world growing up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

waru-chan8 · 2 years ago

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Your breakdown of who speaks Catalan is very interesting. What was shocking to me was how you said how Rinsy speaks Catalan. He was born in Barcelona so I would’ve imagined it’s the other way around with favoring Catalan more. But I can understand why Spanish is more favored. Also with Dani, I feel like he knows so many languages(as far as I know it’s Catalan, Spanish, Italian, English, and I know there’s at least one clip of him speaking French), he picks one for the day like picking out a shirt

I know you listed several regions that speak Catalan, but how common is it that Catalan is taught as a secondary language in Spain?? You said that some can hear it, but respond in Spanish or they respond in a more Spanish way. I don’t know much about Catalan, but it’s been fun learning a bit about it via MotoGP

Nope Rins speak the way he speaks Catalan because HE IS from Barcelona. Basically the "pure" Catalan comes from outside the big cities.

During the 60s and 70s, there was a massive moviment of people from different parts of Spain towards Basque Country, Madrid (city) and Catalonia, that was the places where the industry was building and expanding, so basically they moved to the big cities. In the case of Barcelona and the surroundings, the was a lot of people coming from Andalusia and Extremadura (South areas of Spain) that, plus the prohibition of speaking Catalan during the dictatorship (1939-1975) made that a whole generation didn't speak Catalan at all. (Fun fact! From a class of 20-24 students only 1 classmate had 4 grandparents born and raised in Catalonia back in early 2000 and I was the only one that had none). Places that weren't so affected by that influx of people kept the Catalan "pure", but not Barcelona. Another factor for Barcelona not having the "purest" Catalan is because it has become and international city, so having to choose between Catalan or Spanish, people will tend to use Spanish because there are more people who learn it.

Rins will end to favour the Spanish-like words and the Spanish sounds of the words when possible or straight up answering in Spanish. I do know that his family is from a close town to the Aragón circuit (Alcañiz) so I imagine he does speak Spanish at home rather than Catalan, which is fine I do the same. Favouring Catalan or Spanish just comes from your surroundings. If all your friends/family/teachers speak Catalan, you will speak with them in Catalan. Altought there's something funny going on, people do not call names in Catalan because how the language has been treated over the years, it's becoming kind of a "cult" language, which make it difficult to joke and make fun of your friends when you have to use words like "Calçasses" instead of an cabrón (asshole).

Yeah, Dani speaks a lot of languages, and most of the time is self-taught (or at least I remember he said that some time ago). I have hear him in Catalan, Spanish, English and Italian. I think there a video of him speaking French and I think he lives in a French speaking area in Switzerland, so he can choose and jump between several languages. But I think it ultimately comes to whom is he speaking. I think he spoke Catalan with Marc and Italian with Vale or any other Italian rider. I think with Pol is depending if there's a third party involved to choose between one or another.

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Here Dani speaking some Japanese.

I only mentioned the areas where is spoken in Spain. Catalan is also spoken outside, in Andorra (where is the official language and the only country that has Catalan as an official language), Northern Catalonia (which is the South of France) and Alghero in Italy. Or at least that is what I have been taught since I was a child.

In Spain, school starts at age 3-4 years old (we go by all the students born in the same year go t the same grade and school starts in September) until 15-16 years old. I can only speak from my experience in Catalonia, but we where taught most of the subjects in Catalan with the exception of Spanish (Grammar, vocabulary and literature) and English. We also had a classes to learn Catalan grammar, vocabulary and literature). There could be some wild teacher who decided to do their classes in Spanish for some reason, but it was not the norm. Even at University, most of my professors did classes in Catalan, although they could choose the language.

At university I had classmates from Menorca and from Valencia and they both spoke Catalan as their first language, so at least I know they had Catalan as a subject, what I don't know it's it the rest of the schooling was done in Catalan or Spanish.

Catalan has 2 big "dialects" (Western and Easter) and several smaller ones. You can actually know who is from where they are or where they have been taught by the way the speak their vowels, and some consonats. Like for example, Maverick who is from Gerona (another area from Catalonia) speaks much more softer than Pol or Dani (who again has one of the most amazing Central dialects I hear). And they speak different than Marc, who is more harsher due to the lack of a neutral vowel sound (it's in between a and e sound because he speaks a complet different big dialect).

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Rins speaks Barceloní, which is the dialect spoken in Barcelona and the area and surroundings and one of the characteristics s actually the influence of the Spanish in the way the pronounce it. He also uses Spanish terms because he thinks in Spanish and then he translates, so sometimes his word choice is not the correct one, but it's okay, we understand it.

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One of the reason why people would no answer in Catalan when asked something in Catalan is because they don't feel confident when speaking it. As I said, Catalan is becoming a "cult" language, reserved only for some spaces and kids are not using as much as before. It doesn't help that over the years it has been persecuted, banned and discredited.

In the case of Jorge Lorenzo, who actually say he learnt it, but doesn't speak it, it's due to his chaotic education he had. He missed a lot of school to go racing, at some point he moved from Mallorca to Barcelona (which are 2 different dialects) and I remember he say his dad made him choose between school and racing at some point. I think Jorge doesn't feel confident enough to talk it, so journalist just ask in Catalan because Jorge is okay with that (because the polite thing would be to switch to Spanish, which is done with other people).

I hope you can see all the videos. I know you won't understand them,, but at least you can see some differences in the way they talk.

If you want to know more about Catalan, I recommend the blog @useless-catalanfacts they know more about the differences and how is taught in different parts of Spain. There are also resources to learn Catalan too

#Ask #Victoria's tag #Languages #Catalan #Long Post

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allinmymincl · 2 years ago

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sage teller penned by sam for nepofm.

TRIGGERS: mentions of death, very brief and vague.

basics. full name sage william teller gender cis man pronouns he/him age twenty - two dob january 3rd, 2001 star sign capricorn hometown manhattan, nyc occupation music journalist, nighttime radio show host

biography. sage william teller was born and raised in new york city. he’s the eldest and only grandson of william teller, famed record producer of the 60s & 70s known for lending his talent to some of the biggest hits of the era : from disco to blues to most notably rock n’ roll. william teller died young in the mid - 70s, burning out quickly after years of hard partying alongside music legends, many of whom would share his fate before long if they weren’t already gone.

sage is related to william through his father, who is the sole offspring of the record producer and his widow. being born into music royalty naturally granted sage ( and soon his younger sister too ) things like a spot at the best performing arts school in new york city, one of the most enviable inherited record collections in the world, and, of course, backstage passes to any concert he’s ever wanted to see.

although he excelled in his music courses and could chatter on about the subject for hours and hours on end, sage is, ultimately, quite shy. often referred to as ‘ stage fright ’, to this day sage insists that he simply doesn’t like to be stared at and, come on, who does ? the only real problem with discarding the rockstar dream was that sage was just never very good at anything else he tried his hand at : academics, sports, art, poetry ( never speak of it ). his shyness rendering his circle of friends perpetually sparse, he at least had the time and space to figure himself out during those crucial teen years. knowing for certain that he wanted some kind of career in music led him to direct some questions to his dad, who had followed in the footsteps of his own father and now works in the music industry, albeit he leaned more into the business side of things.

aided by his technical knowledge and background in music, sage started up a music blog as a teenager where he rated, critiqued, and shared his overall thoughts on music both new and old. although it quickly gained a large following which he was able to maintain for a while despite remaining completely anonymous on his blog, the offers to write articles for popular music publications that eventually started rolling in were most likely arranged by his dad. sage accepted most of the offers nonetheless, and spent his last two years of high school and first two years of college ( journalism, princeton ) building a reputation for himself in music journalism.

an internship during the summer before his third year of undergrad studies was his first introduction to radio and he was drawn in immediately, fascinated by the fast - paced, ( and importantly for him, completely anonymous ) yet allegedly dying field. he got behind the mic of nyc’s most beloved classic rock station and instantly fell in love. it had never been easier for him to express himself, to ramble on and on and on about the thing he loves most in the world and share his favorite pieces of it, simultaneously standing on the world’s stage and hiding away from the prying eyes that have followed him for his entire life.

he almost quit school to pursue his chosen career full - time, but his mother implored him not to, and, well, he suddenly felt bad about the fact that they’ve never been very close. he had never been very close with anyone, in fact – not even his dad who he has so much in common with, or his mentor at the radio station who gave him 9pm - 5am time slot and all of the career advice he’d gathered throughout his many years in the industry.

one mini not - even - quarter - life crisis later, sage had met a lot of people, trudged into work hungover but also still a little crossfaded at 5:30pm on a tuesday or two, but he hadn’t really made any new friends. he did meet a girl, though. and he fell for her, because she was fun and exuberant and she liked him.

she probably wasn’t really ready for commitment, which sage wasn't entirely clear on, and so he proposed soon after finishing college. and was turned down. the only serious relationship he’s ever really had, and the only break up with a real sense of finality to it that he’s ever gone through still gets to him even though months have passed. he only recently brought himself to return the ring he bought for her, as accurately reported by nepoupdates.

nowadays, jive talkin’ teller is a quite literally the most recognizable voice among those nyc night owls who happen to also like led zeppelin and half - stoned ramblings about the greatest guitarists of all time. his skills, his resume, and his family name lend much credibility to his opinions in the eyes of the public ( so if anyone has a musician muse that they want sage to talk shit about on his show lmk ). he’s been credited with starting a radio renaissance of sorts, which makes him really happy because there’s nothing that he’s more passionate about than radio.

personality. he’s on air from 9pm - 5am and sleeps like a rock, so no matter how close one thinks they are to him, if he’s their emergency contact then it’s in their best interest to simply not have any emergencies between the hours of 7am - 3pm because he literally will not answer even if it’s his day off. he’s still painfully shy in person to anyone he’s never met before, but if he’s comfortable with someone then he’s never shutting up, especially not about music. a little judgmental, and pretentious, and definitely a music snob, but sage insists that he’s got the best taste and he just has a lot of passion ; both love and hate. however, he's a patented Man Of Few Words and is often regarded as being emotionally distant because of this. he still doesn’t have a lot of friends, and often tends to be off in his own little world where music stopped being made in 1978 for some reason.

#nepofm.intro

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quokkacore · 4 years ago

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can you dig it? (m) [kim doyoung & kim jungwoo]

summary: post concert highs can be a real bummer, and tonight, after a particularly intense performance, your boyfriends help you come down.

pairing: kim doyoung x kim jungwoo x fem!reader

genre: poly!au, 70s!au, band!au, smut, fluff

warnings: drug usage (weed specifically), mentions of other substances (lsd and cocaine), shotgunning, established poly relationship, soft dom jungwoo, mentioned switch jungwoo, hard dom doyoung, sub reader, high sex, sex on a water bed!!, unprotected sex, spit kink, they're all so sweaty help, mxm, degradation kink, praise kink, orgasm denial, overstimulation, minor possessiveness

song recs: don’t stop - fleetwood mac // unlock it (feat. kim petras & jay park) - charli xcx // love her madly - the doors // ziggy stardust - david bowie // rhiannon - fleetwood mac // eclipse - kim lip (loona) // flick of the wrist - queen

word count: 5.4k

a/n: this is for my best friend, who i love with all my heart,bc last month we were talking abt the dowoo photoshoot and she said smth about high sex with dowoo. happy birthday queen <3 thank u for listening to me complain abt writing all the time :’)

masterlist

Friday, July 22rd, 1977

The concert hall smelled like cocaine and sweat, you noted to yourself as the three of you joined hands to bow. Cheers from the crowd bounced off of the walls as you bid them your final goodbye, wishing them a good night and telling them to drive safe. Still, their chanting persisted. "Seoul Motel! Seoul Motel! Seoul Motel!"

You wondered vaguely if this was what it was like to be a young god.

The curtain lowered, and the three of you were ushered offstage, to take some pictures and then head back to the hotel, to try and get some rest before you were off to Philadelphia, some five or so hours from where you were now: Boston.

Truthfully, everything passed in a blur. It was almost always like this after these concerts. The thrill and euphoria of performing made it difficult to focus on things. That might have also been because Jungwoo had passed you a joint before the concert. You couldn't be completely sure.

Your tambourine and guitar seemingly disappeared, but you knew it would show up tomorrow for soundcheck when you got to the Philadelphia venue, right along with Jungwoo's bass guitar and Doyoung's drum kit.

What you did know was that here, in the car back to the hotel that your manager was driving, lecturing you and Jungwoo about the importance of being sober when talking to reporters, Doyoung had a hand on your thigh, and that was all you could focus on.

Doyoung was high too. You knew this because ten minutes before you were needed on stage he pulled you forward by the hips and told you to take a few hits from the hand rolled joint and blow the smoke into his mouth. Of course, he wasn't as high as you and Jungwoo were, and he knew how to hide it better. But if you were to get close enough you'd notice the redness rimming his eyes, the dilation of his pupils.

The three of you were something, that was for sure. You had been, probably ever since Jungwoo joined the band, some eight years ago, in the fall of '69. You only really defined what you were once you got your first big hit thanks to some disc jockey in LA playing a song you had written, Calabasas, on the radio back in '73.

The song had blown up, and suddenly the three of you were whisked into a whirlwind of celebrities, drugs, paparazzi and producers who thought the three of you were born yesterday. Yes, you were college kids that ran on booze and weed, but you weren’t complete morons. That was when the three of you sat down to properly discuss boundaries, what slid and what didn’t.

You and your boys decided that night that weren’t down with the idea of everyone knowing. Too many prying eyes. The public didn’t really know, because the press would have a damn field day.

Other than that, it was a pretty open secret. In the industry, who was going around with who didn’t really matter—a lot of them were too off their face to even care. You realized that a few years back when David Bowie walked in on you watching Jungwoo and Doyoung get it on in a bathroom at some afterparty in New York City, and closed the door muttering something about how strong the edibles were.

So, what your manager said fell on deaf ears. Too much weed, too much adrenaline, too much energy for someone who needed to head back onto the road in a few hours.

When you finally got back to the hotel, Jungwoo grabbed your hand in the elevator on the way up to your rooms, which were right next to each other. "You said that your bed was really big… can we come up?"

You nodded, leaning against his arm. Doyoung hummed affectionately at the sight, noting how tired you both were.

"You two are about five seconds from passing out," Doyoung mumbled, and you waved your hand in denial.

"Are not," you protested like a child.

"Y/N, don't be a chump. I'm pretty sure if Woo weren't next to you, you'd have fallen over."

You didn't have the energy to counter, and as the elevator slid open, you were the first one to march out, ready to just take a cold shower and die for the next few hours.

Realistically, you knew that wasn't what would happen. What would happen was that you would shower, get into bed and then toss and turn for another hour or so. Only then would the adrenaline truly wear off. The weed didn't help, making you feel sleepy.

You unlocked the door, and Doyoung and Jungwoo gawked at the sight—and size—of your bed. It could probably fit all three of you easily.

Since only one room would spark rumors, the manager usually booked two: one for Doyoung and Jungwoo and one for you. Your room always went unused. Usually, you would have to push Doyoung's and Jungwoo's beds together to make enough room, leaving an awkward and uncomfortable dip for the person in the middle. Whoever got the middle was handed the terrible double edged sword: cuddles galore, but a sore back in the morning.

Immediately Jungwoo jumped onto the bed, gasping and immediately laughed gleefully as the bed sloshed underneath him.

"A water bed!?" He exclaimed, splaying out his limbs. "Oh, far out. You really lucked out, dollface."

He kicked off his shoes and curled up in the middle, eyes fluttering shut. You followed, sitting at the side as you peeled off your white leather go-go boots. Throwing yourself down next to him, you sighed at the sensation of waves beneath you, and nodded. "Oh, this is ace," You murmured, "Feels great."

Peeling one eye open as Jungwoo wrapped his arm around you, your gaze landed on Doyoung, who was still leaning against the wall. You beckoned him over with a hand. "C'mere, princey."

He made sure that the air conditioner was working before sitting down on the other side of Jungwoo, for which you were grateful. The still drying sweat on the back of your neck and on your chest started to cool instantly. You and Jungwoo giggled as Doyoung’s weight sent waves rippling beneath you.

"So, are you guys gonna sleep or what?" Doyoung asked, kicking his shoes off as well and peeling off his denim jacket. His eyes were still wide open and he didn't look tired at all. "I'm probably staying up a little later, I have some ideas for some lyrics I want to get down—"

"I would love to sleep. But I can't," Jungwoo declared before glancing knowingly at the both of you, "and neither can either of you."

You hummed in agreement. "Hmm, you're not wrong. Too much energy left."

You turned to bury your face into his chest. His forest green short-sleeved button up was only buttoned up halfway, easily revealing his collarbones. He smelled like pot, sweat, and designer cologne. His chest rumbled as he continued to speak.

"What about you, bunny boy? You can't tell me you don't still feel it."

"The weed or the concert jitters?" Doyoung's voice was raspy, cautious. He had a feeling he knew where this conversation was going. Once you and Jungwoo ganged up on him, it wouldn't take long to wear him down.

"Both," You and Jungwoo said in unison. You laughed at the sound. Doyoung chuckled as well, and you cracked your eyes open, despite how cozy you felt with Jungwoo stroking the skin of your nape.

"Well, the jitters are still there. That's why I'm staying up. As for the weed… well, yeah. I still feel it."

Jungwoo sighed. "How's the weed hitting you, though?"

"Honestly?" Doyoung's eyes met yours, and you felt something simmer in your chest. He huffed, deciding to take a bite of the apple, and leaned towards the both of you.

"The weed, plus watching you two perform… Safe to say I'm pretty fuckin' horny right now."

You bit your lip, giving him a sleepy grin. "Oh, Woo, we turned him on." The teasing tone wasn't missed despite the sleepiness in your tone.

"And what about it?" Doyoung asked, leaning back on his hands. "You can't say that watching Jungwoo do the thing doesn't get you going."

"I have a thing?"

"We all have a thing, Woo. Princey's over there is at the end of Mr. Jones' Motorcycle. You know, when he finishes the solo? He always throws his head back, because there's sweat and hair in his eyes. You can see his neck and shit..."

Jungwoo blinked. "Shit, that is his thing… What's mine?"

You raised an eyebrow at Doyoung. "His is the thing where he gets so into it that he throws his head back and plays, and still manages to get every bass note right, right?"

Doyoung nodded with a satisfied hum. "Gets you going, right?"

You brought a hand up to Jungwoo's chest, slowly sliding it down his stomach. Your voice lowered to a raspy murmur, and Jungwoo's hand tightened around your waist. "Damn right it does."

"And plus, you both have told me that watching me put together the drum kit is hot."

"'Cause it is!" Again you laughed as Jungwoo said the same thing you did.

"Jungwoo." Doyoung's voice sounded thicker. "You can't tell me that Y/N isn't an absolute vixen on stage."

"You're right," The younger man answered, voice gruff. His hand slid down, gripping your butt and giving it a light squeeze, before directing his words at you. "Oh! Y/N, your thing is when—you know how every time you play the transition from Calabasas to Saturn’s Rings you sway your hips and flip your hair back and forth? Sometimes you’ll look at me or at Doyoung while you do, and you looked at me tonight. You're a little tease up there, dollface."

Your breath hitched at their words. “Oh, yeah?” You goaded, cuddling further into Jungwoo’s chest. You let a coy smile grace your face as your eyes fluttered shut. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Don’t be a brat,” Doyoung growled.

“No, Doie,” Jungwoo hummed. He suddenly sounded a lot more awake. “...What would you have her do about it?”

Your eyes fluttered open, swallowing despite the sudden dryness in your throat. Doyoung's pupils were still blown wide, but you were pretty sure it wasn't because of the weed. He licked his lips. "Princess, get on your knees."

Jungwoo prompted you up, pulling you up to stand at the side of the bed. Doyoung circled around the bed, before standing next to Jungwoo. Your gaze fluttered between your two boyfriends, one looking stern, the other looking like he was having the time of his life.

Quietly, you lowered yourself to kneel on the plush carpet, fingers gripping the silver fabric of your dress' skirt to hike it up, so that you wouldn't kneel on it. Your hands itched to reach for them but you knew you needed to ask for permission. "Can I touch you?"

Doyoung smiled, reaching for his belt. "There's our good girl," He said. Your mouth was already watering embarrassingly as you helped him undo his belt, pulling him out of his boxers. He was already half hard, and as you lifted your hand to spit in it, someone grabbed you gently by the rest. Jungwoo leaned over, turning your hand to reveal your palm to him. His eyes seemed to burn into yours as he let his spit fall into the palm of your hand. You felt your legs close, thighs trying to rub together at the sight.

"Go on," Jungwoo murmured, using a hand on your jaw to move your head. Your eyes fell on Doyoung's cock again, slowly getting harder and harder. Your hand wrapped around it, stroking slowly as you met his smoldering gaze. You stroked him until he was rock hard in your grip, and his breathing turned heavy. Again, you swallowed, and Doyoung noticed this time.

“What is it, princess? You want it in your mouth?”

“Yes, please,” You whispered, eyes wide. He chuckled breathily, head tipping back as you ran your thumb over the slit. His eyes met Jungwoo’s, who was palming himself through his pants.

“What do you think, baby?” He asked him.

“Don’t be mean, Doyoung,” Jungwoo said softly. “Look at her, she’s desperate. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

You whined, nodding. The pair chuckled. Jungwoo grinned at the state you were already in. “Go ahead, dollface. Give it a kiss.”

Before Doyoung could say anything else, you took his dick into your mouth, and let out a soft moan at how heavy he felt, hot and pulsing. He let out a guttural groan of your name, a hand burying itself in your hair. His other hand gripped Jungwoo’s shirt, pulling him forward to meet in a tongue-filled kiss.

Slowly, Doyoung’s hips started rocking back and forth, grinding into your mouth. Your hands stroked what you couldn’t fit, as well as his balls. Your eyes fluttered shut, trying to relax so as to not gag on his length. But when he sped up, it became too much to avoid.

A tap on your shoulder, and Doyoung let you off of his cock. You turned your head to look up at a very flushed Jungwoo, who had pulled his dick out of his pants as well. The words, “Me too?” tumbled out of his swollen lips. And with that gentle, breathy tone, who were you to disobey?

You wrapped your lips around Jungwoo, who hissed at the sudden heat of your mouth. From there, something primal inside of you took control, wanting nothing more than to please—you took turns sucking them off and stroking them, the muffled sounds of their moaning spurring you on.

It was always like this—during sex, Doyoung was the meaner one, manhandling you and throwing degrading words in your face that made your stomach curl in sick pleasure. He was the one who could put you in your place when you became too bratty to handle. Jungwoo was gentler, but he was all too content to watch Doyoung toss you around. He would always swoop in after Doyoung took you apart, and piece you back together. He’d tell you how good you were, how good you made the both of them feel, and while he definitely didn’t treat you like fragile porcelain, he definitely didn’t leave as many bruises as Doyoung did.

And then, when they were both done, they’d shower you in kisses, and whisper in your ear how grateful they were to love you, and say some philosophical thing about eternal love and the cosmos that you’d always be too fucked out to comprehend, but that made your heart do a backflip regardless.

“Shit,” Jungwoo groaned, pulling away from Doyoung’s lips. “Y/N, I’m gonna cum.”

You pulled off of Doyoung to look up at Jungwoo. “In my—in my mouth, please, Woo.”

He nodded, licking his lips as his hands fisted themselves in your hair, gripping but not pulling as he allowed you to touch him the way you wanted. His hands gathered the loose strands into a makeshift ponytail, using it to guide your mouth up and down his hot cock. His hips bucked into your willing mouth, the sound of his hissing and his moaning getting louder and louder, until…

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Y/N… Y/N!" He groaned, as he came into your mouth. His head tipped back, which gave Doyoung access to his neck, pressing sloppy kisses to the skin. This sight was worth the bitter taste that coated your tongue: one of your lovers in ecstasy while the other anchored him to the ground.

He left his dick in your mouth for a moment, before pulling out with a shaky breath. Doyoung pulled away, letting him breathe. As Jungwoo caught his breath, Doyoung pulled you up, and he sat on the bed, bringing you down with him to straddle his lap.

You turned your head to face Jungwoo, who smiled at you, coming closer to the both of you. One of his hands patted the top of your head. "That was wicked," He said.

Doyoung smiled softly, and gripped your chin to get you to face him. His sweet grin didn't disappear as his grip forced your mouth open. He groaned at the sight of your tongue coated in Jungwoo's semen.

"Gorgeous," He mumbled, eyes trained on your lips as it began to spill out.

"Kiss her," Jungwoo told him, "You know you want to."

So he did, his tongue almost immediately slipping past your lips to get a taste of Jungwoo for himself, swallowing it down greedily. Your hands came up to unbutton his black dress shirt, and his hands pushed up the skirt of your dress to get you to rock your hips against his. You gasped against his mouth at the feeling of only your soaked panties separating him and you, before pushing the shirt off of him.

He moved to lie you down on the bed. As he pulled away from you, you caught his tongue slipping out to lick at a dribble of Jungwoo's cum on his lips. To make matters even worse, the bed was rolling beneath you, making your head spin.

Jungwoo pulled his shirt off before he sat down behind you. Meanwhile, Doyoung moved down your body, parting your legs. He prompted you to sit up, resting your back against his chest. He pressed a kiss to your earlobe as Doyoung peeled your underwear off of you, biting his lip at the sight of your drooling pussy.

"You're absolutely drenched, princess. And all from sucking our cocks, huh?"

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut as Jungwoo's lips began kissing along your jaw. When you didn't say anything, Jungwoo pinched your sides gently. "Use your words, doll," He whispered. From behind you, his eyes met Doyoung's. "You're gonna keep being our good little girl, right?"

"Y-yes, Jungwoo." Your hand lifted itself to press against his cheek, a silent plea for more kisses. He smiled against your skin.

"Atta girl," He praised, "On your best behavior for us tonight, huh?"

"The little slut's just being good because she wants to get fucked, Woo. Don't get it twisted."

"Please, Doie," You pleaded at the mention of being fucked, "Need it."

The older man chuckled lowly, pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit.

"Told you."

His tongue pressed itself against your hole, and you immediately cried out. You would have immediately started grinding against Doyoung's face if it weren't for Jungwoo's hands on your hips, holding you down and keeping it still.

"I don't think you wanna do that," He murmured. His hands travelled underneath your skirt, gripping the silvery blue gossamer as he tried to lift it up. You did your best to keep your squirming at a minimum as you tried to help him get you out of it. Finally, the bell sleeves were pulled off, and you were left naked as the day you were born.

Jungwoo’s hands moved to your breasts, playing with them as he watched you whimper at the sensation of Doyoung’s mouth working at your folds. When he slipped his tongue inside, you keened, head falling against Jungwoo’s shoulder.

“You’re so pretty like this,” He whispered.

Your chest heaved, squirming up and down as he began to tug and pinch your nipples, calloused fingertips making you cry out.

Doyoung’s free hand gripped your thigh, and his fingers on the other hand slipped inside when he pulled his tongue out. Immediately, he plunged in two fingers, curling his fingers as he attempted to search for that one special spot.

"Ngh, Doie, faster, pleasepleaseplease." Your legs were trembling slightly now.

"So fucking slutty," Doyoung mumbled, chuckling wickedly, "And all I had to do was stick my fingers inside."

He complied with no protest, and the sensation of Doyoung stroking your walls and Jungwoo continuously pawing at your breasts caused a string of moans to come pouring out of your mouth. Jungwoo had been sucking a bruise into your clavicle, but leaned up to press his lips against yours.

"Don't want anyone hearing what's meant for Doie and I," He said, lips brushing yours.

The idea made you even needier, the double entendre making your head spin. Jungwoo didn't want anyone to hear you because if they did, rumors would spread. And on top of that? He didn't want anyone to hear. You were theirs. They were yours. This was a sacred ritual between bodies meant to be witnessed by only the three of you.

Your head felt like you were floating, even though your limbs felt like they were sinking into the watery mattress. A coil began to tighten in your stomach, and your soft whines, muffled by Jungwoo's plush lips, increased in pitch.

They both knew what this meant, because a second later, Doyoung removed his fingers from your core, and Jungwoo pulled away, his hands moving from your breasts to rest on Doyoung's atop your hips. You were left reeling and breathing heavily, that familiar sensation floating away.

When you looked down at Doyoung, you swallowed at the sight of his lips, chin and fingers, all glistening with your wetness.

He lifted himself up off the mattress, and proceeded to sandwich your chest in between his own chest and Jungwoo’s back. He gripped his dick, rubbing it against your folds, which were now even more soaked than before.

"Tell me how much you want it, princess." He pressed his forehead against yours, hissing when the tip caught your clit. You let out a desperate whine, clinging to his broad shoulders.

"Do—Doyoung, please fuck me," You begged, reeling at the sensation. He was so close, all he had to do was slide in. But he refused.

"Not good enough," He insisted.

"Doyoung, don't be mean," Jungwoo said, but he seemed to be more amused by your desperation than anything.

"No, I wanna hear how much she needs us."

You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to gather your words. Jungwoo's hands stroked your sides, trying to calm you down. "You doing alright, doll? You wanna take a breather?"

"We can always stop." Doyoung's voice had turned stable, secure, safe. He started pulling away, until you grabbed him by the forearm and shook your head. You opened your eyes, seeing concern in his eyes

“No,” You mumbled, “Jus’ want some water. Think there’s some in the minibar. ‘M really hot.”

Doyoung nodded, getting up and striding over to the small refrigerator on the other side of the room. He pulled out a water bottle, and popped open the cap before passing it to you. Jungwoo had taken to fanning your face lightly with his hand. You took several long swigs of water, before setting it on the nightstand.

“I’m fine,” You promised. “Can we please keep going? I can take it.”

Doyoung pressed a kiss to your temple. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yeah,” You said with a nod.

“Doyoung,” Jungwoo murmured, “Be careful.”

“I know, baby." He lowered his eyes to study your face. "I won’t go that hard on you, Y/N.”

You nodded, even though deep down you wanted to protest. You knew that this was probably the best route to take. You could already feel the high—from the weed and the concert—wearing off. You knew that if Doyoung were too rough you’d probably crash on the way down instead of float.

So, Jungwoo brushed some stray hair out of your sweaty face, and Doyoung grabbed your legs gently, wrapping them around his hips. Slowly, Doyoung eased in, and you sighed in satisfaction of finally being filled. He bit into your shoulder, taking deep heaving breaths as he let you get used to the sensation. Jungwoo took turns pressing kisses to the top of your head and the top of Doyoung’s head.

“I love you both so much,” He whispered, “I’m so grateful the universe brought us together.”

Doyoung looked up at him, pressing a kiss to his lips. “My baby,” He murmured against Jungwoo’s lips. He then turned to you and did the same, “My princess.”

You smiled at their words, but the need in your core was becoming unbearable. "Doie, Woo, I love you both so much," You murmured, "But Doyoung, if you don't move I'll pin you down and do it myself."

"And you were doing so well," Doyoung groaned with a laugh, before beginning to thrust his hips. It was a slow, torturous glide, and the way it caused the bed to rock left you dizzy in the best possible way. Doyoung was panting into your ear like some sort of beast, and you were whining softly with every cant of his hips.

"You must feel so good right now, huh, doll?"

"Jung—woo," You moaned, clawing at his bicep.

"I know, dolly, I know." He sounded sympathetic enough, but the way he was grinding his dick against your ass suggested otherwise. "Bunny boy is just so good with those hips of his, hm?"

"H-he is!" You cried, "Feel so full, ah, Doyoung!"

Doyoung's eyes met yours, and his hips picked up their pace, until your eyes rolled up into your head. Your head thrashed side to side, leaning against Jungwoo's shoulder. His mouth lowered once again to kiss at your neck, and your hand wrapped itself against his nape, while the other gripped Doyoung's shoulders.

Jungwoo's hands slithered down to where you and Doyoung were connected, and started rubbing at your clit. You shrieked, chest arching. Doyoung hissed. "Shit, do that again," He bit out, "Fuck, princess you just got so tight."

"D-Doie, harder!"

Doyoung looked up at Jungwoo, the two having an unspoken conversation. A second later, Jungwoo gave a cautious nod. Doyoung smiled, before he adjusted his legs. Then…

Then. He began pounding into you at a breakneck pace. Your legs tightened around him, wanting him even deeper than before.

"You love this, don't you? Our pretty little slut." His voice was tighter now, panting with exertion. You nodded.

"Yes, yes! I'm your slut!"

Doyoung grinned, before locking lips with you. His tongue dipped into your mouth, before letting you do the same to him. You could tell he was starting to feel something—he always kissed you or Jungwoo as a way of telling you he wouldn't last much longer.

Truthfully, you could feel it coming too—your body felt like it was on fire, and your hips couldn't stop squirming. Whether it was towards Jungwoo's calloused fingers on your clit, Doyoung's cock, or away from both, you couldn't tell. Your moans were getting shriller too.

You clenched down on his length again, and he grit his teeth, grunting as his pace turned sloppy.

"C-c'mon, princey," You pleaded, "Give it to me, give it…"

"Shit, yes…" His head lolled onto your shoulder. "Gonna stuff you so full, princess, you'll be dripping—"

"Please! Oh, please—"

The two of you fell apart almost at the same time, your orgasm triggering Doyoung's a second later. Your mouth fell open, legs trembling and heart pounding as waves crashed over and under you.

When you came down, Doyoung rolled off of you, turning onto his side to watch you and Jungwoo. Jungwoo, who ceased the movements of his hands and slowly laid you down. Your head landed against the pillows, and you let your eyes shut as you caught your breath.

"Can I take care of you one last time, doll?" You heard Jungwoo say. Your eyes opened blearily, and you reached a hand out towards him, legs parting of their own accord.

Both of your lovers groaned at the sight of your pussy, Doyoung's cum brimming from your folds.

"Absolute perfection," Jungwoo murmured, crawling between your legs. He gripped his dick with one hand, the other swiping through your folds, and you immediately whined at the sensitivity there, teetering the fine line between pleasure and pain.

"Please," You whimpered, "Woo, I want it."

"You're insatiable." He sounded so affectionate, so in love. You watched as his eyes studied his index and middle fingers, covered in a mix of Doyoung's cum and yours, before dipping them into his mouth to lick them clean. You sighed, a dopey smile gracing your features. He lowered himself down to brush noses with you, dark eyes blown wide, wide awake despite the dark circles underneath.

"Guess I'll just have to do something about that."

He slid in as if he was coming home, immediately setting a solid pace that had you seeing stars, arms wrapping around his shoulders to lock hands at his nape. The sensitivity left you pliant in his arms, and Jungwoo didn't hesitate in cradling you in his arms.

"So good for us, Y/N. Always Doie and I's sweet girl."

You nodded, tears brimming at your eyes at the heaviness in your chest, the pulsing in your core. His hair was falling into his eyes, and you lifted your hands to his face, doing your best to brush it away. Your hands cupped his cheeks, heavy eyes burning into his. Your hips were rutting against his desperately now, wanting nothing more than to feel that high with him.

Jungwoo pressed a brief kiss to your neck, feeling something simmer in his gut embarrassingly fast.

Doyoung placed his head next to yours, gently lifting Jungwoo's head to kiss him, hand brushing the other man's ass. When he pulled away, he kissed you as well, and Jungwoo's mouth pressed itself to one of your nipples. You keened against Doyoung's mouth, hips losing all semblance of grace.

Here, you were needy, animalistic, running on instincts, and your boys were drinking it up like water from a desert oasis.

Doyoung pulled away, a thin trail of spit connecting his lips to yours. His hands cradled your head.

"Can you feel it yet, princess?"

Your eyebrows furrowed, silent moans falling from your lips. "Ah, yeah, Doie… s-so close…"

"Me too," Jungwoo groaned between your breasts, "So wet, Y/N…"

"That's from all the cum she's filled with, right, princess?"

You nodded. "Mm—ngh! Stuffed me so good, Doie."

"Yeah? You gonna let Jungwoo fill you up even more? Gonna keep it all inside, right?"

Your stomach did a backflip, and you felt your toes curl. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, I want it—"

"I'll give it to you, doll," Jungwoo growled, "It's all—fuck—all yours. S-same way this is all for us, right?"

Those words were what caused you to finally fall over the edge. Your high was so intense that you could have sworn that your ears popped—clawing at Jungwoo’s shoulders, your eyes squeezed shut. Only one side ended up scratched, since you always kept your right hand nails short to properly play guitar. You sobbed against Doyoung’s lips, and he eagerly swallowed up your cries, shushing you gently as you came back down.

You didn't feel Jungwoo come inside, but you felt it immediately afterwards—the satisfying stickiness, the warmth in your stomach.

You looked at Jungwoo, pressing a soft kiss to his sweaty forehead before prompting him to move off. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you towards him as his little spoon, peppering kisses to your cheek and whispering how good you were. The two of you looked at Doyoung. You reached out, making grabby hands at him. His eyes were drooping, and he was blinking blearily as if he were trying to fight off sleep.

Still, he got up and pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, as well as his lighter. As he sat back down on the bed, the waves sent you and Jungwoo further and further into the recesses of slumber. As consciousness left you, you caught Doyoung looking down at the two of you as if you were the most precious beings he'd ever encountered. His tone was low and grumbly, but there was a glint of smug satisfaction in his eye.

"I hope you two are happy. I can't remember those goddamn lyrics anymore."

#kwritersworldnet #nct smut #doyoung x reader #jungwoo x reader #doyoung smut #jungwoo smut #kpop smut #kpop au #nct scenarios #nct 127 smut #nct 127 x reader #nct x reader #nct fluff #my writing

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rintarhue · 4 years ago

Text

love maze ☆ chapter eight - powerful woman

series masterlist | previous | next

content warnings: men being stupid, misogyny, KAM2020

Different shades of city lights kissed your skin; shades of blue and purple reflected all around. The trip back to your apartment was quick. Though, the night seemed colder than usual. You forgot to bring a jacket, which was quite a stupid decision on your end. As you trudged your way in your apartment building, you passed by familiar faces; giving a polite smile and a nod, they mirrored your actions.

It was when you were spacing out in the elevator when you felt that something was missing.

Tote bag with your important stuff? Slung on your shoulder, check.

Water bottle? Inside the tote bag, check.

Wallet? Inside the tote bag as well, check.

Phone? In your jean pocket, check.

“Fuck!” You shouted. Thankfully, no one was in the elevator with you, but you were still loud. Wobbling in your own two feet, you accidentally bang your head on the metal front. “Fuck—fuck! Fuck this shit!”

You left your sandwich bag.

“You stupid, bitch!” The elevator doors open, with you, repeatedly slapping your forehead. “Stupid, stupid, stupid! You’ve done nothing good!” Exclaiming, you stand up, only to face a confused stare of a grandma in her 70s. She offers you a polite smile, but it comes off more of a grimace. You nodded, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. You hurriedly walked past her, bringing your things with you.

As you walk to your apartment, thoughts rush through your head. This is the thousandth time you’ve embarrassed yourself—and it was as if you lived to be stupid. Great.

Before you could take your key from your bag, a drunk neighbor appeared in your sight. You liked to call him Mr. 260 D Cube; disastrous, demonic, and a straight-up dick. 260 because that was his apartment number, just beside yours, which is 261. You're used to him, but tonight, you felt even more aggravated and exhausted. You didn’t want to deal with his bullshit right now.

It’s difficult being pregnant, you know?

He usually just asks for your number, but tonight’s different. “Hey sexy,” he slurs, stumbling his way towards you. Sighing, you rolled your eyes. With this, he suddenly switches sides. Men are so fucking fragile. Once you turn against them, they immediately villainize you. “Did you just roll your eyes at me, bitch?!”

Your eyes met his; they were big, red, and dangerous. Feeling extremely uncomfortable, you choose to ignore him. You rummaged through your bag to find your keys whilst Mr. 260 D Cube continued to annoy you.

“Listen bitch! Do you think you’re so fucking high and mighty? Who do you think you are?” He exclaimed. “You think you’re so powerful? You’re just a woman! You’re weak!”

Rage filled your body; huffing a cackle, smoke came out of your nostrils. Taking a step forward, you faced your neighbor with a sickly smile on your face. Raising your hand to slap him, he visibly cowered, fear settling in his form.

“Pathetic,” you mused. You stepped forward as he walked backward. Due to this drunken state, he stumbled on his own feet, making him fall on the floor. You drop your head slightly to see his face, though, not thinking of kneeling at all—you knew not to stoop low. “Can’t speak now, huh? Look who’s weak now.”

Mr. 260 D Cube grits his teeth, “I’m not, bitch!”

Your key was inside your other jean packet. Holding it tightly in your hand, you used it to open your door. But before entering, you walked to your neighbor’s sitting position. He stared up at you, eyes filled with fury.

“You even locked yourself in your apartment, again.” You laughed. Before he could speak, you raised your middle finger and said, “Try to speak and I’ll make you my bitch and spit on you.”

Your legs led you to your door, and with a loud bang, it closed.

Unknown to you, Sakusa saw the whole scene unfold. His hands held your sandwich bag, a shocked yet proud expression plastered on his face. He was enraged at the man who sat pathetically on the floor, beside your apartment. You didn’t deserve any of that treatment at all—any woman didn't deserve that.

He stalked towards him, and before he knocked on your door, he faced your neighbor and dumped the extra contents of the sandwich from earlier—onions and extra mustard fell on top of his head.

“Maybe with this, they’ll think you’re a snack,” Sakusa mockingly praised your neighbor. “Don’t anger her, she’s a powerful woman—more powerful than you’ll ever be.”

— i love you y/n you powerful WOMAN. QUEEN SHIT!

— this is all just narration (also it’s unedited) ... heh

— i hate men <3 except my kpop and anime men. but still 😁👍

taglist: @iwavibes @cremeandstrawberries @chaichai-the-weeb @kellesvt @imuziawi @toaster-stick @mx-minxx @pumpkinpatchkid @expectopenetration @tsukkx @bokutos-h0e @gayrainbowpoops @angrylittleriri @girlyluke @creativedogs @tanakaslastbraincell @kaylaphantomhive @idiot-juice-enthusiast @mint-mai @melodiamore @sunaluvbot @momo-has-a-gun @moremilkforkags @rachirachi @asdfghjkl7things @erinoikawa (bold can't tag)

send an ask if you wanna be added! <3

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6sakusa · 4 years ago

Text

‘play’ suna rintarō.

warnings: angsty af lol sorry, implications of a toxic relationship, smoking, mild swearing.

“i just want you to understand how i feel.” you huffed, doing your honest best to hold back your screams and shouts. you and suna had been in his car for hours, him quietly listening to you complain about how he’d been neglecting you without much care, with one blunt in his hand and the other on the steering wheel. you pleading for him to hear you out and change his ways even though you knew it was a long shot and that he was barely listening from his lack of reactions.

“suna.” you raised your voice this time, breaking whatever trance he’d seem to be as he deterred his stare from up ahead turning to you at the use of his last name. “suna?” he spat, his expression growing dark repeating your words back to you with a scoff. “have you even been listening to what i’m saying?” you sighed, burying your head in your hands as the lowly vibration of his moving car rang throughout your body.

“you were saying i don’t treat you well enough or some shit, am i right?” he bore his usual deadpanned expression with a lazy tone as if he couldn’t even be bothered to give a fuck about how you felt. the vehicle became engulfed in silence as he took another hit of his blunt waiting on your response.

“you don’t seem to care much.. as usual.” your voice trailed off towards the end, your eyes wandered to the window, taking in the view of the moving scenery before you. “what’s that supposed to mean, princess?” he chuckled , emphasising the last word in a mockish tone highlighting just how entitled he truly thought you were acting.

“it means i want to spend more time with you, and not when you’re like this.” you gestured towards the blunt in his hand, anger beginning to bubble up in your abdomen as you realised you had to ask your own boyfriend to want to spend time with you. “you’re with me right now no?” he took one more hit before rolling down the window and chucking out the blunt before turning back to face you. “see, and now that’s gone, this is what you want right?” he gripped the steering wheel just a fraction harder than before.

“yeah but i want something more, like a real date.” you sighed in both appreciation and exasperation, watching how the two of you were beginning to drive out of the city behind you and onto the motorway at 2am in the dead of the night. “God you’re so high maintenance, you know that angel?” he smirked, smoothing over his words with pet names. you scoffed leaning back into the passenger seat not letting the implicated insult fly over your head.

“well, if you really want to go on a date let’s go somewhere right now.” he smiled lazily and suddenly butterflies arose in your stomach which was a feeling that had been absent for the longest time. “really rin?” you leaned over hugging his abdomen as he raked his hands through your hair, the sensation had always calmed you. “yeah, if that’s what you want.” he chuckled, retracting his seat slightly before lightly pushing you back to your own.

“so where are we going?” your excitement was practically pouring out and you had stars in your eyes as you watched your boyfriends features slightly contourt as he contemplated. “you’ll see.” he shot you a devilish smirk before turning back to the steering wheel, retracting his seat further. you raised an eyebrow but disregarded his statement as a surprise.

closing your eyes you smiled into the passenger seat, humming in content as you were finally getting what you wanted. “is your seatbelt on?” suna’s voice broke through the silence but he didn’t bother to spare you a glance to actually check. “yeah?” you responded in a puzzled tone before the car began speeding up immensely. “rin what are you doing?” you gripped the seat below you.

he didn’t bother responding and instead flashes you an unrecognisable look before chuckling, applying slightly more pressure to the peddle below him making the two of you go even faster. “you’re approaching the speed limit too fast, slow down.” you scoffed expecting him his actions to align with your orders but alas you were wrong, horribly and miserably wrong.

instead, he pressed down even harder, glancing at you to capture your reaction as you watched him wide eyed and you could swear he was enjoying it. “you’re approaching 70.” your eyes flicked to the monitor and back to his face continuously in the hopes of him choosing the slow down but he hardly seemed to care, biting back a laugh he slid his hand to the edge of your seat, reclining it just like his.

“what the fuck are you doing.” you swatted his hand away as you watched the car surpass the speed limit. you couldn’t fully see what was going on ahead anymore as your eyeline was met with the dashboard. “put my seat back up.” you shot him a venomous glare and even he could tell that you weren’t playing anymore, yet he still didn’t reply.

your breath began to hitch as he approached 120, a lump forming in your throat gripping the door handle besides you. “stop the fucking car.” you were raising your voice now, you weren’t in control of your the way you were reacting, it all seemed so involuntary, like your body had gone into autopilot as you faced a situation that you were completely helpless in. you were panicking, big time.

you resisted the force pushing you backwards leaning over to shake your boyfriend into listening to your pleas as he approached 200 on the motorway, miles above the speed limit. “suna stop, please.” tears had began to form, glazing over your eyes. ‘we’re going to die’ you thought to yourself biting your bottom lip harsh enough to draw blood while you pleaded with your boyfriend to stop with no avail.

before you knew it your own words we’re being drowned out, what were you even saying again? it was all a blur as different memories began to bombard your thoughts, equally happy and tragic. ah, it made sense now.. your life was flashing before your eyes and you were just realising it as you sat motionless in the passenger seat, tears finding their way into your lap in a pathetic silence.

at the absence of your pestering suna looked over to see you in an almost catatonic state, everything about you was utterly lifeless and if it wasn’t for your visible crying he would swear that you were dead. “y/n?” he asked slowing down the car to 40 in mere seconds. “y/n i was just kidding.” he moved to shake you to reality. “hey y/n.” he waved a hand in front of your face, eyes flickering between you and the road up ahead.

“stop the car.” you said in a croaked whisper, as if speaking up just the slighest bit would utterly break you. for the first time in your entire life you could say that you were scared, completely scared of suna rintarō. the car came to a halt, but not without hesitation from your boyfriend.

you leaned towards the door without a word, opening it as you tumbled out, barely able to gain your footing. “y/n chill, i was just playing around.” he moved to grab your hand but you pulled it out of his grasp as you stumbled onto the sidewalk. you had no idea where you were apart from that you were not in your city and you also had no idea where you were going. regardless, you turnt backwards and began walking.

“no, i don’t think i want to play anymore.”

you can read more of my suna work here:

8 hours

the man you’d marry

#haikyuu #anime #suna rintaro x reader #hq suna #suna x reader #suna rintaro scenarios #suna rintarō #suna x you #angst #suna angst #haikyuu angst #suna rintaro imagine #suna rintarou #inarizaki #haikyuu suna #haikyuu season 4 #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!

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dakotasgreenkitchen · 4 years ago

Text

Take A Chance On Me- Part 1.

A girl with brown straight hair and hazel eyes sat in the office of the head master in Children’s Home of Washington.

She was 15 and what the staff of the orphanage would say is past the age of anyone ever adopting you. Most workers at the home couldn’t stand her. For reasons she absolutely knew, but could care less about.

“Florence?” The head master’s voice interrupted the music playing through the earbuds as Florence annoyingly sat up.

“Yes?” Florence forced a fake smile, as she took the music out of her ears placing it on the bed.

“Surprisingly there is a family here that wants a teenager for some reason. You happen to be alphabetically first on our list, so get up and put something nice on.” Headmaster Lawrence instructed, turning on her high heels and walking out of the large bedroom Florence was in with the other girls.

Did we also mention the home Florence found herself in also doubled as a school? Lovely wasn’t it.

Florence reluctantly rolled off the bed and opened the trunk at the foot. Pulling out orange corduroy pants, a black shirt sleeve shirt that resembled a turtle neck at the top, and black platform leather boots.

Florence tied her hair into a dutch braid down her back and placed the various vintage rings she owned onto her fingers as she shoved her phone into her pocket and ran to the staircase.

She met Mrs. Lawrence at the bottom adjusting her posture, raising her dark eyebrow for approval.

“You could have chosen something more lady like, you need to make sure these people want you.” Mrs. Lawrence said before walking towards the office prompting Florence to follow her.

“Lady like my ass.” Florence grumbled, her hazel eyes rolling as she trudged behind Mrs. Lawrence the sound of her boots hitting the old wood.

“Okay Dr. Lincoln, Dr. Shepherd this is Florence. She’s 15, a phenomenal student and quite the personality.” Mrs. Lawrence spoke to Amelia and Link as Florence entered placing her ringed hands into her pockets.

“Hi.” Amelia smiled, Link’s hand resting over hers as they sat in the office chairs.

“Hey.” Florence spoke, receiving a stern look from Mrs. Lawrence due to the fact she didn’t hold her hand out for them.

“I will leave you 3 be, I’m outside if you need anything.” Mrs. Lawrence gave a fake smile, that Florence saw directly through as she closed the door.

“So your name is Florence. Can I ask where it came from?” Amelia asked, smiling kindly as Florence sat in the desk across from the two adults.

“The city. I was named after the city in Italy.” Florence said proudly. She had always admired her name, it was different and it made her special.

“That’s cool. Well I’m Link and this is Amelia. So tell us anything about you or ask us anything.” Link said wrapping his arm around Amelia.

Dear god help me. Florence thought to herself, this was the most cliche thing she had ever seen. Like they were too in love for it to be normal.

“Why do you want me?” Florence bluntly asked, her leg crossed as she leaned into the large chair behind her.

“Excuse me?” Amelia chuckled, not quite sure what Florence meant and not wanting to hurt her feelings.

“Like no one asks for kids over the age of probably 6 here and I’m 15 so what on this green earth would make you guys want me?” Florence chuckled, fidgeting with one of the glass rings on her fingers.

“Well we already have a baby. And we recently got told we might not be able to have anymore kids of our own so we looked into adoption. You were the first child they placed us with and we just thought you sounded interesting.” Amelia shrugged, the dimple in her cheek visible as she spoke.

“Okayyy then. Well about myself. My parents died in a fire, so here I am. My favorite music artist is ABBA or anything from the 70’s. I like to read Jane Austen and I like to paint and draw.” Florence said, her eyebrow raised as she spoke.

“That’s cool. I told Amelia when you walked in that your outfit was really neat.” Link smiled, Florence instantly having to hold in her laughter of being called “neat”.

“Thanks. I appreciate that. So you have a baby?” Florence asked, walking around to sit on the desk.

“Yes. Scout hes about 7 months.” Amelia said pulling out her phone to show Florence. Florence leaned forwards smirking at the photo.

“Cute. So why exactly would you want a teenager with a baby? You’ll experience his teenage years eventually.” Florence asked, no attitude in her voice just genuine question.

Florence was enjoying herself, if Mrs. Lawrence was in with her then she would have gotten a talking to about her ruining her chances of being adopted by this very nice family.

“You seemed appealing. I have a niece a few years younger than you and I’ve fostered a teenager before and I enjoyed it.” Amelia said, not going to mention to Florence that Betty was also a drug addict, teen mother that she fostered.

“Is that a tattoo?” Link asked, noticing the black writing on the part of Florence’s arm a little below the side of her wrist.

“Oh yeah, kind of.” Florence chuckled running her fingers over the ink on her wrist.

“What does it say?” Amelia asked as Florence flashed her wrist toward Amelia.

“Divine, my darling. My mother used to tell me that.” Florence said, her eyebrows raising.

Mrs. Lawrence came back in causing Florence to look at her with an annoyed face.

“I hate to interrupt but theres another family here to speak to Florence it seems so-“ Mrs. Lawrence said as she picked up Florence’s file.

“No need. We loved her. Where do we sign?” Link smiled, causing Florence’s mouth to fall to the floor.

“Oh I’ll get the papers and well Miss Florence, you can go collect your things.” Mrs. Lawrence said in surprise, Florence slowly nodding and walking out of the room.

Her mind was confused, why on earth would a couple with a baby want a random teenager in an orphanage.

#amelink fics #amelink fan fic #amelia shepherd #atticus lincoln #scoutderekshepherdlincoln #amelink baby #amelia x link #grey’s anatomy fics #greys anatomy fan fic #abba #queen #retro music #florence

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usergreenpixel · 3 years ago

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Frev prompts, Part 7! 😁

61. (A reimagining of The Phantom of the Opera) An opera singer tries to make it big in Paris of 1800 after the death of her musician father.

Her childhood friend, a son of a formerly noble family who were the patrons of the musician, promised her father to look after his daughter, which this young man does when he is not involved with politics.

One day, while dropping by to congratulate the heroine on getting a breakthrough role, the young man sees a strange disfigured man in a mask singing with her in the dressing room before vanishing.

According to the singer, this is the Angel of Music sent by her father from above, but the man is skeptical. He heard the staff whisper about the strange phantom who has been haunting the opera ever since the Thermidorian Reaction and suspects that this is one of the revolutionaries instead, not a real tortured ghost.

Who knows, maybe the young man is onto something here.

62. After a revolutionary is executed along with his wife, their child becomes an orphan and is sent to live with maternal relatives as there are no other close family members to raise them.

Unfortunately, said relatives are estranged and didn’t have the best relationship with the parents of their nibling (apparently gender neutral for niece or nephew) so the wife isn’t looking forward to raising the baby.

The husband, who is also the protagonist, isn’t too happy about the situation either and old grudges and resentment resurface in him once again. Nevertheless, he knows the baby is innocent and wants to do the right thing.

Can he get over old grudges and raise the child with the love they deserve? Will his marriage have to be sacrificed because of it?

63. When the main character was a child, a fortune teller from a traveling troupe told them that they would find their true love on the road and will live happily ever after.

Years later, after being betrayed by their betrothed, they flee to Paris and meet an attractive stranger among the other travelers in the carriage. Convinced that the stranger is their destiny, the main character decides to find them in Paris, only to find out that the stranger is heavily involved with the revolution.

Is it really true love? Will the main character find their love interest in the city? And if so, will the prediction come true?

64. 1789. The main character, a foreigner who has been captured by pirates, gets caught up in a storm and washes up on a rocky beach in France.

Exhausted, dehydrated, hungry and injured, they only survive due to being found by locals. After recovering, the main character realizes that they are now stranded in a foreign country, far away from home and with no way to get back.

Nor do they want to get back, surprisingly enough. Instead, for some reason, the main character travels to Paris where a revolution has just begun. They don’t like to talk much about themselves but it’s crystal clear that the revolution is a subject of interest to them.

Why? What past is the main character trying to escape? And why does the revolution interest them so much?

65. In the 18th century the rather rigid system was still dividing the French into three estates - the clergy, the nobility and the commoners. That is how it has been so far. Morganatic marriages were quite rare as parents of nobles would usually arrange unions with “their own kind”.

However, every rule has an exception. The main characters are a married couple in which the husband is a noble from an old and powerful family while the wife is a former commoner. The two married due to love and to an onlooker this marriage is so happy that it could have been straight from a fairy tale.

But, as always, things aren’t nearly as easy as they seem and trouble appears in paradise with the revolution rapidly engulfing the country. Still remembering her roots, the wife begins to express her support of the revolution while the husband believes that there’s a better way to resolve the issues of France.

Will the spouses be able to see past these new differences or will the revolution tear this married couple apart? What choices will their children make in this situation? And how will this revolution affect the family?

66. The protagonist is a college student who has recently become independent and decided that they need to live apart from their family.

After searching for a suitable affordable apartment, the protagonist finally finds a place they need but they soon find out that they will have a roommate - a reserved slightly older man who speaks with a noticeable French accent. This roommate is quite friendly, reserved, pays his share of the rent and does his chores so the protagonist doesn’t mind living with him.

However, while cleaning the apartment up in the roommate’s absence, the protagonist is shocked to find old-fashioned clothes from around two centuries ago, all adorned with tricolor cockades. Moreover, the protagonist eventually finds out that the songs their roommate hums sometimes are all from the era of the French Revolution.

At first the protagonist tries to brush it off. Maybe the roommate is simply preparing for some role or just obsessed with the event. But when the protagonist finds out about the fate of the apartment’s previous tenant, they become suspicious of this mysterious roommate.

Apparently, the previous tenant, a famous scientist who had supposedly invented a time machine, vanished without a trace, only to come up murdered under mysterious circumstances later.

What exactly happened to the scientist? Is the rumor about the time machine true? What is the roommate hiding?

67. After the Thermidorian Reaction, one of the revolutionaries who were supposed to be executed managed to escape to Ireland with an Irish adventuress who also participated in the French Revolution.

To avoid persecution, the two invent new identities for themselves and are now masquerading as a married couple despite only being friends in reality. Still, this sham “marriage” is a happy one as the couple has built their relationship on mutual respect, equality and communication.

Four years pass like this but soon a new revolution is drawing near, this time in Ireland. Many people want independence and among those people is the adventuress herself. Being an experienced revolutionary, a fighter for justice and a good husband, her partner also joins the independence movement, hoping to succeed at least somewhere.

Unfortunately, the Directory is also backing up this revolution and sends troops to Ireland, troops who might recognize the couple.

Will the couple be able to keep their true identities a secret? Will this revolution succeed? And will these new adventures turn a sham love into the real thing?

68. The protagonist has recently inherited a house from their grandparents but they’re a college student and not exactly rolling in dough so they eagerly rent out the property to the crew of a French Revolution-themed TV series who coincidentally are looking for an old-fashioned house that could fit the setting.

Things get even more interesting when the protagonist finds themselves developing a crush on the lead performer in the series and decides to invite them for a walk around the neighborhood, seeing as the performer doesn’t know the area.

But during this walk the duo finds themselves transported to the epoch of the French Revolution and the protagonist is arrested for walking around in strange clothes and speaking another language as lawmen mistake them for a spy.

To rescue the protagonist, the performer teams up with the revolutionaries and joins their cause.

Will they manage to save the protagonist? Will the two be able to survive the revolution? And last but not least, will the protagonist’s crush lead to something or will the protagonist be disillusioned by the performer as they get to know each other better?

69. A policeman is investigating crimes during the French Revolution. So far, he has been doing his work diligently so when yet another case comes up, the Committee of Public Safety counts on the best lawman in the city yet again.

But when a revolutionary who the Committee wants out of the way shows up on the list of suspects, the lawman questions his morals and those of his superiors for the first time in years.

On the one hand, pinning the crime on that revolutionary will rid the country of a supposedly dangerous corrupt enemy. But on the other hand, the true culprit would get away scot free and the policeman would never forgive himself for allowing that to happen.

Something tells him that the arrested revolutionary is innocent and has been framed, so who knows. Maybe the Committee is wrong about him. Maybe, just once, the policeman should believe the suspect instead of blindly believing his superiors.

70. They say that if something seems too good to be true, then it probably is. Unfortunately, the protagonist seems to have forgotten about this bitter truth.

When the protagonist saves a young man from getting robbed by bandits, they don’t expect to meet that man again but fate crosses their paths once again when the protagonist moves to Paris in 1794, only to get scammed by their landlord and accused of stealing.

Fortunately, that same man, now a member of the Committee of Public Safety, defends the protagonist, proves their innocence and later invites them to crash at his place as a sign of gratitude. All is good now...too good to be true.

Things seem to be looking up for the protagonist but with this newfound friendship comes a certain risk because now the enemies of this revolutionary man are out to get the protagonist by the virtue of association. In addition, the protagonist also finds themselves in trouble when they accidentally become a witness to a plot of the Thermidorians.

Will the protagonist manage to evade danger and warn their friend about the plot?

#french revolution #frev #history #frev writing prompts #writing prompts #creative writing #writing

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pugh-bug · 4 years ago

Text

Scott Lang x reader

Chapter 1

This is going to be a series I’m not sure where it’s gonna go but we shall see! This is quite an angsty chapter but expect light heartedness after this. Smut. If I’m feeling frisky I might bring in more mcu men for the reader to have a relationship with but I think it’s just gonna be Scott. Atleast for now. He’s insanely underrated. anyway hope you enjoy :)

You grumpily hiked up your tights and felt them rip at your thighs. For fucks sake. Leaning over to straighten them over your toes just made the hole larger. Brooklyn baby had come on your Spotify playlist, which was rich seeing as you were dressing sexy in hopes of impressing a divorced 51 year old. How sweet.

‘That’s what you’re wearing?’ Tony’s voice interrupted your music video moment.

Tony knew about your ‘crush’ on Scott. He wasn’t supposed to. No one was. Somehow you’d let yourself spill everything to the playboy at one of his parties. You’d told him how your heart had raced so much the first time you met Scott Lang you had to excuse yourself and check for pains up your arm. You told him about how much you wanted to fuck him. Be held by him. How he’d almost become a priority and you knew how fucked that was. How obsessed you were becoming. How any attention from him felt important. It was embarrassing but time made you less guilty. Impatience made you flirtier and boredom made you stupid.

‘Yes. What do you think?’

Tony had arrived just as you had gotten your skin tight dress to go over your tits. No easy task. You gave him a quick spin in your revealing outfit and heals. A slight mischievous grin formed on your face. He knew what you were doing.

‘I think Scott might have a heart attack.’

That made you laugh excitedly.

‘You’re not supposed to want that Y/N.’ Tony’s tone was warning you but he couldn’t help but smile at your so called ‘antics’. He couldn’t help but route for you. Despite the age gap. He’d dated many younger women in his time and you and Scott would make a hilarious endearing couple. To say the least.

‘Well,’ you sighed, fiddling with your bra strap before looking up at him. ‘I’m not wishing him anything bad. He’s my friend. I just want him to have a good time tonight.’ Was he your friend though? The two of you spent time together alone sometimes but he didn’t know a lot about you. Not as much as you knew about him.

‘Oh how noble of you.’ Tony smirked.

You knew how you sounded. Maybe you’d be happier if your type was young men. Men/boys like the ones that smiled at you on nights out and went to University and hadn’t grown up in the 70s. No. That just wasn’t you. It was naive and the whole thing made you feel younger and older, braver and more anxious at the same time. Scott had such a strong affect on you. He was everything you admired in a person. Intelligent. Caring. Hilarious (he’d made you cry laughing several times). Honest, loyal and sexier than anyone you’d ever interacted with. When you’d first met him he smiled at you so brightly you weren’t sure if you’d imagined it. Everyone liked him. How could they not?

All you could focus on as you finally went downstairs was how much you wanted to talk to Scott and be near him.

‘Don’t get too drunk and pass out on me okay?’

You ignored Tony’s unreasonable request and scanned Stark Tower for Scott. Wanda looked gorgeous in her classic red stood beside a tipsy smiling Clint. There was a Thor, already requesting drinking games, and two soldiers shamelessly flirting. Lucky. Nat was pouring herself and Bruce a drink whilst Vision stared at one of Tony’s odd abstract paintings. Where was he?

‘Who’re you looking for?’

Oh. You must have said that last part out loud.

‘You got a drink yet?’

Scott. You instantly smiled. It was so childish. He’d asked you two questions and you were just stood gazing. Scott moved closer to you looking for an answer. He smelt of the Earth and oil. It took a lot for you to not just sink your face into his clothes and fuck he looked good too. As always. ‘I was looking f- you know I’m a bit cold..’ you trailed off not sure what your plan had been in the first place.

Sometimes speaking to him was easy, on those days you’d think of him as a friend, but if you thought a bit too much you’d go over the edge and turn pretty useless.

As if he hadn’t noticed before, Scott took your appearance in. He seemed slightly shocked at first but not as taken aback as Tony assumed he’d be. Bit disappointing. Maybe you hadn’t looked as ‘sexy’ as you’d hoped. You caught his gaze pause at your legs and hips. A slight smile crept up on you - you had a feeling Scott Lang wasn’t a chest man. Not that it really mattered. One glance didn’t mean much, Tony had stared at you inappropriately more than once and Banner.

‘I mean- you aren’t really wearing a lot. I have a jacket if you want something warmer on..’ just like you Scott trailed off. Wearing his jacket sounded appealing but being kissed by him would be so much better. Deep in inappropriate thoughts about the ‘friend’ in front of your face, you sighed. God this would all be easier if you were atleast tipsy. You were especially anxious that night which you just hated because Tony’s parties were normally when you let loose. Thor had had to peel you off the floor last time while you mumbled something about how ordering fast food was more nerve wracking than ordering from sex shops.

‘Y/N!’ Thor’s booming voice cut between you and Scott as did his massive frame. You didn’t mind. He was like a huge teddy and just as inviting. Scott greeted him but you could sense his discomfort. The former criminal wasn’t overly fond of people he didn’t know much about. You were an exception. He knew enough to know you weren’t a threat and enough to like you. Thor on the other hand- well Scott had seen him lift Nat, Wanda and you onto his shoulder pretty easily. He’d also met Loki and had a tendency to judge people off their family. One of his bad habits.

‘Starks got these drinks but they’re not just drinks... they’re full of colours. Rainbows Y/N,’ he slurred his words but the man was so excited about colours it was adorable, you happily humoured him.

‘No way! rainbows!’

‘Yes yes! I don’t know what’s in them.’

‘Yeah maybe it’s just vodka.’ Scott raised his eyebrows and then walked off grumpily. You didn’t blame him, Thor tended to take everyone’s lime light, but he could have been nicer. It wasn’t as if the two of you had been chatting for long, or about anything serious. He saved that for his ex wife and you could only imagine how those interactions went.

Then you realised what day it was. Shit. Scott had told you his anniversary was coming up so he might be more serious that usual. The poor man was probably ripping his hair out wondering where he’d gone wrong. All you could do was selfishly hope he didn’t want his ex wife back. You couldn’t even remember her name despite him reminding you. What you did know was that a loud party was either, in his mind, the best place for him to be or the worst and going off what you’d seen so far you suspected the latter.

‘Have any of you seen Scott?’ You paved your way through the dance floor where you cracked a smile at Sam’s dad dancing and Nat’s horrified expression. No one had.

‘Bruce?’ You looked at the scientist with worried but hopeful eyes. ‘Have you seen Scott anywhere?’ Not only did his seem worried too but he actually looked as if he felt sorry for you. Why? Maybe he suspected things. Out of everyone Tony invited, Bruce was the most diplomatic and the most observant and you were not exactly subtle (Tony liked to remind you of that).

After pleading with Bruce to let you know where he was you went to the roof and found Scott. He was sat on the edge, his legs dangling over like he was Parker. Did not bode well.

‘Scott?’ Your breath seemed to clog before it reached your lungs when he turned around to meet your eyes and say your name. It never seemed to feel old hearing it. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N. You straightened your short dress, the cold air reaching deep into your skin. Damn this man and his dramatic going-outside-when-sad routine.

At first you brain told you to leave before you overstayed your ‘uninvitedness’ (if that wasn’t a word your brain had invented it) but your instincts told you to stay. You were stood rigid on the opposite side of the roof to Scott. But he was close enough for you to see his face clearly. Pretty. Pretty but sad. The same could objectively be said about you.

‘I thought you might want company.. but I can g-‘ before you could finish Scott smiled his usual welcoming smile. It told you to stay. You approached him as if he was a frightened deer and it felt strange to do so. After all he had fought Thanos and many powerful beings whilst your arguments seemed to just be with technology.

‘Company’s good.’

You paused as you thought about whether or not to sit down beside him. Sit and you risk falling to your death. Sit and you risk saying the wrong thing to an emotional Scott and wanting to jump to your death. Stay stood up and feel too far away. He seemed to sense your predicament.

‘Sit. You’re not gonna fall.’

But what if you did?

‘Y/N I won’t let you fall. I haven’t bumped up your life insurance.’ You laughed, slightly too much as usual. It was finally dark. Normally darkness didn’t sit well with you. It made you nervous and anxious for everything you hadn’t done for the next day. It made you overthink. Why did the night do that to you and everyone you knew? But from Stark Tower’s roof you could see the entire city and it’s bright unnatural lights. They weren’t as pretty as fireflies or that one scene in Tangled that made Bruce cry but it was still nice.

‘I don’t even understand how life insurance works to be honest.’

Scott widened his eyes at your comment but he was facing the view of New York. Not you. You focused on it too and fought the urge to talk about it. ‘I forget how young you are sometimes.’ That was a stinging thought. His eyebrows were knitted together and his dark eyes were blank. His lips were slightly agape making his expression a mixture of realisation and sorrow. He was probably thinking about his ex wife as he looked at New York’s views. There was a long weighted pause where both of you remained still and watched the city.

‘She was-‘ just as it felt like Scott could fully open up to you he stopped himself. His eyes met yours (finally) and he suddenly cracked his sorrowful expression into a wide but brief smile. ‘Should we go back?’ You didn’t answer. ‘I don’t loveee the idea that the cake might be gone.’ He stood up and stretched his hand out for you to grab. You took it after a moment of hesitation. ‘There was cake?’ Both of you had returned to your childish selves. Enough maturity and worrying. It was meant to be a fun night! You looked down at your dress remembering why you’d dressed so ‘sexily’ in the first place. How could you still be so naive ?

Scott was sad about his ex wife. His 45 year old ex wife. You must have seemed high school aged to the man. Why just why couldn’t you fancy someone younger and more available? Sigh.

#marvel #marvel fandom #scott lang x reader #scott lang #scott lang fluff #angst #marvel x reader #ant man #paul rudd #tony stark #marvel mcu

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haravath0t · 4 years ago

Text

A Christmas Wish - Day 1

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Filipino!Reader

Warnings: fluff, an immense word count, a talk with the mom??

Hello, everyone! Finally, we have Day 1 of A Christmas Wish! I’m so happy I found a way to extend the Christmas Spirit well into the year through this request! We are uncovering a huge tradition that means a lot to me and my family as Filipinos! Many of the Filipino community are Christian/Catholic, so this particular tradition will be based on the Christian Christmas tradition for the sake of the plot and its personal meaning! I hope this is something that can be understood between author to reader! I promise, the religious aspect of this particular tradition will not be as emphasized as other parts of the culture that I will introduce! Happy readings my lovelies, and to all my Filipino readers, pasensya kung mali ng English translation ko. Ang hirap naman talaga mg translate eh 😅😅😅 huhuuuu

(italics indicate flashbacks! english translations are provided and the pictures of the foods are attached in the bottom!)

You opened your eyes excitedly, a big smile forming on your face as you remembered a particular memory from yesterday that really made you so happy:

You, Steve, and your family had finished putting your luggage in the trunk of the van, squeezing themselves in either of the two vans. The driver was now hours in on the road, the chaos had died down as your cousins who decided to join yours and Steve’s van were asleep. The city was long gone, as the buildings had now become hills and green fields, passing by small little towns and provinces. The once crowded and traffic highways turned into a wide empty road.

Contrary to your cousins who fell back asleep, you were wide awake, not only from the jet lag, but also from your excitement. You were sitting in the middle of the back row of the van, earphones plugged in your ears, listening to the familiar tracks of OPM (Original Pinoy Music) and 70s/80s hits that you were familiar with from your karaoke nights with your parents. Steve was seated on the window (something you recommended him to do), looking as the green grass and hills passed by. Steve couldn’t help but smile, this was something that was so new to him, but it was something you saw as a reminder that you were actually back with your family, back in your roots, back home. It was simple. That’s what he liked most.

“What do you think so far? We’re still a bit far from the hotel and their house, but we’re about more than halfway home,” you ask softly. Steve’s eyes left the window as he instead looks at your lovely sparkling eyes. He couldn’t help the smile that forms on his face as he easily recognizes the excitement on your face. “I already love it, doll. I really do. I can’t wait to have you and your family show us around.” He says softly yet with sincerity. You smiled excitedly and took an earbud out of your ear, kissing his cheek before you put the earbud in his ear, making him laugh. “Y/N, doll, what are you doing?” He asks softly as his eyebrows furrow. You giggle as you scroll through your list of songs that you had downloaded on your phone. “Oh, I figured… well.. If you want, we can listen to this playlist? We can try napping?” You offer, the excited smile turning in a shy one, tints of pink being apparent on your cheeks. Steve’s smile only grew as he kissed your forehead. “Yeah, I’d love that, sugar. What’s the type of music in this one?” He asks softly, securing the earbud into his ear further. “It has some Filipino music and some 70s and 80s songs that my parents love… I listened to them all the time growing up,” you reply with a smile, choosing the song “I Think I’m Falling in Love” by The Boyfriends, smiling as the familiar opening notes are being played into yours and Steve’s ear. Steve’s eyebrows raise in surprise when the music plays but smiles as he lets the tune settle into his ears. Steve subconsciously wraps his arm protectively around your body, “C’mon honey, get comfy, yeah?” You did not think twice as you lean against him, resting your head against the crook of his neck, a big smile on your face reappearing as his familiar scent fills your nostrils. A deep chuckle is felt underneath your body. “Feelin’ better?” He asks softly, resting his cheek against your head. “Mhm, much better.” You sigh happily, closing your eyes as you feel his fingers comb your hair. You smile as you drift off to sleep, hearing the lyrics “I think I’m falling in love, something’s telling me so”.

“You do realize wherever you’re goin’ I’m goin’ right?” He asks with a smile, as he swallows a piece of pandesal. “This is so good by the way,” he adds before you speak up. “I know, but this thing takes place at 4 AM in the Cathedral, Steve! That’s early! “Okay, but we go to different time zones for missions, sweetheart. This is not new, we’ll be fine, you know me,” he responds, chuckling, “besides, we can sleep in after everything.” “Fair point,” you giggle, finishing your milk and throwing the plastic cup away. You kiss Steve’s head and hug him from behind. “Well… I can’t thank you enough, honey. You are doing so much already. Thank you. My family likes you already, I’m sure” A comforting hand rubs your forearm up and down before a soft pair of lips meets the back of your hand. “I’d be very happy if your family does. Their opinion of us matters to me too.” “How’d you even know about us going to mass today?” “Your Tita Joy mentioned it actually last night over dinner, asked if we both were going to Simbang...Simbang Gabi?” Your heart leapt at the sound of Steve saying something in Tagalog, a giggle erupting from your lips. “Goodness, Steve, you’re so adorable. Come on, we gotta get ready if we’re going to the Cathedral by jeepney.” You say, kissing his head before you get your clothes from your suitcase to head to the bathroom.

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles, playfully saluting you before he follows suit.

Steve was quite happy he tagged along with you, for the town was wonderfully decorated with parols (Christmas lanterns) and a nativity scene in front of the Cathedral. Not only that, he loved seeing you focused throughout the service, watching as you were alongside your family and practicing your tradition. It was truly something beautiful to see in his eyes.

Now, you and your family and Steve were outside of the Cathedral alongside other churchgoers, the town now starting to busy itself as the dawn arrives. There were now many food stalls outside, serving coffee and tea as well as wonderful foods to pair with the Christmas season. These included, bibingka, puto (rice cakes), suman, pandesal, and so much more. “Teka lang, Nanay, kukuha ako lang pagkain para sa atin lahat,” (hold on, mom, I’m just going to get some food for all of us) you say to your mom, her nodding in response. “Oh sige, anak. Sama mo ng Tatay mo! May pera s’ya!” (Alright, take your father with you! He has money!) She responds as you disappear in the crowd to get your guys’ share of good food. Steve only smiles at the interaction, watching as you go ahead with your father to one of the food stalls. “She’s like a kid, isn’t she?” Your mom says to Steve causing him to jump a little and only nod in response. “Yes, ma’am.” She playfully groans and waves her hand to him dismissively. “Oh, please you’re gonna call me ma’am? No, Tita will do for now,” She chuckles, making Steve relax in relief, not realizing his body had been tense. “Oh, Okay Tita.” She smiles and gives Steve a thumbs up and a nod of approval, which makes Steve smile. “You know, Steve, this whole Simbang Gabi thing is something she always has done since she was a girl. She loved it very much.” Steve smiles at this, imagining a younger you holding your parents’ hands as you make your way in the church. “It makes sense why she was up earlier than me during the Christmas season. I always wake up for a morning jog. I normally hear or see her out and about back home.” Your mom only chuckles, watching you and your father order some bibingka first.

“Did she tell you what her motivation was as a kid?” She asks, seeing Steve shake his head. “No, I haven’t.” “Ahh, well, there’s this funny folk belief here, you see. If you attend all 9 masses, then you can make a wish and your wish will come true if that’s what God wills it to be.” Your mother explains, smiling when Steve has an “aha” moment and nods in understanding. “I think that’s beautiful,” he says, hands fumbling within the pockets of his jeans, eyes making contact with yours. He smiles even more when you show your beautiful smile before you go back to ordering from the stalls. “You really love my daughter, don’t you Steven?” She asls, looking up at the taller man. “With all of my heart, Tita,” he responds firmly and surely, which eases your mom.

“That’s good to hear. I love the certainty. She deserves that much you know. She’s been through a lot. And… I can see the way you two look at each other. It makes me happy,” She says, sighing in content. “We’re glad to be able to have you celebrate with us. Goodness, I cannot even thank you enough for letting us fly over with you two.” “It’s not a problem, Tita,” He starts. “Family is important to Y/N, and I hope you know that she talks about you guys constantly. I can’t blame her, you all are very kind and lovely to me. It’s been a wish for her to come here for the holidays.” “Her wish, huh?” Your mom smiles. “Yes, Tita.” “What about you? You’re joining us in these, so do you have a wish?” Your mother presses on, burning through Steve’s eyes with her eye contact. Steve however, was blushing for different reasons. “I do, Tita. It’s ambitious, so let’s see.” “Well don’t be shy, tell me!” Your mom squeals excitedly, motioning to Steve to whisper it into her ear. And so he does, your mom is smiling bigger and bigger and bigger as she hears.

“Oh, susmaryosep! (Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!) That’s a nice wish, very ambitious, I like it! I’m sure it will come true. I’m sure.” Your mom exclaims clapping her hands together in pure excitement. “You...you think so?” Steve asks shyly, seeking for reassurance. “It’s a tough one, Tita. I’m sure you’ve heard the expression “a man out of time” being used on me. It’s a very tough thing to do, you know, to adjust to current events and current society.” He comments, scratching the back of his head. “And you are doing good, Steve. You’re an honest hardworking guy. I promise. I think when the time is right, you’ll get what you wish for.” “Well let’s see, Tita, let’s see.”

FOODS MENTIONED BELOW!!!

Pandesal (bread rolls)

Puto (rice cakes)

Bibingka

Suman

Permanent Taglist: @world-of-aus @world-of-aus-reads @whew-oh-em-gee @tomholland-96 @lordyitsjordy @letstalkaboutsebbaby @thee-soom-soom @lookiamtrying @vesper852 @hailhydra920 @buckybarnesthehotshot @heyiamthatbitch @rodrikstark

A Christmas Wish Taglist: @faithtrustandrobbiekay

(If you would like to be included in a tag list let me know via ask! ❤️☺️)

#mcu #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x filipina!reader #steve rogers x filipino!reader #filipino marvel #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction

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x0401x · 4 years ago

Text

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #3

Feel free to message me about possible corrections, and please consider supporting the creators by purchasing digital copies of the official releases: Novel || Manga || Fanbook. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

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T/N: Okay, so, this is one of those chapters where the author makes mistakes in linguistics (but she’s trying, guys, she’s trying!). She writes “prasinon” as “prase” for some reason, and I took the liberty to fix it myself when translating.

Connecting Chrysoprase

Jewelry Etranger sat inconspicuously at Ginza 7-choume. The store owner, Richard, was the possessor of a beauty that you couldn’t think was from this world, but no matter how beautiful he was, once half a year had passed, you would get used to it. And as I got used to him, the questions also surfaced.

“Hey, Richard, don’t you have any favorite foods other than sweets? Do you eat ramen or anything like that?”

Mr. Richard Ranashinha de Vulpian looked at me with scrutinizing blue eyes. Sitting on the red sofa, he had been observing the contents of a large jewel box, holding them up over his head against the morning light shining in from the window.

“I find difficult to figure the aim of the question. Why ramen? I have had meals with you numerous times. I eat anything without likes or dislikes.”

“I know. It’s not like it’s limited to just ramen, but you don’t eat that kind of stuff much, do you?”

Like chives. Or garlic. Or grilled meat dripping with juices.

I knew that this didn’t suit his image. He was a man whose features seemed to have accidentally come out of a dream world. If he told me that he could live off eating department store sweets and pink roses, he could probably have me seriously convinced up to about 70%. That was exactly why I would feel like searching for a gap.

As I was about to ask if he understood this logic, Richard replied curtly with a clay doll-like face, “What ill intentions.”

That was true. I wasn’t some obsessive follower of an idol’s personal life or anything. Richard hit bull’s-eye with the deduction that I “probably ate ramen yesterday”. For some reason, things got awkward. I was in a position where it was better to retreat for a while. Time to change the subject.

“What stone is that? Looks like candy and it’s pretty cute.”

“A type of chalcedony. They are in the same category as crystals. In particular, this one with a milky apple-green color is called chrysoprase.

“Ah~...”

What Richard was pinching with his bare hands - because it was safer to touch it with bare skin rather than wearing gloves, he said, as it wouldn’t cause any damage - was a pale green, round stone. It had low transparency, was cut en cabochon and looked like an old-style candy.

“W-What was it again? The name. Chry...?”

“‘Chrysoprase’,” Richard repeated for me.

How many times had something like this happened? The stone’s name was in a Western language. Basically, all of them were in katakana. My ears did register it, but I couldn’t memorize it in one go at all. Richard was a helpful person, so there were times when he wrote down the names in romaji and explained them to me, but I honestly couldn’t keep up with him. There were countless stones in this world.

“Chryso... aah, no good. It’s hard to memorize.”

“‘Chrysoprase’. It is said to be a stone that helps to harmonize and integrate personalities. Medieval European literature also mentions it as a stone that Alexander the Great loved.”

Alexander the Great. A person I had learned about in high school. Even I knew that name. The fact that a stone adored by a warlord who had long passed away was still loved by people of the current times was thought-provoking. The range of the gemstone world was broad. But, well, leaving that as that.

“How d’you memorize stones’ names? It’s not like you’ve got some test to do like in a history class...”

“Do you think anyone would buy goods from a trader who cannot even say their names?”

“I don’t, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s hard. There’s lots of types and they sound like magic spells. Like ‘Sri Jayawardenepura Kotte’. It wouldn’t be weird if you felt like cheating without a care in the world. You got any trick for memorizing them?”

“My compliments to you for being able to pronounce the official name of Sri Lanka’s capital. But I cannot praise the part about carelessly deceiving people. Once your reputation falls to earth, it does not recover so easily. To begin with, your perception of business in general is too lax for someone enrolled in the Faculty of Economics. I know you have the aspiration, but if you do not pair it to practical abilities and skills, you will be running idle. Shouldn’t you try to improve these skills once again so that you can avoid unnecessary hardships in the future? Instead of obsessing over finding out something unexpected about the shopkeeper from your part-time job.”

The arguments were so spot-on that I was at a loss for words. Even so, still with a slightly exasperated face, Richard continued to speak. Most likely, it was his gentle side’s turn from here on out.

“Still, you are right, I do have a trick. If I were to use the capital as an example, ‘Sri Jayawardenepura Kotte’ had its original name ‘Kotte’ being embellished with the title of ��President Jayawardene’s Sacred City’. When you know the origin of it, doesn’t this line-up of katakana letters that only appears in magic spells turn into meaningful words?”

“So it had that kind of meaning? I see...”

“Is this time to be impressed? Do the same and discover the relatedness of all kinds of matters in your daily life. If you direct your eyes to the depths of your history without sticking to the surface, I guarantee that your world will broaden much more richly.”

“Then what about the chrysoprase of just now?”

As I took a stab at arousing his enthusiasm, the volubly beautiful shop owner smiled gorgeously. I felt that this guy would stay in a good mood forever just as long as I gave him sweets and let him talk about gems. And I liked Richard’s face the most when he was in his best mood.

“This word is taken from the Greek language. It consists of two separate words, ‘chrysos’ and ‘prasinon’. The meaning of chrysos is ‘gold’. The bright golden that can be seen showing through within the green was associated with gold. Prasinon means...”

What happened? His enunciation suddenly got bad.

When I urged him to continue, Richard looked down at the stone in his hand with a dull look and sighed a little. “The meaning of prasinon... comes close to plants such as chives or green onions.”

“Ooh—!”

As I clapped my hands together with an “all paths lead to ramen”, Richard made a face like he had just woken up from a nightmare. What is it? Please laugh.

“In any case, the mental attitude of trying to master something is commendable. I pray that your efforts will bear fruit.”

“Thanks, thanks. Well, will you eat ramen after all?”

Mr. Richard, the jeweler, looked at me with an awfully sharp gaze. What was that face? His facial expression looked like the usual nuance that he was growing fond of my foolishness had increased to about 30%. Did he intend to poke fun on me?

“Yes, yes, I will.”

“What do you prefer? Like miso or soy sauce?”

“A large helping of green onions and garlic. And even then, it is good to grate raw garlic and put in it.”

“That’s a pretty hardcore taste for someone who works with close-contact service business.”

“Which is why this is not something I can eat whenever. I eat it carefully by myself when I do not have to meet anyone the next day.”

As my eyes widened, the beautiful storekeeper raised his chin arrogantly. Did he want to say that this didn’t suit his image or had it just unfolded anew?

“How was it, did you enjoy the so-called ‘gap’?”

“No, it’s not like that’s the main goal.”

“Hah?”

“I can’t invite anyone for a French cuisine restaurant or a high-class sweets store, but if it’s a ramen shop, there’s lots of them near my university. If you like, why don’t we go eat together next time? They’re mostly shops that seem better to drop by wearing a t-shirt rather than a suit, but I wanna try chatting with you while eating this kind of junky stuff every now and then.”

“For you to discover a new unexpected thing about me, you mean?”

“I just wanna get along with you better.”

For an instant, Richard’s facial expression strained hard. What was up? His face looked like he hadn’t known better and bit a sour pickled plum or something. As I furrowed my brows, his blue eyes narrowed, looking glum, while he closed the jewel box with a click and stood up.

“Ah, show me more. It wasn’t nearly enough—”

“The chrysoprase is said to have the power to put the balance of mind and body in order, as well as make it spring up comfortably. Perhaps because its fresh grass color is a reminder of spring. Isn’t this stone unnecessary for you, since you are always in a festive mood?”

“Why’re you angry?”

“I am not.”

“Shouldn’t you take a better look at the chrysoprase?”

“Thank you for the unnecessary meddling.”

Leaving me with things to say, Richard disappeared into the back room. Was it that bad to invite him to a ramen shop? It wasn’t a good idea to let him stay angry, so I voluntarily prepared two cups of royal milk tea in the kitchenette. Having come out into the reception room, Richard said nothing more than the expected as he drank a tea that had a little more sugar in it than usual.

After the customer of that morning had gone home, Richard showed me the chrysoprase once again. Upon a better look, I understood the meaning of that naming, which I couldn’t think of as anything more than a mystery at first. Didn’t the people of ancient times think that this was a plant born from gold? The uneven surface was smooth and wavy like an organic body. Chrysoprase. Gold and green onions. Even though there were several gems in this world, I would probably never forget the name of this one. If I ever got to eat ramen with Richard someday, I would definitely bring up this stone.

“Do you remember that talk?” I would ask.

#jeweler richard #housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #nakata seigi #the case files of jeweler richard #richard ranashinha de vulpian #tsujimura nanako #yukihiro utako #novel #my translation #fanbook #jr short story collection

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nickgammon-stories · 3 years ago

Text

The Old Lady And The Sea

To put it bluntly, in the late 60s early 70s as far as the public at large was concerned, surfers were simply bums. But some of those, en route to Taghazout for the surf and sometimes the hash, stumbling on the Cote Basque, found beyond the obviously perfect waves, the faded grandeur of a glorious past. In other words they found class, and oddly it fitted them like a glove. In response, the decaying city of Biarritz adopted the air of a geriatric dowager who’d finally discovered Hendrix.

But here’s a thing. The surfers behaved with all due respect and good manners to the old lady who seemed to have kindly invited them in. Somehow — assuming, of course, they’d dodged the Guardia Civil at the Spanish border on the return trip from Morocco with their bootleg intact — within a decade they’d created a “surf industry” along the coastal strip from St Jean de Luz to Hossegor that out performed both California’s and Australia’s combined. Revitalising the regional economy, apparently by simply being very cool. So much so, that forty years later the echoes of these golden boys and girls made the nearby commune of Guéthary, at the western fringe of the city so alluring that France’s “Le Point” magazine would breathlessly described it as “the new St Tropez!”. Thus motivating the citizenry of Bordeaux and Paris to visit all at once, during the wrong month — August.

Of course you were not supposed to be there in the winter either, when the unlovely Atlantic gales howl, emptying the village from November to March. But then being there then would be inevitable if you had moved in, as I had, and unlike many of the other inhabitants, lived there full time. I had inadvisably fallen not only in love with a building in the village, but also it must be said, with the wave. And that was an affair that had begun in ’74, one opalescent afternoon when I caught a glassy wave so big that it stretched both credibility and for an hour or so, my capacity to speak.

Watching footage of big surf in Waimea Bay in Oahu, several decades after he last ridden it, pioneering big wave rider Greg “da Bull” Noll wistfully eroticised the wave, comparing it to a woman. Which might seem a little hyperbolic, but he was right, you really can fall in love with a wave. So it probably was the wave that triggered the purchase of an apartment in the crumbling old residence ‘Itsasoan’, largely because it overlooked the wave at Guéthery, and stood as imperiously close to the sea as a Venetian palazzo. By some quirk of linguistic ambiguity ‘Itsasoan’ translates from Basque as not only, and satisfyingly, “The Sea”, but also and perhaps more appropriately as, “At Sea”.

Even as I crossed the passerelle for the first time to look at the place I was overtaken by a vertiginous sense of inevitability — any fool could see the building was falling apart and equally any fool would spot that it would cost a fortune to fix. And so within minutes, I was signing incomprehensible documents with abandon at the immobilier’s office, to shortly become the possessor of 6% of the copropriété at exactly twice the price the same apartment on the floor below had sold for only a year earlier. While, of course, always accepting a 6% liability for every cost and repair the neglected building would require to remain standing.

Cheap at half the price — I hadn’t just bought a view, the building also had a past, having been originally one of the grand hotels in the village. But most of all I had acquired access. To be able to see the wave simply by raising my head from the pillow in the morning. Which meant in turn often being the first one in the water in the morning. This at a time when the very popularisation of surfing threatened to crowd out the possibility of being actually able to do it — in the peak months of September and October it could become so crowded you could often count numbers in the water into the low hundreds, each scrabbling for a share of a wave that simply couldn’t sustain those numbers. On days like that, if you managed to actually catch a wave, it meant weaving your way through the pack, like a ball in a pinball machine.

But sometimes — whisper it — even in winter the wind could turn to the south and offshore. Lifting the air temperature into the balmy 20°s while out to sea, stacked lines of swell ran to the horizon, advancing metronomically towards the reef. Until each swell formed a perfect peak in the centre of the bay, with every great green wave pitching forward in slow motion as the updraft threw back rainbows of iridescent spray. When asked one day how a session like that had been, Xabi, one of the locals, could only say after an elastic pause, “C’etait regal”…. with long emphasis on “reeegaaal”.

The access I had, living so close to the break, gave me the opportunity to paddle out across the lagoon all alone in the early morning chill on days like that. At every stroke pods of mullet broke the surface, until emerging from the lavender shadows of the cliffs the sunlight would magically hit the back of my hand and I could pause to feel its heat properly. Taking it easy and slow, until finally out at the peak, heart beating like a drum roll I could edge towards the take off zone.

The major attributes required to surf waves of all sizes, are firstly a certain quota of arrogance and secondly an equal amount of humility. So that later, when finally a wave comes, it seems not only just beautiful, it also seems so very rare. In a revery, instead of sensibly paddling up the face and over the back of the feathering wave, a moment of hubris could tempt you turn and paddle in the other direction, the revery rapidly evaporating in the realisation of what you have just done. Because if things are to go badly wrong, they will do so now. There is no turning back — You. Must. Catch. This. Wave.

It all becomes something like the half-seconds immediately before a car crash. When everything seems to be happening so very slowly and you can think of lots of things at once, but anything you do also seems to be happening very slowly. The wave surges as it picks you up as if to launch you from a giant xistera and you have a clear image of the nose of the board pointing straight down in free-fall and into oblivion. Until, by some white magic of the board shaper’s art, some invocation or incantation sung over the board at birth, that gave it its rocker — the parabola from tip to tail — astoundingly allows it to reconnect to the face of the wave. You become deeply aware that everything that has happened so far, has hardly involved any skillset of your own. Like Eddie the Eagle somehow you were simply there and had somehow clung on. Next you drop at improbable speed with the board beneath your feet violently chattering against the wave, which fans out beneath you, absurdly as if you were rapidly descending into a modestly sized football arena — it has that kind of improbability of scale. And then that’s that. At least it is after you’ve completed the round bottom turn, and you’ve looked over your shoulder into the maw of the wave. Because in Guéthary, as they say it’s all about the drop. You fade up to the shoulder and down again, up to the shoulder again and down, drawing lines across the wave then make an arcing cut-back, but the wave is much smaller now until it becomes just a matter of continuing the ride to the end out of simple respect. As the wave reforms and closes, the white water offers a free ride, gratefully accepted, and you ride prone to the beach.

Then, on a day like that, to return alone to the old deserted building. And then to pause and reflect, sitting dripping wet on the wide stairs, until the silence seemed to fill with benign ghosts. Straining my ears it was as their distant music and laughter hung indistinctly in the air in between the surge and draw of the shore-break, that crashed against the pebbles on the beach outside. It was as if you could still hear the shuffle and whisper of soft soled shoes — the shoes they used for dancing — echoing down the staircase and down the decades.

And I began to wonder, what if you could step backwards in time, across the art deco passerelle that swept over the tamarinds? Perhaps it would be a balmy evening in the season, the night heavy with jasmine as the oleanders rustle in a hot breeze out of Spain? To push past the bell boys, waiting in a huddle in the doorway, back to the days of glory and out into the bright lights of the roof bar. Who might be dancing in soft shoes in the soft night, on the roof-terrace. Whose laughter might I have heard echoing in the stairwell of the “Itsasoan”?

It was a question that hovered at the back of my mind half forgotten until, in what appeared to me to be a neat piece of synergy — both as a surfer and a painter, I found a photo hanging in a corner in the café Le Madrid in Guéthary of Paul Klee drinking a glass of wine with Kandinsky as they sit at a table in the restaurant’s garden, just above the “Itsasoan”. And what you don’t see when you look at the picture is that Josef Albers also a master at the Bauhaus was there too.

I began to understand why there had been such a rapport between the place and the surfers who arrived in the 70s. It was almost as if the building whispered “welcome back!” as the first long haired neo-Bohos in their brightly painted kombi vans chugged along the Basque corniche, having crossed the frontier at Hondarrabia. Because that “grande dame” had seen something very similar before. Buildings being always female in the Basque country, in the same way boats are everywhere else.

It was fortuitous too that the picture was of Kandinsky and Klee as there are plenty of echoes of Wiemar culture in the counter-culture of the sixties and seventies, and not least in France. As time confers respectability it is worth remembering both artists would be denounced as degenerate in less than four years. That the Bauhäusler spent much of the summer of 1929 here is testimony to how fashionable Biarritz was for the avant-garde in the twenties.

Not fifty metres from Villa Louisiana where Klee, his wife Lily and his son Felix spent the long summer of ’29, overlooking the beach at Guethary, is the villa where Man Ray made Emak Bakia, earlier in 1926 with Kiki de Montparnasse. But Man Ray was also here in the summer of 1929, this time with Lee Miller. The nineteen year old Miller just showed up unannounced at Ray’s usual café in Paris, Le Bateau Ivre, looking for photography lessons. Ray had tried to brush her off, saying, “I’m leaving for a holiday in Biarritz.” “So am I,” replied Miller.

Jaques Henri Lartigue was also on the Côte Basque in the summer of 1929 — playboy, photographer, flaneur and chronicler of les annees folles, he had even taken pictures of filmmaker Abel Gance, on the “Itsasoan’s” early Art Deco passerelle, in September 1928, only a year after it had been built by neo-basque architect Henri Godbarge. Gance poses with his dog, along with Margueritte, Bibi and Toutoux. Over Gance’s shoulder you can glimpse a little of the roof terrace with its railings and planters. Lartigue then took another in front of the building with Koubinsky, who played Danton in Gance’s groundbreaking film Napoleon, who adopts a heroic pose on the digue while Toutoux hoiks up her skirt to expose an insolent thigh.

The summer of 1929 was a pivotal moment — and a moment of release, as you can see in the photo, as Kandinsky and Klee sit happily in the garden of Le Madrid. In writing a postcard to the art dealer Rudolf Probst on his way back to Dessau, in September Klee said, “…In a week the whole dream is over and I will be able to think reasonably again. In the moment I cannot think very sharply because everything is mixed with the Champagne Waters of the Sea of Biscay”.

The comparison of the effervescent sea here with champagne is apt — the fizzing, dazzling white shore-break in summer has always reminded me of Perrier water. One of Klee’s most famous dictums is that drawing is “like taking a line for a walk”, could anything describe surfing better? It was said a little earlier, but the insouciance of the phrase fits that charmed summer. Albers even made series of photographs of the champagne waters during the course of the summer, but in a sense it was also a champagne moment in the twentieth century. Europe’s cultural borders are for the time being open, free thinking and free movement reign. It is also significant that Josef and Anni Albers had joined the others in the Cote Basque having just visited the Barcelona International Exposition, where the Bauhaus’ exhibit had played an important role introducing modernist thinking to Southern Europe.

So now we know some of those who might, conceivably have danced together on the roof of the Itsasoan, one warm night at the end of the twenties, along with all the other bright young things. It was a halcyon moment as the horrors of the First World War faded, before the terrors of the next one began. It is at this point that you want to call out a warning as if in a waking dream, because everything is about to change.

In October 1929 Wall Street will crash. In December 1929 Paul Klee will turn fifty, at the height of his creative powers the following year, almost prophetically, he will be the first European artist to exhibit at the recently established MOMA in New York. In January 1933 Hindenburg will appoint Hitler Chancellor, in April the Bauhaus will be closed, and the same year Klee and the others will be declared degenerate. He will move to Switzerland, where he will die at sixty in 1940, after a long painful illness just over ten years after his long vacation in Guéthary. Kandinsky will leave for France in ’33 when the Bauhaus is closed and die in Paris in 1944. While Albers will be luckier, sailing to America in November 1933 to teach at Black Mountain College, the progressive art school attended by Jasper Johns, Robert Rauschenberg and John Cage. Lee Miller will abandon Man Ray in 1932 driving him to distraction, but he will recover, and follow Albers on a ship to returning to America in 1940.

As the lights dim and are extinguished across the continent of Europe, the grand transatlantic liners will carry fewer and fewer visitors eastwards, and more and more refugees west. The proprietors of the grand Itsasoan hotel will be bankrupted when their guests stop visiting. Those emigres of the avant-garde who were able, like Albers, will carry their torches to America, which will become, for a while, the locus for progressive art. Johns and Rauschenberg will be significant contributors to that, and indirectly to the emerging counter culture of the sixties.

Meanwhile, after 1936, Republican refugees from Franco’s Spain will fill the empty hotel Itsasoan and smoke will pour from the chimneys that they have drilled through the roof for cooking fires. Soon it will be as if a brou-atta, the cold regional wind that can suddenly descend on the most beautiful of summer days in the Basque country, will have swept away the jasmine and the oleanders and no-one will dance on the roof of the Itsasoan in the hot night. That is, until a new jeunesse dore returns to dance on the waves. Pleasing a Grande Dame in Guéthary.

#surfing #art #France #Basque #Guethary

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stxrrywildflower · 5 years ago

Text

saudade (2)

pairing - spencer reid x reader

summary - you arrive in los angeles, the team copes with your transfer

warning - cursing, mentions of case

series masterlist

the los angeles heat was the first thing you felt upon stepping out of the airport.

it was close to 70°, a huge difference from the cold and snowy january weather back in washington d.c.

a car was already waiting for you and would then take you to your new apartment complex. from pictures you had been sent, your apartment building was incredibly nice.

the complex was three stories and in a u-shape. in the center was a outdoor lounge are with chairs and a pool. to top it off, it was right on the beach. you didn’t know how the fbi had managed to rent this apartment for you as well as the rest of your team which were also living in the same building.

after being dropped off at the enterance, you walked in with your bags in hand. you walked in and stopped at the from desk. the receptionist greeted you with a warm smile.

“hello, i just moved here and should have an apartment under my name. i assume i need to speak to you first,” you greeted.

“may i see some identification?” the receptionist asked.

you fished your badge out of your pocket and handed it over. her eyes widened slightly at your identification before she went back to typing.

“ah agent y/n, you’re in room 40, it’s the last room on the third floor. once you go to the elevators and up to your floor, go down the right hallway, make a left and the end and then all the way down is your apartment,” the receptionist said as you were handed your keys and other forms you needed to fill out.

“thank you, by any chance do you know if anyone on my team has also checked in?” you asked, bouncing nervously on the balls of your feet. while you all were set to have dinner in your apartment that might, you figured that you needed to introduce yourself prior.

“let me see,” the receptionist started, “in the last hour clay bowen and josh benning have both checked in but they haven’t been down since. amelia green is actually just over there.” you turned to where the woman had motioned to the outside area. “are we all on the same floor?” you added. “suprisingly yes, the third floor expansion is fairly new. we were contacted just before the apartments went on sale and six of them were saved for you and your team. it’s pretty rare.”

with one final thank you, you grabbed your bags and slowly walked towards the outdoor area where a young woman was sitting, looking over files.

“amelia green?” you called, gaining the attention of her.

amelia glanced up, slightly confused. her facial expression changed when she took in your features. “you must be y/n y/l/n or our unit chief!” amelia exclaimed, jumping up the shake your hand.

on the plane ride over, you had read up on each of your team members. amelia was fresh out of the acadamy. she was top of her class in both academics and physical activities. she was an easy choice to join your team.

“that’s me,” you smiled, “have you met clay and josh yet?” amelia nodded to your question, “josh and i arrived at the same time. our apartments are a few doors down from each other. clay, however, got here after us so i haven’t met him yet. other than that, i haven’t heard or met the others.”

“alright, well we’re having dinner in my apartment tonight and i should probably unpack. i’m honestly thankful all of my stuff isn’t arriving for another couple days. it would just be too much. i’ll see you later,” you waved goodbye.

the ride up to the third floor was incredibly quick. you kept your badge pinned on your shirt incase you ran into another one of your new team members. however, you didn’t and instead stopped in front of your new apartment.

after sliding the key into the lock and twisting it, a satisfying click echoed through the quiet hallway. with a deep breath, you opened the door and stepped inside.

your eyes widened slightly at the apartment. it was incredibly nice. once walking in, on the right was a modern kitchen which bled into an open area with sliding glass doors. the doors opened to a deck with a view of the courtyard and the ocean. to the left was another open are which was most likely a dining room area. a half bath was just off of that. between the kitchen and the living room was a hallway.

down the hallway was a bedroom, the full bathroom, and another room which was most likely going to be turned into an office. other amenities, such as the laundry room, were on the base floor and was open to all residents.

just as you were about to begin unpacking your clothes in the drawers provided in the bedroom, your phone began ringing. you glanced down and upon seeing the caller i.d. as ‘strauss’ you answered right away.

“hello ma’am,” you greeted.

“hello agent y/n, i assume you’ve checked into your apartment already?” staruss asked.

despite knowing she couldn’t see it, you nodded. “i have ma’am. it is really nice. just a little empty without any furniture,” you replied.

“well that is understandable. i just wanted to call and make sure you have checked in. other than that, you are meeting your team at your apartment for dinner tonight and then tomorrow you all are going to your new office space before going shopping, correct?”

as you pulled out the paperwork from your carry-on bag, you spoke, “yes ma’am. i have the address down here and i have already met one member of my team. two more have checked in and the other two should be here soon.”

“perfect agent y/n, i wish you luck with your transition.”

you’re eyes furrowed in confusion. was strauss being sympathetic? nonetheless, you thanked her before hanging up the phone and continuing to unpack what little you could.

hours later, closer to seven pm, you placed an order at some local pizza restaurant as it was the easiest for your team dinner. you were sure that later all of the restaurant preferences would change.

the first one at your apartment was amelia, you greeted her with a bright smile as you two had already met. the next was abe, followed by audrey, then clay, and finally josh.

soon enough, everyone was gathered in the kitchen, each with drinks and food. then it hit you, “oh shit i don’t have anywhere for us to sit.” the team had laughed at that before josh suggested that you all just sit on the floor.

the six of you all circled up before audrey spoke up, “so should we get to know each other first? then we can exchange our numbers and everything and discuss our plan.” that went over well as you would all be working together and living at the same place for the forseable future.

from the conversation you had learned that amelia had just graduated from the academy, josh and audrey working in different branches up in new york city, and finally clay and abe were at quantico, just like you. you were honestly suprised that the three of you had never bumped into each other. there were pretty few similarities between all of you except for three things; your jobs, ages, and the location of your previous work spaces. personal details about the people they had left was also shared before all eyes were on you. “and our unit chief?” clay asked.

“well i’m going to start off by saying i have never been a unit chief before. never even dreamed of it,” you began, “i was transfered from quantico, more specifically aaron hotchner’s bau profiling team.” you noticed a few people’s eyes widened at your previous job status.

“i really loved my team there and thought i would honestly be with them for a long time. strauss called me into hotch’s office and told me i was being transferred and would be unit chief of the new west coast branch. however, my boss couldn’t fight it which i assume happened to all of you. but to sum it up, i pretty much left my team, practically my family, behind and my boyfriend too. i’m not sure if any of you have heard of doctor spencer reid but we’ve been together for almost a year. so, in conclusion, leaving home really sucks,” you finished.

sympathetic looks were mirrored back to you. “have you called them yet?” amelia spoke up. you shook your head, “i sent them a text letting them know i arrived safely but they all said that i should just settle in my first day and can call tomorrow.”

“well i, for one, am happy that if i am stuck in a new state with anyone that it’s you guys. as cliché as it is, i feel like we’re going to be a really good team,” abe called as he raised his glass. you all did the same, clicking your glasses together as a sign of a new start.

the rest of the night was filled with more getting to know each other, taking your first official team photo, and finally discussing the following day. josh somehow had a photo of the location of your office which looked almost like the one from the tv show psych. it was a building right off of the beach just five minutes from your apartment building. upon entering, there was a desk intented for security which then lead to the big open office space. it was going to be sick and everyone had already discussed turning it into a space with pictures and posters covering the walls.

the following morning, you were up fairly early as your body was just adjusting to the time difference. after making yourself a quick breakfast and drinking a cup of coffee, you made your way down to the lobby. half of your team was waiting, greeting you with bright smiles. josh, audrey, and abe all stumbled down a few minutes later.

“i think we know who isn’t a morning person,” clay joked.

the walk to the office, as previously stated, took only five or so minutes. when you entered, everyone gawked at the space. your voices echoed as you all made your way around the room, bouncing off of the high ceilings. before you could go to ikea to show for furniture, the space would need to be planned out.

the only thing provided for the team was desks and chairs. on one end, under the windows, was a slightly elevated level with two stairs leading up to it. that was going to be your area as you didn’t have an official office. your desk was moved up there as well as a chair. the rest of the desks were arranged in a with two groups of two pushed against each other and the final one was mirroring yours.

from there, the team headed to ikea to furniture shop. you had picked up lamps, stationary for your desks, further storage, two couches, shelves, and other necessary things for your office. after grabbing paint from some local story, the six of you went back and got to work.

meanwhile, on the east coast, monday morning finally rolled around.

upon walking in, everyone’s eyes unintentionally drifted over to your now empty desk. with j.j. back as an official profiler, strauss had decided to not give them a replacement.

the following cases for hotch’s team were difficult. not having your smart mind to help with clues was proving to be detrimental. the constant witty remarks you cracked were now gone, leaving an uncomfortable silence more oftentimes than none.

spencer took you leaving especially hard. you two had started a schedule, talking everyday for the first two weeks as you didn’t have any cases. however, you couldn’t expect him to be one hundred percent okah with loosing you.

it was a tough transition for all of you.

____

ten months went by.

your team had started working three weeks into your arrival in los angeles. your performance was nothing but great. strauss had called a few times and expressed her praise. crime rate in the city as well as california as a whole had dropped with your teams work. the newest model of fbi kevlar vests had even been shipped out as gifts.

for you and spencer, your relationship was still incredibly strong. however, calls between the two of you slowly lessened as you two became more and more busy with your jobs. nonetheless, you feelings had never faltered.

the office you all worked in became a better expression of your personalities as time went on. surfboards were hung on one of the walls for decoration and also practical reasons. plants, pictures, and posters scattered the walls. there was multiple whiteboards and bulletin boards with wheels in the space, allowing for details about any case to be hung up. your team also became best friends, going to concerts and the beach all the time.

once again, the team had a case. seven bodies were found in various spots in and outside of los angeles, each killed with the signature of past serial killers.

you stepped into the office, greeting your team. “y/n, we just got a call from the local p.d., they invited another team to the case. they’re already are on their way and should be here within the hour,” amelia informed you. as the words processed, you moved your hands to your hair. “they know they’re not supposed to do that without letting us know. what team is it?” you asked, looking though the case file.

“aaron hotchner’s,” amelia added.

your eyes went wide. while they were only invited to work a case, you realized that you would be seeing your former team for the first time in ten months. you would be seeing spencer for the first time in ten months.

the three boys snickered at your reaction. “oh and the medical examiner at the morgue is requesting to see you,” abe spoke up. a look of confusion washed over your face, “me in particular?” you asked. upon seeing various nods, you shrugged your shoulders.

“alright, clay and i will go meet with the m.e. amelia and abe head down to the police station. greet the team and let them know that we will be working out of our own office for the case. i’ll be here meet them. other than that, audrey and josh continue working on your assignments,” you ordered your team.

from there, everyone dispersed. you tossed clay the keys before getting in the passengers side of the car. a little bit later, amelia and abe exited the office to go meet the group.

at the police station, hotch walked in, his team right behind him. the fbi agent greeted the police chief before stepping back. “two of our resident fbi agents are waiting over there for your arrival,” the officer spoke, motioning in a different direction.

upon hearing this, amelia and abe turned around. the two agents stepped forward, shaking the hands of the other team. “our unit chief y/n is currently down at the morgue but will be back at our own office to greet you. the station here is set up if you choose to work here. other than that, our team will be operating out of our own office,” amelia spoke.

“if you don’t mind we would like to go to your office,” hotch responded before adding, “but first, reid and morgan go to the last dump sight.”

spencer let out a slight grunt at his orders. “look, we all know you want to see y/n but we need to work on this case. the faster you leave the faster you can meet us. if there’s no more protest, i think we’re ready to go,” hotch said.

abe nodded before motioning with her hand to follow them, “you can trail us. it shouldn’t take long to be there.” the two teams exiting the police station, piling into the suv’s and driving down the streets of los angeles.

in the car, hotch had turned to his team while rossi drove. “due to this being the west coast branches case, we are currently under their authority. everything y/n says we have to listen too since she is heading the case,” he informed.

emily chuckled slightly, “never thought that we’d be taking orders from her.”

the office that greeted the washington d.c. bau team was not what they expected. it was very bright and fun, almost had the vibe of a shop rather than an office. you, however, were grabbing papers off of the printer and hanging them on the board.

“we’re back!” amelia’s voice called as she stepped into the office and went to her desk.

you finished pinning the photos and spun around just in time to see the four agents enter the room. you broke out in a grin, dropping the spare pins on whatever desk was closest. hotch was the first one who stepped forward, smiling as you hugged him tightly. you missed your friend and mentor greatly. rossi was next, greeting you with a “hey kiddo,” and also hugging you. j.j. and emily each broke out into a smile and embraced you.

as you stepped back, the team took in your appearance. you looked slightly different but still mostly the same. your hair was now longer and lighter due to the constant time spent in the sun. freckles also scattered on your cheeks. the main noticeable thing was a long scar spanning from the side of your forehead and going down to your jawline.

“woah what’s that?” j.j. exclaimed, reaching out to trace the scar. you didn’t mind, however.

“unimportant right now,” you simply said, wanting to change the topic. the rest of your team noticed your slight discomfort at the question. you grabbed a file off of the desk and handed it to hotch. “it’s really great to see you guys. this file has everything we’ve gathered.”

“these are agents benning, green, manning, blair, and bowen, also known as our resident cosmetologist,” you first introduced your team, “and these are agents hotchner, rossi, prentiss, and jareau.”

“oh my god they’re all so damn tall,” you heard j.j. whisper.

a sudden thought hit you. “hey where’s spencer and morgan?” you asked. “sent them to the crime scene, they should be arriving soon,” hotch informed, already moving to look at the board.

“so resident cosmetologist?,” emily questioned.

“you’d be surprised how often we have to go undercover. clay took a cosmetology course in college,” you responded. “hey what’s this?” another question was asked. you turned to see rossi and j.j. looking at a photo wall. “that’s our memory wall, we spend a lot of time in the office so we put any photos of the team, places we’ve been, or of each other up there. over there is our wall of people we helped. after one of our first cases, we were given a photo of the family we saved. it kinda became a thing that if the families were willing, they would give us a photo.”

you returned to your desk as abe followed. “what are your hours?” you sighed, “we work 9-7 on weekdays and then 10-1 on saturday’s. sunday’s are our days off.” no more questions were asked and the two teams got to work.

sometime later, just as you were leaning over audrey’s desk and looking at something on the computer, the outside door opened again. in strolled morgan, who had a wide grin on his face. “ hey pretty girl?” derek greeted you. you stood up and smiled as you were pulled into a hug. “nice to know the nickname hasn’t changed.”

“where’s my boy?” you asked.

you swore spencer was with morgan. “hey now, relax. he’s parking the car now. should be in any second.”

nervously, you tapped your fingers on your palm as audrey relayed some information to you though you weren’t quite retaining it. all you could think about that any moment, your boyfriend was going to be walking in the door. as soon as the door opened, your head snapped up.

“spencer?” you spoke quietly, looking towards the doorway where the man you hadn’t seen in ten months now stood.

#criminal #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #david rossi #penelope garcia

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cerezsis · 3 years ago

Text

Good Enough

Chapter One: Trenzalore

Prophecy and unresolved anger follow the Doctor and his daughter to Trenzalore. With the Doctor out of regenerations, how far will Cecilia go to save him?

“How do you know Elizabeth the First?” Cecilia asked as they made their way through the National Gallery. Her father being buddies with big names from history was nothing new, but not all of them went to such lengths to get in touch with him. The only people she’d known to do that were her own mother and grandparents.

“Long story, bit complicated,” the Doctor quickly said, glancing around at all the historical paintings and artifacts.

Cecilia sighed. She hated when he avoided questions like that.

“I will ask again later.” Uncrossing her arms, she slipped her hands into her dress pockets. Looking around, the only other people she saw were UNIT guards, standing diligently by every doorway. “Whatever her message is, it must be important if your buddies at UNIT are involved.”

“Yeah, I suspect so.”

“Will you at least tell me how you got to be so close with them?”

“Worked for them, back in the 70s.”

“You had a job?” She looked to him with her brows raised. “Like, an actual, paying job?”

“Still do. Never officially resigned.”

“Then why don’t you ever have money?”

“Haven’t updated my payroll slip.”

Approaching a set of closed doors, the men guarding it parted to open it for them. Inside were more paintings, a rather large one displayed in the center of the showroom, covered by a white sheet. Once they got closer, the guards on either side uncovered it, revealing an oil painting of a war-torn, alien city, the large Citadel in the center set ablaze.

“Elizabeth’s credentials, Doctor,” Kate explained.

The Time Lord’s posture stiffened at the sight of the painting, a tightness spreading through his chest. Cecilia’s eyes widened at she studied it closer, quickly realizing why the painting was in UNIT’s possession.

“But…” Too stunned to even reach for her glasses, she took a step closer, studying the 3D structure within. “But that’s impossible. How did a Gallifreyan painting get…?”

Not realizing that Cecilia had turned to him for an explanation, the Doctor’s breaths were slow and shallow. His mind was blank, yet one memory screamed loudly through the deafening silence.

“No more…” he quietly said.

“That’s the title,” Kate nodded.

“I know the title.” His tone came off much harsher than intended, but he was too lost in the flashes of explosions and flames to pay that much mind.

“Also known as Gallifrey falls,” Kate continued.

Cecilia again looked to the Doctor, but he spoke again before she could say anything.

“This painting doesn’t belong here, not in this time or place. It’s the fall of Arcadia, Gallifrey’s second city.”

The room fell silent as he stared at the painting. Everything around him quickly slipped from his awareness, all the people, the historic art, everything except him and that painting.

“Hey,” Cecilia said, her voice soft as she took his hand, “You ok?”

He didn’t respond right away, his eyes still locked on the painting. “He was there.”

“Who was?”

“Me.” His voice was miles away, like wasn’t fully aware he was speaking. “The other me. The one I don’t talk about…”

“Handles!” the Doctor scolded as he made his way up the steps. Cecilia stood just feet away at the controls, having just barely managed to teleport him back to the TARDIS in time.

“I said put me on a ship, not put me on a Dalek ship!” he continued to rant as he stood in front of the mounted Cyberman head, waving the Dalek eyestalk in the air, “Don’t put me on a Dalek ship when I’m holding A BROKEN BIT OF DALEK!”

He bopped the metal head with the eyestalk, only for it to bounce off and hit him in the forehead.

“Ow!” In a fit of frustration, he tossed the eyestalk to the ground and removed the Cyber-head from the console.

“You did not indicate a preference,” Handles reminded him in his robotic voice.

Cecilia sighed. “We need to program some common sense into him.”