#soundtrack of (never)forgotten summers

[ippokampos]

Photographer William Eggleston

[sabrinasopposite]

you'll always find a way back home ❀

clark kent x reader (miley stewart summer au)

❀ summary: being a cali-girl has its advantages—surrounded by beaches, parties, and sunshine. Y/N loves her life there, but she forgets that deep down, her roots lie in the opposite: Smallville. Her summer takes an unexpected turn when she returns to Smallville for her summer break and crosses paths once again with her childhood enemy, Clark Kent.

word count: 6,755

There’s always the best of both worlds—one filled with glamour and the other, well, the opposite of it. The same could be said for Malibu and Smallville. Malibu embodied glamorous salt air, the sound of waves, and the endless rush of life. Smallville, on the other hand, was different: cows, meadows, and pure silence—the opposite sides of existence.

For Y/N, the feeling of living in two different worlds wasn’t a big deal. She had left one world behind at the age of seven, spending the next ten years in Malibu. Salt air, endless beaches, and the golden glow of the sun—it was a life she had carved out for herself, a world she had seamlessly become part of. The rush of city life, the hum of vibrant streets, and the pulse of constant motion nourished her soul in ways she could never have imagined as a seven-year-old. The sprawling metropolis of Malibu felt like a living, thriving entity at the edge of the world.

Before Malibu, there was only Smallville. The life she had known as a child was painted in shades of green—vast, open fields stretching endlessly in every direction. The land was quiet, so silent it could almost swallow her whole. Days were spent wandering dusty roads on horseback, the sun scorching the back of her neck, while the sound of crickets and rustling corn served as her only soundtrack. It was a life where the horizon never seemed to change, and the sense of being trapped within the narrow confines of the small town’s heartbeat was ever-present. A world of barns, hand-me-down denim, and the thick scent of earth—the very soil seemed to anchor her in place, a constant reminder of who she once was.

Then came the transformation. She shed the weight of Smallville like an old, weathered coat and replaced it with the sleek, gleaming allure of Malibu. Gone were the cowboy boots—now she walked in strappy sandals. The scent of hay gave way to the salty tang of the ocean breeze. Her hands, once calloused from farmwork, now held delicate silk fabrics and the soft sheen of designer handbags. Dusty roads became wide, pristine boulevards, and the simple country air was replaced by the intoxicating aroma of city life.

And she liked it.

Hell, she loved it.

She loved being a city girl, a Cali girl.

She had long forgotten the quiet winds that swept through Smallville’s open fields, the scent of grass and earth underfoot, and the cool embrace of the night sky.

Yet, as summer break loomed, she envisioned herself spending it with friends at the beach or going to parties. But plans took an unexpected twist, like a tornado without warning. Her father, Robbie, appeared with his ever-stubborn insistence. He informed Y/N and her brother, Jackson, that they were heading back to Smallville for a celebration—Martha Kent’s birthday.

Martha, Robbie’s childhood friend and the ever-kind, patient woman, had invited them to join the Kents for the occasion. Y/N wasn’t thrilled. Her original summer plans had promised excitement, filled with the laughter of friends and the sparkle of club lights—the kind of plans Malibu always encouraged. Smallville, though? It felt like a relic of the past, a place where time stood still.

“I don’t want to go,” Y/N protested, her voice sharp with frustration as she flopped back onto the couch. “I had plans. I was going to hang out with my friends, hit the clubs, you know, actually have fun.”

Robbie raised an eyebrow. “This is important, Y/N. You haven’t seen Martha in years. She’s been asking about you. You’re going, and that’s final.”

Y/N crossed her arms, glaring at him. “You’re really going to make me spend my break in a field with cows and tractors?”

Her brother, Jackson—the ever-peacemaker and, somehow, the most annoying brother—glanced over with a sympathetic smile. “Come on, Y/N, it’ll be fun. Like old times. You can hang out with me, catch up with everyone, and maybe the fresh air will do you some good.”

Y/N groaned, slumping into the cushions. “I don’t need fresh air. I need a beach, not cornfields.”

But her father wasn’t listening to her complaints. “Pack your bags. We’re leaving in an hour.”

The truck rumbled along the familiar winding roads of Smallville, the scent of dust and fresh air filling the cab. Y/N leaned against the window, her fingers idly tracing patterns in the condensation. Outside, fields stretched endlessly in all directions, dotted with grazing cows and the occasional weathered barn. The sight should have been nostalgic, but to Y/N, it only deepened her annoyance.  

It had been years since she’d been here, yet the quiet of the countryside felt almost suffocating. The stillness pressed against her like a heavy blanket, the kind that made it hard to breathe. Smallville seemed frozen in time—its unchanging landscapes a stark contrast to the vibrant motion of Malibu.  

She glanced over at Jackson, who was scrolling through his phone in the passenger seat, annoyingly unbothered by their sudden detour into the past. Robbie sat behind the wheel, humming along to a country station on the radio, clearly in his element. The whole scene made Y/N’s skin itch.  

She sighed, the sound loud enough to get Jackson’s attention. He smirked without looking up from his phone. “You okay there, city girl?”  

“Fine,” Y/N muttered, shifting in her seat. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how irritated she was. But in truth, she wasn’t fine. The weight of Smallville’s simplicity—the fields, the dirt roads, the lack of anything remotely exciting—was already settling over her like a cloud.  

The truck slowed as they passed the familiar white sign welcoming them to Smallville. Y/N’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. The memories she’d worked so hard to bury began clawing their way back to the surface: the laughter of kids on the school playground, the smell of hay bales during harvest, the quiet nights spent staring at the stars because there was nothing else to do.  

She shifted her gaze back to the window, trying to drown out the flood of emotions with the rhythmic crunch of the tires on the gravel road. “Why couldn’t we just send a card?” she grumbled under her breath, earning a chuckle from Robbie.  

“It won’t kill you to be here for a few days,” her father said, his tone equal parts teasing and firm. “Besides, Martha’s been looking forward to seeing you. She’s practically family, Y/N.”  

Y/N rolled her eyes. That was the problem. Smallville wasn’t just a place she’d left behind—it was a version of herself she’d buried, a girl she didn’t want to be anymore. Being back here felt like opening a door she’d slammed shut years ago, and she wasn’t ready to step through it.  

As the truck turned down a familiar dirt road, the Kent farmhouse came into view. It looked exactly as she remembered—whitewashed walls, a wide wraparound porch, and the iconic red barn standing proud against the horizon. Y/N could already picture Martha’s warm smile and open arms, the way she’d welcome them with fresh pie and a hug that felt like it could squeeze the air out of your lungs.  

Her father parked the truck and hopped out, stretching with a contented sigh. “We’re here,” he announced cheerfully.  

Y/N stayed put, gripping the door handle but not opening it. The idea of stepping out and being enveloped in the reality of Smallville made her stomach churn. She wasn’t ready to see the barn, the fields, or the people who would ask her questions she didn’t want to answer. She wasn’t ready to feel like the little girl who used to belong here.  

“Y/N?” Jackson’s voice broke through her thoughts. He was standing outside now, leaning against the truck with a knowing look on his face. “You coming, or are you planning to live in the cab?”  

With a heavy sigh, Y/N pushed the door open and slid out. The warm summer air wrapped around her like a blanket, carrying with it the faint scent of freshly cut grass and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. It was as if Smallville itself was welcoming her home.  

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans and trudged toward the house, muttering under her breath, “This is going to be the longest summer of my life.”  

The Kent farmhouse was just as Y/N remembered it, a picture-perfect postcard of rural life. The white picket fence framed the yard, the flowerbeds bursting with color, and the iconic red barn standing tall against the clear blue sky. Despite herself, she felt a twinge of warmth at the sight of it all.

Martha Kent stood on the porch, her apron dusted with flour, waving enthusiastically as the truck pulled to a stop. Y/N couldn’t help but smile a little. Martha’s energy was infectious, and her kind heart had always been a constant source of comfort during Y/N’s early years in Smallville.

“Y/N! Jackson! Oh, it’s so good to see you both!” Martha exclaimed, rushing forward with open arms. Robbie got out of the truck first, grinning as Martha pulled him into a quick hug before moving on to Y/N and Jackson.

Y/N braced herself for the inevitable bone-crushing hug, but when Martha wrapped her arms around her, it wasn’t suffocating—it was warm and reassuring, like stepping into the sunlight after a cloudy day. “Look at you! You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman,” Martha said, pulling back to get a good look at her.

“Thanks, Martha,” Y/N said, her voice softening in spite of her earlier annoyance. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“And Jackson, my goodness, you’ve shot up like a weed!” Martha added, giving him a playful nudge.

Jackson grinned, always happy to be the center of attention. “It’s good to see you too, Mrs. Kent.”

“Now, none of this ‘Mrs. Kent’ business. You know you can call me Martha,” she said, ushering them toward the porch.

The house smelled like freshly baked apple pie, with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg lingering in the air. Y/N couldn’t deny that it felt nice—familiar, even. Martha’s home had always been a safe haven, a place filled with warmth and kindness.

As they settled into the living room, Martha brought out a tray of lemonade and cookies, chatting animatedly with Robbie about old times. Jackson joined in, sharing stories of their life in Malibu. Y/N stayed mostly quiet, sipping her lemonade and letting the conversation flow around her. She liked Martha, but being back in Smallville was like stepping into a pair of old shoes that didn’t quite fit anymore.

“Clark’s not here, by the way,” Martha said suddenly, glancing at Y/N with a knowing smile. “He’s somewhere.”

Y/N froze, her fingers tightening around her glass. Of course, Clark Kent would come up eventually. He was practically Smallville royalty, and Martha couldn’t help but dote on her son.

“That’s… fine,” Y/N said quickly, trying to keep her tone neutral.

Clark Kent was the most annoying boy next door, y/n has ever known. He was always teasing her about her farming skills, or pulled pranks with Jackson on her. Y/N always teased Clark that he couldn’t speak properly to girls, or that he looks like a grandpa. It was always forth and back.

Martha chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I seem to remember the two of you didn’t get along very well as kids.”

Jackson snorted. “Didn’t get along? That’s putting it mildly. Clark was always teasing her—pushing her to the hay, hiding her toys, calling her ‘city slicker’ even though she wasn’t from the city back then.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, annoyance was clear on her face. “Yeah, well, he was a terror. I’m surprised he didn’t get himself kicked out of kindergarten.”

Martha laughed, clearly amused. “Oh, he’s grown out of that phase, I promise. He’ll be happy to see you.”

Y/N highly doubted that. The last time she’d seen Clark Kent, they’d been seven years old, and he’d shoved a frog into her lunchbox, resulting in her shrieking so loudly the teacher had to call the principal and Y/N pushed him later as revenge to a lake. The memory still made her cringe.

“Well, let’s hope he’s matured,” Y/N said in a sarcastically tone, setting her glass down on the coffee table.

Martha patted her hand gently. “I’m sure you’ll both get along better now. People change, Y/N.”

“Sure they do,” Y/N replied, though she wasn’t convinced. If Clark Kent was still the same smug, teasing boy she remembered, this summer was about to become a whole lot more complicated.

After the small talk in the living room had run its course, Y/N found herself wandering toward the window, gazing out at the sprawling fields behind the Kent house. Her eyes drifted to the paddock near the barn, and her breath caught when she spotted a familiar figure—Blue Jeans, her old horse.  

The years hadn’t dulled his striking appearance. His glossy black coat gleamed in the sunlight, his white star-shaped marking standing out proudly on his forehead. Her heart squeezed as memories of riding him across the fields rushed back—those carefree days when the world felt vast and full of possibilities.  

“He’s still here,” Y/N murmured, more to herself than anyone else.  

Martha, who had been tidying up, looked over and smiled warmly. “Of course, he is. Robbie couldn’t bear to part with him after you guys left. He’s been here ever since.”  

Y/N couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at her lips. Blue Jeans had been her constant companion during her Smallville years, a source of comfort when the quiet got too loud. She suddenly felt a tug of nostalgia and longing that she hadn’t anticipated.  

“I’m going to go see him,” she said abruptly, grabbing her phone and heading toward the door.  

The heat of the sun kissed her skin as she walked across the yard, the scents of hay and earth growing stronger with every step. When she reached the paddock, Blue Jeans was grazing lazily near the fence, his tail swishing against the flies.  

“Hey there, boy,” Y/N called softly, leaning against the wooden fence. Her voice wavered slightly, a mix of excitement and nervousness. “It’s me, Blue Jeans. Remember me?”  

The horse’s ears twitched, and he lifted his head to look at her. His dark eyes, once so full of trust and familiarity, now stared at her with a distant curiosity. Y/N felt a pang of disappointment.  

“It’s been a while, huh?” she said, stepping closer. She reached out a hand, hoping he’d recognize her scent or the sound of her voice. “I’ve missed you, you know.”  

Blue Jeans regarded her for a moment longer before snorting and turning his head away, clearly uninterested.  

“Come on, don’t be like that,” Y/N murmured, slipping through the fence and into the paddock. She approached slowly, her hand outstretched, but as soon as she got close, Blue Jeans startled. His ears pinned back, and before she could react, he bolted across the paddock, his hooves kicking up clouds of dust.  

“Blue Jeans, wait!” Y/N called, her heart sinking as she watched him gallop toward the far side of the field.  

She stood there for a moment, the weight of his reaction pressing down on her. He didn’t remember her. The bond they’d shared—the one she’d thought would last forever—was gone.  

Frustration welled up as she stopped near the edge of the pasture, catching her breath. She hadn’t expected this—her own horse, the one she’d ridden through countless childhood summers, didn’t even know her anymore.

Movement on the far side of the field caught her eye. A rider was approaching swiftly on a sleek black horse, cutting across the open space with practiced ease. They seemed to have noticed Blue Jeans’ runaway gallop and were moving to intercept him.

Y/N squinted, trying to make out the rider. The sunlight glinted off the black horse’s glossy coat as the figure leaned low in the saddle, guiding the animal with effortless precision.

The rider expertly maneuvered their horse, heading off Blue Jeans before he could get any farther. With a firm but gentle pull of the reins, they brought him to a halt. The black horse stood steady, calm in its dominance, while Blue Jeans pawed at the ground, uncertain but no longer running.

Y/N stood frozen, watching the rider stroke Blue Jeans’ neck and murmur something she couldn’t hear. She felt a pang of gratitude mixed with curiosity.

As the rider turned and began leading the two horses back toward the barn, Y/N finally got a better look. The tall figure was dressed in a simple flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. The confidence in his movements stirred something vaguely familiar in her memory, but she couldn’t place it right away.

When the rider dismounted, handing Blue Jeans’ reins to her, Y/N finally got a clear look at his face—and her breath caught. 

Clark Kent.

Of course, that was him.

He looked different—taller, broader, more confident—but the smug little smirk on his face as he approached was unmistakable.

“Lost something?” he called out, his voice carrying across the field.

Y/N crossed her arms, her jaw tightening as Clark brought both horses to a stop in front of her. Blue Jeans looked calm now, his ears twitching as Clark dismounted and handed her the reins.

“Your horse didn’t seem too thrilled to see you,” Clark said, his tone light but with that teasing edge she remembered all too well.

Y/N snatched the reins from his hand, glaring at him. “He just didn’t recognize me. It’s been a while.”

Clark raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure, if that’s what you want to tell yourself.”

She huffed, focusing on stroking Blue Jeans’ neck instead of responding. Clark’s black horse snorted behind him, and Y/N couldn’t help but notice how well-trained and strong the animal looked.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” she asked, trying to sound casual but failing to hide her irritation.

Clark shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I could ask you the same, city girl. Perhaps I was riding but I didn’t think I’d end up saving your horse in the process and I am still waiting for a ,thank you,” His tone sarcastically as ever.

“Thanks,” she muttered begrudgingly, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his tone annoyingly cheerful.

As Clark mounted his horse again, he glanced back at her with a grin that made her blood boil. “Good to see you again, city girl. Try not to lose him next time.”

With that, he urged his horse into a trot and rode off, leaving Y/N standing there with Blue Jeans and a swirl of emotions she didn’t want to unpack.

“Great,” she muttered under her breath, tugging lightly on Blue Jeans’ reins. “Welcome back to Smallville.”

Y/N walked slowly back toward the barn, Blue Jeans obediently following behind her, though he was still skittish from the brief escape. Her thoughts were racing, the familiar, maddening presence of Clark Kent bringing all kinds of feelings she’d hoped were buried. She couldn’t believe it—after all these years, he was still the same teasing, infuriating kid she remembered. Only now, he was taller, more confident, and somehow, even more irritating.

As she reached the barn, she heard the sound of hooves approaching again. This time, it was slower, more deliberate. She glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, there was Clark, riding his horse back toward her. 

He pulled the reins as he stopped a few feet away, his eyes narrowing with that mischievous glint she remembered so well. 

“So, Malibu, huh?” he said, his tone light and teasing, as if he was trying to provoke her. “I actually didn’t even recognize you earlier. Thought you were some California tourist passing through.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks. “You’re not the first person to make that mistake,” she muttered, stroking Blue Jeans’ neck a little more forcefully than necessary. 

Clark chuckled, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “No kidding. You look nothing like the girl I used to torment.” His gaze shifted up and down, inspecting her with an expression that felt far too knowing. “You’ve definitely changed. I barely recognized you without the pigtails and the dirt on your face.”

Y/N couldn’t suppress a huff of frustration. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve been really paying attention,” she shot back, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Why would I want to look like that annoying little girl you used to pick on?” 

Clark grinned, clearly enjoying every second of this. “You know, I never understood why you were so touchy about me teasing you. It was all in good fun. You were, what, seven? Not like you’d remember any of it now.” His eyes twinkled as if he was savoring the memory of their childhood rivalry. 

“Trust me,” Y/N replied, her tone sharp, “I remember plenty. And just because I don’t look like that girl anymore doesn’t mean I’m not still the same person.” 

Clark leaned back slightly in the saddle, crossing his arms over his chest. “Right. Of course. But it’s hard to see past the whole… Malibu vibe. You’ve got the whole ‘I’m way too cool for Smallville’ thing going on.” His grin widened, and Y/N couldn’t tell if he was teasing her or genuinely poking at something he knew would get under her skin.

Y/N glanced at him, narrowing her eyes. “I’m not too cool for Smallville,” she said slowly, “but maybe it’s you who can’t see past the small-town life. Maybe it’s you who hasn’t changed.” 

Clark raised an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed by her comment. “I changed. I’m just not *bragging* about it like you are.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, indicating the way she stood in front of him, her posture more confident, her clothes undoubtedly a far cry from the ones she’d worn all those years ago. “I mean, Malibu does wonders for a person.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush but refused to back down. “I’m not bragging. And for the record, there’s more to me than whatever you think you see from your small-town perspective.” She met his gaze, refusing to let him get the best of her. “You know, I didn’t ask for this visit. I had better plans than standing here in the dust, talking to the same person who made my life miserable when we were kids.”

Clark leaned forward in the saddle, his expression softening slightly. “Hey, I’m just messing with you. I didn’t mean anything by it. But seriously, Malibu… It must be a whole different world from here, huh?” His tone was more genuine now, though still laced with that teasing undercurrent. “I bet it’s *pretty* hard to leave it all behind.”

Y/N hesitated. For a moment, the teasing and the rivalry faded, and she could hear the underlying curiosity in his voice. “Yeah,” she admitted, her shoulders relaxing just a little. “It’s... different. It’s all the things people think it is—beaches, sun, parties. But it’s also lonely. Harder than people realize.” 

Clark’s smile faded, and he gave a small nod, as if he understood more than he was letting on. “I get it. Doesn’t matter how shiny things are. Not every place feels like home.” 

Y/N looked at him, surprised by the change in tone. For a moment, it felt like they weren’t just two childhood enemies standing in the middle of a field—they were two people who, in their own ways, were just trying to make sense of their worlds. 

But before she could say anything more, Clark seemed to snap back to his usual self. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your horse,” he said with a wink. “Just don’t lose him again, okay? I don’t want to have to rescue you next time.”

Y/N scowled. “You’re lucky I’m not punching you right now,” she shot back, but even as she said it, there was an undeniable hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Clark laughed, a light, carefree sound that made Y/N realize how little she actually knew about the boy who had teased her for so long. “I’ll be around, city girl. Don’t go getting too comfortable.”

Y/N watched him go, the sting of their old rivalry still there but somehow not as sharp. Maybe Smallville wasn’t as small as she remembered after all.

Over the next few days, Y/N found herself spending more time with Clark than she’d expected. Every time she tried to avoid him, he seemed to find a way to show up, like some kind of cosmic joke. And despite her best efforts to maintain her distance, she couldn’t help but feel a strange pull toward him. It was the kind of pull that only small towns seemed to foster—familiar, unspoken, and inescapable.

It started innocently enough. Martha had insisted that they all help with the chores around the farm, and, of course, Clark had been the first to show up, grinning like a cat that had gotten the cream. 

“Ready to get your hands dirty, city girl?” he’d teased, standing at the entrance of the barn with his sleeves rolled up, looking like he belonged there more than anyone else.

Y/N shot him a glare, arms crossed. “I’ll have you know, I’m perfectly capable of doing chores, thank you very much.”

He chuckled, clearly not convinced. “I doubt you’ve done a real day’s work in your life,” he shot back, leaning against a barrel of hay. “I mean, Malibu’s great and all, but I don’t think they teach you how to muck out a stall out there.”

She clenched her jaw. “You’d be surprised what I can handle.”

And handle it, she did. After a little grumbling, they worked side by side, shoveling hay, cleaning out the barn, and feeding the animals. At first, it was awkward—Y/N wasn’t used to the rhythm of farm life anymore, and Clark didn’t hesitate to point out every little mistake she made. 

“Oh, you missed a spot,” he’d tease, always with that smirk of his, as he wiped his hands on his jeans. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it, city girl.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the truth was, she liked the banter. It reminded her of her childhood, when everything was simpler, when everything had felt like a game. 

“Look, if you think I can’t do this, just wait until I show you how it’s done,” she said, determined to prove him wrong. 

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? I’m waiting.”  

And then, to his surprise, Y/N had grabbed the pitchfork and shoveled with more precision than he had expected. She might not have grown up with the same skills as him, but she knew how to get things done.  

When they finally took a break, Clark leaned against the barn wall, wiping his forehead. “Alright, I’ll admit it. You’re not as bad as I thought. Maybe Malibu’s *not* all you are.”

Y/N smirked, a spark of competition in her eyes. “Told you so.”  

Their time together continued like that—moments of teasing and lighthearted jabs followed by quiet, almost comfortable silences. They’d ride together out in the fields, their horses’ hooves beating a steady rhythm on the dirt. Clark would always make sure to *just barely* stay ahead of her, giving her a playful wink when she caught up. 

“You know, I’ve always been better at this than you,” he would say, his voice a mix of challenge and amusement. “You used to be so slow. Guess Malibu's not doing much for your speed.”

Y/N would roll her eyes. “You really need to stop talking about the past, Kent. I’m faster now. Catch me if you can.”

And then she’d race ahead, her heart pounding in the excitement of the chase. Clark would grin and follow, effortlessly keeping pace with her, never really pushing to overtake her. They were both competitive, in their own ways, but Clark’s subtle teasing always managed to keep her on her toes.

One afternoon, after a long ride, they returned to the barn, both a little winded and flushed from the exertion. Clark tied the horses up, and when he turned to Y/N, he caught her looking at him for a moment longer than she intended. 

“What?” he asked, his grin widening as he noticed the lingering look. 

“Nothing,” Y/N replied quickly, her heart unexpectedly fluttering. “I was just thinking how *different* it is being here. It feels… good, I guess. Like it fits.”

Clark didn’t miss the tone in her voice. “Glad to hear it,” he said quietly, his smile softer now, like he wasn’t just teasing her for once. “You know, Smallville has a way of doing that to people. It’s like it gets under your skin.” 

Y/N swallowed, feeling her heartbeat quicken. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

And then, almost as if to remind her that some things never really changed, Clark stepped closer, leaning in just a bit too close for comfort. “I’m still way better at riding than you, though,” he said, his voice low with that playful challenge. “I mean, you did need me to catch your horse earlier.”

Y/N huffed, trying to stay unaffected by the closeness. “I don’t remember asking for your help.”

He flashed a grin, his eyes lingering on her face for just a beat too long. “I’ll remind you of that next time I rescue you from your own horse again.”

The air between them shifted, a silent tension hanging in the barn as they stood in the afterglow of their ride, the sound of the horses settling in the background. Y/N felt a knot tighten in her stomach, but before she could respond, Clark seemed to snap back into his usual playful demeanor. 

“Well, I’d better go help my mom with dinner,” he said, a little too casually. “You know, so you don’t think I’m just here to torment you all day.”

“Too late for that,” she retorted, though her lips twitched into a small smile.

And as Clark walked away, Y/N found herself watching him longer than she probably should have. It wasn’t just the way he’d changed physically—stronger, taller, more confident. It was the way he seemed to settle back into Smallville with a comfort that felt almost... easy. The way they both fell back into their old rhythm of teasing and rivalry, like time had stood still, despite everything.

But somewhere beneath the playful jabs and the teasing grins, Y/N couldn’t ignore the fact that maybe—just maybe—Clark Kent had grown up in ways she hadn’t expected. And that left her wondering if there was more to the new Clark than the boy who used to torment her so many years ago. 

The next day, after a hearty breakfast at the Kent farm, Clark suggested they go on a ride to a place he thought she might like—a small waterfall hidden away just on the outskirts of town. He’d mentioned it casually, like it was no big deal, but Y/N could tell there was something about this spot that meant more to him than he was letting on. 

They saddled their horses and set off, the cool morning air whipping past them as they rode side by side through the fields. The peaceful rhythm of the horses' galloping hooves against the dirt seemed to melt away all the tension that had lingered between them the past few days. It was easy, comfortable, in a way Y/N hadn’t expected. There was something about being on horseback, moving through the wide-open space, that made her feel connected to this place again—like she was finding pieces of herself she had forgotten.

Clark led her down a narrow path that wound through trees, and soon the sound of rushing water filled the air. They emerged from the trees and reached the small clearing. There, nestled between moss-covered rocks, was a hidden waterfall, cascading down into a crystal-clear pool below. Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dancing shadows on the water's surface. It was quieter here, the only sound the rush of water and the occasional birdcall.

“Wow,” Y/N breathed, momentarily stunned by the beauty of it. “This is... amazing. I never thought a place like this would be hiding right here.”

Clark smiled, clearly proud of the spot. “Told you. It’s one of my favorite places. Not many people know about it.”

He dismounted, tying the horses to a nearby tree, and then looked over at Y/N. “You should come down to the water. It’s the best part.”

Y/N hesitated for just a second, eyeing the small, clear pool at the base of the waterfall. “I don’t know, Clark. It looks kind of... cold.”

Clark grinned. “It’s refreshing. Trust me, you’ll love it. Besides,” he added with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “you could use a little adventure. Also don’t you have beaches in Malibu?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her own grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, don’t even start with that again.”

But before she could protest any further, Clark was already walking toward the water’s edge, kicking off his boots and rolling up his sleeves. Without warning, he jumped into the sea with a splash, sending water flying in every direction. Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of him, drenched but clearly enjoying himself. 

Clark poked his head out from the water, eyes sparkling. “Come on, it’s not so bad!”

Y/N shook her head, still laughing at the sight of him. “You’re crazy,” she called, but even as she said it, she found herself grinning. There was something about seeing him so carefree, so unguarded, that made her feel... lighter, like the tension between them from their childhood had completely evaporated. 

After a beat, she hesitated. She hadn’t planned on going into the water, but part of her felt like maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it was time to let go of her reservations and enjoy the moment. 

With a resigned sigh, Y/N slowly walked toward the water, kicking off her own boots and rolling up her sleeves. She dipped a toe in, testing the water, and winced at the coolness. 

“See? Not that bad,” Clark teased, grinning like a boy who had just won a victory.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she muttered, but before she could fully make up her mind, Clark swam closer to her, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Race you to the waterfall,” he said, his voice light with playful challenge.

Without waiting for a response, he splashed through the water, making his way toward the base of the waterfall. 

Y/N’s competitive spirit flared up instantly. “You’re on!” she shouted, charging after him.

The water was cold, but the rush of the challenge and the sight of Clark splashing ahead of her made her forget the chill. She pushed forward, splashing water everywhere, and as she caught up to him, she could hear him laughing. The sound was carefree, filled with the kind of joy that she hadn’t heard from him in years. It made her heart flutter in a way she wasn’t quite prepared for.

Clark reached the waterfall first, turning back to look at her. “I knew you were slow.”

Y/N shot him a mock glare. “Not funny.”

But before she could protest further, Clark lunged toward her and, with a quick move, grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into the deeper part of the sea. Y/N yelped in surprise, but her protest was cut short as she found herself falling into the cool water, completely submerged for a moment.

She came up sputtering, her hair plastered to her face. “You jerk!”

Clark was already laughing, his eyes full of playful amusement. “Couldn’t resist,” he teased. “You’ve got to admit, it’s fun.”

Y/N wiped the water from her face, but as she looked up at him, something shifted between them. The teasing glint in Clark’s eyes softened for a moment, and for a beat, there was something in his gaze that made her heart skip. 

He reached out, pushing a wet strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her skin for just a second longer than necessary. “You know, I’ve missed this,” he said, his voice quieter now, the teasing gone, replaced by something more genuine.

Y/N swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. “Missed what?”

He smiled softly, his eyes locking with hers. “To tease you the whole time?”

Y/N’s lips curved into a chuckle, shaking her head. “Really? That’s all you’re going to say?”

Clark chuckled, tilting his head as he moved a bit closer. “What exactly do you want me to say, then?”

Y/N found herself looking into his eyes for a moment longer than usual, her breath catching. There was something about his tone, something flirtatious but also not, and it made her feel... strangely open to the moment.

She let out a soft breath, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “Like that you missed me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Clark’s gaze softened, a hint of something more real flashing across his expression. For a moment, the world seemed to slow down around them. The teasing was gone, replaced by an unspoken understanding, something deeper than the playful back-and-forth that had defined their relationship for so long.

Clark hesitated for just a heartbeat, before his smile widened. “I think I can say that,” he said, his voice gentle, but there was still that glimmer of playfulness there. “I missed you, Y/N. Even if you were always a little... annoying.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, a mix of warmth and something else she couldn't quite place. She tilted her head, her voice playful but soft. “You’re still teasing me.”

Clark’s expression shifted, and for the first time since they hang out the whole time, he seemed to be a little more serious. “Maybe I am, but it’s because I... I don’t know, I like seeing you smile. You don’t even know how much I missed you.”

Y/N’s breath caught again. She hadn’t realized how much she’d longed for something genuine from him, something that didn’t involve teasing or childish rivalries.

She reached up, brushing her fingers lightly against his arm, before letting them fall back to her side. “Well,” she said, her voice softening, “I missed you too, Clark. In my own way.”

Clark didn’t say anything for a moment, as if letting the weight of her words sink in. Then, without warning, he gave her a crooked grin, his tone returning to that teasing edge she was so familiar with. “So, does that mean you’ll forgive me for all the cowboy or malibu jokes?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but this time, the smile on her lips was different—gentler, warmer. “Maybe. But only if you promise not to throw me into the water again.”

Clark laughed, the sound light and easy. “Deal. But just so you know, it was totally worth it.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh along with him, her heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. The moment had shifted from playful banter to something much more. Something real.

And for the first time, Y/N wasn’t sure if she wanted to let go of this new side of Clark—this side that made her feel seen, not just as the girl from Malibu, but as someone who could still be a part of Smallville, in her own way.

Maybe it was true, that you’ll always find a way back home.

❀taglist: @blackynsupremacy @alelo23 @collywobblvs @tvdelrey @angelsgalore @tinainaction

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

And It’s Like the Sky is New

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (pre-relationship)

Warnings: None

Summary: “All at once, everything looks different.”

A/N: Just needed to get something out. I feel like I’m falling behind and letting people down. Dedicated to @shadowcitrine who always lets me know when I’m doing too much. 🩵

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

“Doin’ too much.”

You looked over your shoulder to find Daryl in the doorway, fingers busy fiddling with the tip of a bolt. You were so tired that you hadn’t even heard him come inside. “No. No, I’m not doing enough.” You disputed quietly, blowing your hair out of your face before turning back to your project, pulling the thread taut and pushing the needle through again. The prison community had grown tenfold and the kids outgrew clothes so fast. Hand-me-downs were necessary. The least you could do is hand them down with less holes.

“Not what I mean.” You heard him push himself off the frame and then his boots as he approached. His knees protested the descent to the concrete floor, but if it bothered him, he never said. “Not all this.”

You narrowed your eyes at the hand that gestured toward the projects you had scattered about: sewing, medical journals, dirty laundry for washing, and the list went on. “If you’ve got a point, Daryl, make it.” You didn’t snap at him. You were too weary for the energy that would require.

His expression remained neutral. “Doin’ plenty out here.” When he leaned in, you nearly reeled, but found you neither had the energy nor the true desire. His hand raised, his index finger tapping the middle of your forehead. “Doin’ too much in here.”

Your eyes followed his hand as he retracted it, letting it drop onto his thigh. He was right, of course. You had been thinking of everyone else for so long that you had forgotten what it even felt like to think of yourself. “Oh? What do you suggest?” You finally replied, placing the sewing on top of the pile.

One side of Daryl’s mouth lifted. “C’mon with me.”

The weather was cool, summer shifting into fall with all of its quiet and colors. The night air felt refreshing on your skin, having been cooped up for days with your projects. Your mind needed to be constantly occupied, lest you fall into the what ifs that consistently hung in the air. You’d be consumed by them, forgetting that you could be more than alive but actually still live.

The night sky was clear, stars twinkling. An entire universe was beyond the hell on earth and you couldn’t help but wonder if somewhere out there, there were other people; another planet where lives were happily moving forward. It was odd to feel jealousy toward something that may not even exist.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?” You answered a little too quickly, rolling your head toward the sound of Daryl’s voice. His gaze remained on the sky.

He inhaled deeply, folding his arms behind his head. “Where’d ya go?”

“Nowhere bad.” The stars acted as sparkling magnets and pulled your eyes back toward the sky. “Mostly.” A hum resonated beside you, so deep that you could almost feel it in your own chest. “Do you ever wonder what else is out there?” Your hand came up in a lazy gesture toward the incomplete darkness with its pinpricks of celestial light.

“Nah.” He answered immediately. It was almost insulting how little care he gave the reply. “Ain’t no need when there’s still so much—good right here.”

You laughed at this, turning your head to meet his indignant glare. “What’s so good about here? There’s the threat of—of death around every corner.” Daryl’s expression never wavered, his eyes searching your face. “What’s so good, Daryl?”

His eyes narrowed before he blinked and looked upward. “Them stars. They’re good.” You choked down another laugh. “Nights like this’un. They’re good.” He continued. “Family. That’s good.” Then there was silence. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable; simply unexpected.

“I guess you’re—”

“You.” His head lolled back toward you. “You’re a good thing.” You only managed the first chuckle of a laugh before realizing there was not even a single hint of humor in the way he gazed at you. The expression may have appeared stoic to anyone else but you—you could see the fondness just below the surface, the sincerity, the truth. Your heart leapt into a somersault when you felt his finger graze the side of your hand.

“You, uh—” You swallowed hard, bearing witness to the moonlight catching in his eyes, making them almost silver under its influence. “You’re a good thing too.” Daryl stared at you a little longer before returning his attention to the sky, simultaneously lacing his fingers through yours. You, however, couldn’t seem to look away.

You’re not a good thing, Daryl. You’re the best thing.

[writing-fanics]

When somebody loved me

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

When somebody loved me

Everything was beautiful

You smiled as you flew through the skies with Lucifer, holding hands. Giggling and laughing, and you two flew through the skies. You loved spending time together soaring through the heavens together, dancing in the skies without a care in the world.

Every hour we spent together

Lives within my heart

And when he was sad

I was there to dry his tears

You wiped away his tears and smiled at him, hopefully as he sniffled. He placed his hand over yours and leaned into your touch. He looked at you and smiled, he was lucky to have you by his side.

And when he was happy, so was I

You giggled, as he showed you his magic and his wondrous ideas your eyes lighting up in wonder. You wanted nothing more than his dreams to become a reality.

For you to be by his side to help him achieve his dreams. Because you loved him more than anything. He sat down beside you and placed your head on his shoulder, your hand over his closing your eyes as he gently rubbed the back for your hand.

When he loved me

Through the summer and the fall

You giggled as you jumped into a pile of leaves, like a little kid. Leaves falling around you as you jumped in the giant pile of leaves. Lucifer watched you with a smile, you were always so carefree and filled with joy.

We had each other, that was all

Just he and I together

He kissed you on the lips as the leaves fell around you. You giggled, as you kissed him back wrapping your arms around his neck.

Like it was meant to be

And when he was lonely

I was there to comfort him

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. As you comforted him running your fingers through his hair as you listened to him talk. He loved that about you how you’d listen to him. He was lucky to have you as a partner and he loved you for that.

And I knew that

He loved me

So the years went by

Lucifer seemed to start going to the garden of Eden, a lot more often you thought it was for the new creation that the angels were working on. You didn’t know but he seemed to drift away further and further, while you stayed there on that hill waiting for him after finishing work.

When he would come back he’d be tired, and barely wanna spend time with you leaving you feeling understandable yet sad.

I stayed the same

But he began to drift away

You sat there alone on the hill sadly, Lucifer was becoming busier and busier. Slowly drifting further and further away, spending less and less time with you.

Before you could even speak he swiftly left you there standing alone, your hands falling to your side.

I was left alone

Still, I waited for the day

When he'd say, "I will always love you"

Lonely and forgotten

It was your anniversary and he still hadn’t returned, you missed him. Yet you were hopeful waiting for him everyday as he spent time in the garden, doing who knows what.

Never thought he'd look my way

And he smiled at me and held me

You say there alone hoping that he'd come back to you, and you'd feel his arms around you. But he was busy doing whatever he was doing. You missed him, and as you played with the ring around your finger. You felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist.

You smiled as he hugged you and you closed your eyes, smiling at the familiar warmth. That you so greatly missed, you nuzzled your head into the crook of your neck. You didn’t want to let go thinking that he’d leave you again. You didn't know this hug was a hug goodbye.

Just like he used to do

Like he loved me

When he loved me

You stared at him with a blank stare, as he was beginning judge for his actions. His crimes against Heaven, for bringing evil into the world. Because of him wanting to give free will to humans.

When somebody loved me

Everything was beautiful

As you stood there, your mind in a complete state of shock, you found yourself unable to process everything that was happening around you.

The words he spoke seemed to echo in your ears, but they didn't quite register in your mind. All you could do was stare at him, your heart aching with the realization that he no longer loved you in the same way that he used to.

Every hour we spent together

Lives within my heart

The memories of the past flooded your mind, and you couldn't help but wish that you could go back in time and relive those beautiful moments when his love for you was pure and unadulterated.

Despite the pain, your heart continued to beat for him, and you knew deep down that you would always love him, no matter what.

As the weight of everything you were experiencing became too heavy to bear, your eyes began to fill with tears and a lump formed in your throat as you tried to swallow.

You found yourself sitting alone on top of a hill, your knees pulled up to your chest as you sobbed uncontrollably.

The tears streamed down your face, leaving behind a trail of sadness and despair. You looked around, but there was no one to comfort you, no one to dry your tears, and no one to share your pain. The world seemed bleak and hopeless, and you felt lost and alone, drowning in your emotions.

When he loved me

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn't go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: get ready for the hate.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The tunnel lights up ahead of you, revealing the cubic rock walls as you plant torches in your stead. The eerie soundtrack of night time and the ominous groan of zombies looming somewhere in the cave have you uptight. Silently, you press on, digging and mining mindlessly, fingers mashing the buttons on your controller. 

“Hey, where are you?” Jacob’s voice startles you. 

You nearly forgot you’re playing co-op. You sniff and shake your head, cursing aloud as your shock has you succumbing to the arrow of a sneaky skeleton. You sigh as your possessions scatter and you spawn back in your bed. 

“Back home,” you say glumly, “just ate it.” 

“Ah, damn,” his deep voice rolls in your noise-cancelling headset, “sorry, hope that wasn’t me.” 

“No, I wasn’t paying attention,” you hum and sigh.  

“Ah,” he accepts and lets silence linger before he clicks his tongue, “what’s going on? Everything alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you put the controller down, your avatar sitting on the geometric bed, “I just...” you stretch your neck and massage your scalp around the thick band of the headset, “got a lot on my mind.” 

“Right. I thought you were all done exams,” he says. 

“I am, but... packing. Going home. I called my old boss and turns out I’m not gonna have a job this summer. Gotta start over,” you yawn and rub your eyes, “what about you? Final exam tomorrow?” 

“Uh... yeah,” he hesitates as if he forgot. You do wonder why he isn’t cramming right now. You could never play minecraft all night the day before a final. “Easy stuff. I’m not worried.” 

You scoff. You wish you could say the same. All you’ve done is worry those last two weeks. Exams, getting home, getting a job. Your grandmother won’t very happy to find out you’ll be slumming it for a while. At least you tucked away some money through the semester. 

“Hey, if you need a few bucks...” Jacob offers. 

“What? Are you crazy? No way,” you exclaim, “really, no, I couldn’t. I’ll be fine. I just... I hate looking for jobs. You know how it is. Friggin awkward.” 

“It’s not a big deal. My dad sent me my birthday money so...” 

“Uh uh,” you deny him again, “that’s way too much. I couldn’t-- we haven’t even met.” 

“Mm, yeah, about that,” he exhales into his microphone, “I, uh, got an extra ticket to this Con. I figured out that’s it like the midway point between us so...” 

“A con? Oh, wow--” 

“Yeah, but I get that it would be expensive so maybe I could pay for your trip?” 

“Jacob,” you wiggle the controller restlessly, “I can't accept that. It’s so nice but... it’s a lot.” 

“I wouldn’t offer it was too much,” his voice is soft, meek, and defeated. You feel bad but you would feel worse taking advantage of his kindness. “We’ve been talking all year. I just figured it would be a good chance to meet up. It would be in public and something we both like so...” 

You scratch your neck as it speckles with heat. You don’t know what’s more insulting; yes or no. 

“Can I think about it?” You ask thinly. 

The line is quiet. You look at the screen and it goes dim from your idling. You hit the analog stick and fix your headphones. 

“Jacob?” You murmur. 

“Sure, think about it,” he says, his voice raspy and rocky. It’s strange. You’ve seen him in pictures and his voice doesn’t really match his appearance. He sounds a lot older than he looks. “It’s next month so lots of time.” 

“I’m sorry,” you cringe. “I just wouldn’t want to waste your money.” 

“Trust me, it wouldn’t be a waste,” he insists, “this last year has sucked. So much. You got me through it all.” His microphone scuffs, “studying, exams, all that stuff. It’s tough making new friends. Seems like everyone here knows each other from high school.” 

“Yeah, totally,” you agree.  

You’re not exactly the most popular person. You have people you know in each class but not too many friends you hang out with outside the lecture hall or library. So far, not too many people want to spend hours mining digital gold or racing cartoon characters around a rainbow track. 

“Well, you should probably get some sleep,” you yawn, “you got your big exam and... I gotta keep packing. Gotta catch the greyhound tomorrow night.” 

“Sure, uh, yeah, right,” his disappointment is potent, “hey, will you text me when you get home? Just so I know you made it.” He snorts, “god, I sound like my dad right now.” 

“Oh, of course,” you chirp back, “I’ll try to remember. Might be late.” 

“That’s fine. Just as long as you let me know.” 

“Don’t worry about me,” you assure him, “not ‘til I have to face my grandma. Ha.” 

“Yeah, good luck with that,” he says, “well... er...” 

“Good night,” you finish for him, “let me know how the exam goes too.” 

“Will do,” his timbre gets even lower, “night.” 

You sign off and shut down the console. Another yawn flows through you and waters in your eyes. You should sleep, you got a long day waiting for you, but you know it won’t be easy. Not with so much on your mind, not least of all, Jacob’s invitation. 

🎮

You text Jacob as you get on the bus, to make sure he doesn’t worry. It’s so sweet that he does, even some of your girlfriends don’t bother that much. Not that you mind the ‘hey, bitch’ Janet sends you every now and again to make sure you’re still alive. 

You fall asleep on the bus. You’ve never been one to sleep while travelling but you’re exhausted from a night of anxious tossing and turning. After spending all day packing up the last of your things and scouring your dorm room, you’re beat to hell. 

It’s midnight as you get to your grandmother’s house. She’s up reading another Stephen King classic in her rocking chair. She’s always been a night owl and a voracious book hound. She grumbles at you but doesn’t bother to ask how your trip was. 

“Hey, grandma,” you hike up your bag and smile.  

She growls again, eyes not leaving the page. You should know better by now not to interrupt her. You shoulder on and head down to the spare room where you spent most of your high-school career. You shut the door gently as the old hardwood floors creak with your weight and you drop your bag on the squeaky bed. 

You fish out your phone and plug it in as the battery flashes red with only two percent left. You leave it on the night table and stretch out, not bothering to change out of your hoodie and jeans. It’s not long before you descend back into the same dreams that marked your journey home. 

You wake up to buzzing. Your phone shakes the nightstand, rattling it against the bed frame. You groan and roll onto your side, reaching blindly for offending object. You hit the side button to dismiss the call.  

You blink away the bleariness and focus on the screen. Along with the missed call are several text messages. You squint as you expand the notifications. Jacob! You forgot to message. 

‘Hey, you home?’ 

‘Checking in. Must be busy getting settled in. Just let me know when you’re safe.’ 

‘Not meaning to be weird but everything okay?’ 

‘Please answer me. I’m worried.’ 

You drag your thumb around the keyboard, letting it predict your words; ‘sorry! I was so tired. Home now and safe 😊' 

Three dots pop up then swoop away. You frown as the same thing happens several times before a response appears. 

‘Was really worried. Thanks for finally answering. Been up all night.’ 

You’re stunned by the terse response. Yeah, you forgot to answer but he doesn’t need to worry that much. You frown and shift onto your side. 

‘Srry again. Tired. Talk in morning. Night.’ 

You turn your phone on silent and plug it back into the cord. You do feel bad but you’re too exhausted to let it keep you up. Besides, you need your sleep. You have lots of job hunting to do in the morning. Not to mention, your grandmother to face. 

🎮

You let Jacob cool down after your return home. Rather, he doesn’t text and you’re too distracted to do the same. As much as you’d like to sit around and game, your grandmother was as disappointed as you expected with your employment status, even when you gave her the money you had left in your emergency fund. 

After a week, you finally get a bite. It’s nothing special. There’s a seasonal ice cream shop in a booth shaped like a vanilla cone that needs a cashier on weeknights. It’s less than full time hours but it’s better than nothing. It will be strange working with high school juniors but you can’t afford to be picky. 

‘Game tonight?’ The text interrupts your first shift. You don’t have a chance to answer as a family approaches the window to order. 

You get them the soft serve and take their payment, bidding them a good evening with their vanilla points already drooping in the summer heat. You glance around at the mostly empty picnic tables. Soccer practice will end soon and you’ll be overloaded with eight-year-olds. 

‘Srry. New job. 1st shift. Maybe tmrw.’ 

‘New job? Congrats. Why didn’t you tell me?’ 

You sigh.  

‘Time got ahead of me.’ 

‘Same. Catch up tomorrow then. Minecraft?’ 

‘Sure. Tmrw.’ 

You slip your phone away. A mother and daughter approach and ask for a sundae and a banana split. As much as you love ice cream, working with it hasn’t tested your cravings very much. In fact, you might be falling out of love with it. The smell of vanilla and overly sweetened strawberries is kind of gross when it’s all you breathe. 

As you watch the happy customers walk away, you smile. Maybe it will be good to get some mining done. It will take your mind off of everything else. Hell, it might even make you feel like you’re doing something useful. 

🎮

“Shit, oh, sorry,” Jacob corrects himself. You always think it's kind of funny how he doesn’t like to swear. “My diamond armor.” 

“Oh no,” you utter, “where are you? I’ll grab your stuff.” 

He gives his coordinates and you turn around, leaping over the green blocks to make your way there. Despite your reticence at the beginning, you’re feeling better about the session. He wasn’t as tense as he seemed in his texts. 

“So, uh, did you think about the con?” Jacob asks. 

“The con? I almost forgot. When is it?” 

He gives the dates and you hum. Your chest flutters at the thought still. You’re not stupid. Meeting people IRL is not like online, no matter how many hours you’ve mined together. As much as you enjoy chatting with Jacob, you don’t know about meeting up. 

“I get it if you can’t get the time off but my offer still stands to cover the trip. If you wanna stay the night, I’ll even get an airBnB.” 

“Oh, wow, that’s a lot. I’m working now. I could put in,” you offer.  

“Is that a yes?” He asks hopefully. 

“I don’t know... I mean, I’ll have to look into it,” you say evasively. “Talk to my boss and grandma and all that.” 

“Right, right,” he tries to sound unbothered, “makes sense. Of course, no pressure. How about I send you the ticket either way? Haven’t got anyone else to bite.” 

“Oh, well, hold off, I wouldn’t want to take it and not use it,” you collect his weapons and armor from the ground in the game. 

It’s silent as you focus on getting every little thing. 

“Sorry, did I freak you out?” He asks, “I’m really not trying to pressure you, just got excited thinking about it.” 

“I know, Jacob, it’s not that, it’s just... a lot.” 

“Totally get it,” he intones, “let me know whenever you got an answer. Uh, where are you? I’m tryna find you.” 

“Just stay there, I'll come back to the house,” you assure him, happy to focus on the game instead. 

Still, you can’t entirely lose yourself in it. You’re sure he’s a nice guy. From pictures, he’s less than scary, and he’s never been anything but friendly. It’s not like the other dudes you meet online who jump to asking about your bra size and all that. It just isn’t smart. 

Well, maybe if you don’t show up alone. You know what con he’s talking about and Kara lives near there. You could probably convince her to meet up. Hm, that might work. 

Just like you told him, you’ll have to think about it. 

[alphabetboyluvr]

dance with the devil | jjk

REQUEST | jktaee3 on wp

VIBES | angst, royalty - bridgerton vibes, childhood friends to enemies to ?luvrs?

SOUNDTRACK | die for you - joji

HOLLY'S NOTE | (originally posted april 2023) so fun facts, i've never watched bridgerton. i actually put it on in the background as i was writing, which is where the lil line about being diamond comes from. i also do fuck all world-building in this, so just... use your imagination lol. i have no idea if this is like... correct? i dont read nor write period pieces and haven't done since school so.... go easy on me hahaha <33

also!! went for jeongguk instead of jungkook. feels more dramatic? time appropriate?? idk! mix of eng and Korean inspo for titles / locations!!

WORD COUNT | 2.5k

There are easily a hundred pairs of eyes on you as you walk into the ballroom. Maybe more. The room is grand, gilded in gold—grotesque in its display of wealth, but nothing new to you. You've been in a dozen rooms like this within the last month alone. More money than taste—but you can't buy class.

Despite the influx of unwelcome stares, there's just one you can actually feel. It comes from a pair of deep brown eyes in the corner of the room; a glass of red in one hand, the gloved fingers of your least favourite cousin in the other.

Dark and brooding, Jeon Jeongguk has no right to look at you in the way that he does. Duke of Busan, womaniser of more counties than you care to imagine, he's troubled wrapped up in a waistcoat and ruby-encrusted signet rings.

But you've always liked trouble. Shame.

The grip that Lord Min of Daegu has on your hand tightens. He can notice it too; Jeongguk's stare. Your satin gloves are silky against Lord Min's skin, and he must admit he enjoys being the focus of Jeon Jeongguk's envy. He thinks it's about time that the over-egotistical tyrant of hearts had his comeuppance.

"Remember," Lord Min whispers quietly to you as the crowd watches on. He's a trusted confidant; not suited for marriage. At least not with you. It's the county's worst-kept secret that he retires to the boudoir with Master Park each and every evening. No one at the ball is under any illusion that he is a suitor of yours. "You're a diamond in a mine of sapphires."

"Oh, but sapphires are far prettier than diamonds," you pout, voice dulcet as you scan the room. It's approaching your birthday, and time is running out. A suitor needs to be found, and found promptly. Too much time squandered on frivolous pursuits during your youth had prevented such a search.

It's something you're reminded of whenever your eyes catch Jeongguk's. Endless days spent under beating midsummer sunshine; burnt skin and freckled cheeks. Youth well-spent. Youth wasted.

"So? It matters not." Lord Min smiles. "Diamonds are far stronger. Sharper. And still just as exquisite as sapphires. Do not sell yourself short."

And by that, you know exactly what he implies: steer clear of the Duke of Busan.

It would be a fruitless endeavour. No good would come from it.

Years of your childhood had been spent in a whimsical land with him, full of castles and fairies, and witches and warlocks. Potions had been made in his garden using his mother's best perfumes and items stolen from the pantry; make-believe scenarios came to life in the forest between your family's estates.

Summers had been frittered away together by the sea; Winterton Manor the backdrop of your dreams, your hopes, your fears.

But the Duke did as Dukes so often do; embroiled himself in debauchery and distasteful pleasures.

You had watched on, bemused for the most part, and also intrigued by what compelled him.

Had you not been enough?

Grapevines whisper, and Jeongguk had spent far too much time frolicking in vineyards. Drunk on the delights of his youth, he'd forgotten that there would be life beyond the present.

It's a price he pays, now. A debt he hadn't realised he had racked up.

One that he's reminded of every single time you glance his way. He cannot afford a diamond.

Somehow, however, he can seem to afford the audacity of approaching you in the powder room towards the end of the evening.

You've had lacklustre dances with half a dozen bachelors, and they've all been uninspiring. Only two of them managed to make it through the waltz without stepping on your toes.

Time is running out.

And Jeongguk?

He's running in circles trying to get you out of his head.

Seems apt that he'd bump into you at some point.

Not like he sought you out. Not at all.

Not like he handed the maids by the staircase a few silver coins to divert other partygoers elsewhere, either. He wouldn't dream of doing such a thing.

The Duke of Busan knows you well.

Knows that it takes all of your might to not glance in his direction as he makes his presence known.

"Really?" He asks with a cocked brow and arrogant smirk, leaning against the doorframe. You're preening at your hair. Making sure your pins remain in place. "That's what you chose to wear? To a ball of this grandeur?"

You're wearing white. It's tight against your chest. Too tight. Pleated beneath the satin ribbon under your bust, encrusted with sequins and finished with lace. It's beautiful. Matches the white satin gloves that finish just above the crease of your elbow. You carry yourself with elegance.

In fact, your posture is so well-poised that Jeongguk is the only attendee of the ball who has noticed the split in your skirt. When stood, it is hidden by the pleats. When dancing, it is camouflaged by the lace. When you lift your skirt to meander up the stairs? He becomes reacquainted with the curve of your ankle. The split is no larger than the length of a letter inviting him to tea, but it feels overwhelmingly large.

As far as the Duke is concerned, you may as well be wearing lingerie.

You smooth the skirt of your dress and consider rearranging your tits just to give him something to stare at. You decide against it. Think he would enjoy it far too much.

"Oh precisely," you respond with an equally arrogant grin, before turning to face him. You're haughty in the way you position your body, almost as if you're trying to entice him. "Haven't you heard? I've a suitor to find."

He scoffs. "And you think dressing like a whore is going to find you one of any value?"

A whore.

Very rich of him, you think, as if the entire party doesn't know what he gets up to in the dark. And the daylight. And just about any time of the day, actually.

What they really don't know?

That he used to get up to it with you.

"Absolutely not," you smile. Your father might want you married off, but there's no suitor here for you. Not tonight. If you have to bring a man home, it unquestionably has to be one that your father won't approve of. "That's the point—although, now I come to think of it—this dress did seem to find you, didn't it, Jeongguk?"

He stays quiet for a moment. He doesn't enjoy you being correct. It's part of the reason you bicker so much. You're always correct.

"White really isn't your colour," he tells you with an ambivalent shrug. "We both know that."

Innocence. Purity. Virginity.

For once, The Duke is correct. It really isn't your colour.

Humorous, how he's dressed head to toe in black. Perhaps you should be, too.

"And green isn't yours," you tease, walking towards him. "Yet you seemed to be full of it when I entered the ballroom with the Lord of Daegu."

He remains silent. Can sense you have more to declare.

"Moreover," you hum, proving him right as you pause beside him, "as I'm sure you're well aware, Duke, it's the colour beneath the dress that counts."

"And what is beneath the dress?" Jeongguk husks, not looking over towards you. He doesn't want to let you know how much you affect him, still.

"The same lace that greeted you last summer in the stables of Winterton Manor."

Red. Fuck.

His favourite.

"Tell me, Duke," you tease. He deserves it, you think. "Does the Viscount of Gwangju like red?"

"Hoseok?" Jeongguk scoffs, addressing him by name, not title. The lack of respect shown by the young Duke is asinine, truly. A show of his immaturity. "Despises it."

Truthfully, he has no idea of Viscount of Gwangju's preferences.

"Good," you taunt. "I'm enthralled by the prospect of a challenge."

Jeongguk will be damned if you end up betrothed to the Viscount of fucking Gwangju.

"He concedes easily," he says. This is another lie. He just doesn't want to give you any further ideas. "Do not expect a challenge. Anticipate disappointment."

"Oh, but Duke," you laugh and it's so exquisite that he thinks he might just melt. "Disappointment has always been your forte, has it not?"

During the balls of recent years, where Jeongguk would only ever offer his hand to other women, and never you? Yes. Disappointing.

In the smoky parlours, where he laughs and jokes with the other gentlemen, about which debutantes are simply destined to become spinsters? Oh, incredibly disappointing.

In the drawing room adjacent to his bedroom, while you had waited beneath his sheets for his return, as he was agreeing to court your cousin instead of you? Perhaps the most disappointing he'd ever been.

It's been a year—the worst of your life.

"You've made your bed, Duke. Sleep in it."

"I've tried," he says sternly. He doesn't want to joke any more. Doesn't want to flirt. "I cannot bear to sleep in it without you."

You shake your head. Such a devil.

"You seem well rested enough."

"It's a facade."

And you find yourself quite annoyed; frustrated by his apparent disdain for a life he chose. A destiny brought upon you both by his inability to be discreet—though you're unaware of this caveat.

You see, everyone does know of his reputation, but he always kept your pursuits of passion hidden. Private. To the world, you're pristine.

"What do you require, Duke? My pity?"

He knows he doesn't deserve it.

"I require nothing of you."

"Then seek me out no longer. Do not pursue what you cannot commandeer, Jeongguk."

It's a lesson he would have done well to learn many moons ago; one remembered by you even if it was lost on him.

And yet, at quarter past twelve, as he loosens the black satin bow of his collar in his bedroom, Jeongguk pauses.

A knock has just sounded at his door. His chambermaid, he assumes, just checking on the fire—or maybe Master Park's chambermaid, instead (though Jeongguk's business with Master Park's staff isn't ever entirely 'business').

Regretfully, he thinks it could be Lord Kim Namjoon of Ilsan, here to reprimand him for his manners. His mentor in all fashions, Namjoon is always the first to discipline the young Duke following his nights of debauchery—though all things considered, he feels he's been quite well-behaved tonight.

He sighs as he rests a palm flat against his bedpost, and bellows, "Enter."

A sternness settles on his brows, hard and uncompromising, as he turns to the door. There's a dishevelled nature to his hair, undone and falling slightly over his dark eyes. His loosened collar and unbuttoned waistcoat only aid to make him look even more rugged.

He's marred in vulnerability, though. His pretty pink lips rest ajar, as his eyes fall on the intruder of his thoughts.

Amusing, you think, how the bedroom is where he domineers best, and yet is always where he seems the most unfortified.

Perhaps he hadn't been lying about his facade.

Perhaps he really doesn't sleep well without you.

Perhaps—just perhaps—you might indulge him one last time.

"Tell me, Duke"— You walk into his room and close the door behind you, eyes not leaving his —"Do any of them compare?"

He watches you strut past him and crawl on the luxe quilt on his bed. Oh, how you've missed it.

"Any of who?"

"The maids," you shrug. You aren't naive. You know exactly what he does, and who he does it with. "Master Park's maids? Surely Lord Kim's, too. And the working girls. The debutantes��need I go on?"

"No," he says, watching as you loosen your heels and kick them to the floor. They land with a thud. He knows the noise will have echoed throughout the house. "You needn't."

The truth of the matter is that his escapades are well-known amongst high society. He has a reputation, which is why his courtship with your cousin was forced upon him.

You're surely too good for him, but he's of too much value to remain without an heir.

A marriage is needed for him before the end of the year. His father says so.

Contrarily, your father would never agree to the Duke of Busan proclaiming you as his Dutchess.

Jeongguk knows this, for he's already asked.

Of course he has.

Last spring. Kept his mother's ring in his pocket just in case. A proposal was planned for early summer, before your trip to Paris.

He thought perhaps he would go with you—a pre-honeymoon, maybe—but your father had refused his request for your hand, and who was Jeongguk to go against the will of the man who had raised you?

Jeongguk won't burden you with this knowledge. Your life will be far more fruitful if you remain silently furious with him for never giving you what you deserved.

"And do they?" You enquire once more. unaware of his anguish. "Do they compare?"

Jeongguk leans down to his boots. Unties his laces and stands on his heels to remove them. He kicks them away. Is just as undressed as you are. Equal.

"Do you think my bed would be empty right now if they did?"

"It isn't empty," you tease.

"No," he acknowledges. "But it has been. It's been empty for months."

"Months?"

You don't believe him.

"I've had an empty bed since I returned from Winterton last summer," he declares.

"Though your hands have been full?" You sneer, painfully reminded of the way he'd held the hand of another woman in the ballroom that evening. You've had to bear witness to it on multiple occasions by now. It never gets any easier. Your fucking cousin, of all people.

"Pay no mind to the fact my hands have not been empty in ballrooms," he speaks quietly, shame washing over his features. Yes, it would be far more desirable if you were to be furious with him, but he wants to alleviate the hurt that you are quite clearly encumbered with. "As I said, it's a facade."

"Why? What are you hiding, Duke?"

As if you don't know—he laments—that I'm utterly besotted with you.

He glances away from you to watch the fire as it crackles in his hearth. He wonders if it would be less painful to tear his heart from his chest and roast it in the flames, than it is to be in love with you.

"I hide nothing from you," he says with a broad smile as he turns to face you once more. Jeongguk is adept at falsifying his discretions. "But I am without at a dance."

You grin, now. "A dance?"

"I'd love one," he smirks as he holds out his hand. He twists your words almost as elegantly as he used to twist you around on empty ballroom floors; just two of you after the parties had died down and the revellers had hung up their dancing shoes.

He strides to the side of the bed. Satisfaction sinks into his features when your gloved hand slips into his palm. He pulls you up. Pulls you closer. Rests a hand upon your waist and positions himself perfectly for you. He was raised a gentleman after all, even if grew up to be a rogue.

"May I have this dance?" He says quietly, only needing to whisper.

You're so close you probably count the beat of his heart.

One, two.

Does anyone dance better than I do?

Three, four.

Do you lose your breath when someone else draws you closer?

Five, six.

I could dance with you forever.

Seven, eight.

Would that be agreeable?

Nine, ten.

As if you can read his thoughts, you just nod.

"You may."

[thefrogdalorian]

The Best of Both Worlds - Chapter One

Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU

❁ Series Masterlist ❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

Word Count: 4690 Rating: General Summary: After a dreadful day which saw you drenched by a rainstorm after leaving a hectic day at work, you reflect on your love for Mando and upcoming excitement for the sci-fi convention you will soon be attending with your internet best friend. Content Warnings: None! Author's Note: Hope you liked the start! My love of mass transit systems bleeds through, I think. But I hope I captured how wonderful being part of a fandom and forming online friendships can feel! Thanks to @suresnips for being my beta!

1. Why Does It Always Rain On Me? [Reader's POV]

Spending your mid-twenties obsessing over a fictional character with fellow fans online was not exactly how you envisioned your life unfolding, but it seemed that the universe had other plans in store for you. You couldn’t be too disappointed with this outcome though, as the comforting familiarity of your favourite show and the community surrounding it was like a tight, warm embrace that had seen you through your toughest days. Just like today, when you would lean on The Mandalorian as a crutch yet again, as settling in to watch an episode would be the comfort you needed at the end of yet another miserable day.

It had been a draining day that seemed like it would never end. You seemed to be having an awful lot of them recently, where any little thing that could possibly have gone wrong had gone wrong. Work was busier than usual, with plenty of colleagues pestering you with questions and asking for assistance on tasks, when you had quite enough of your own work to occupy yourself with. Perhaps worst of all, you had forgotten to charge your headphones. Your heart sank as you went to turn them on just before you left work, only to find that there was no charge left. It was a major inconvenience as it meant that the soundtrack of your favourite show was not there to transport you to a different galaxy as you began your journey home. Instead, all you could hear was the relentless noise of the city. The cars and the people that never seemed to shut up for even one single second.

Your feet thundered against the pavement, the rhythmic thuds helping to ground you despite the loss of comfort that your precious headphones provided. Things were finally starting to look up. Well, they were, until you felt a spot of water against your left cheek. You sighed and looked up towards the sky, noticing the grey clouds that had suddenly rolled in from nowhere, and the eerily cold breeze that was suddenly swirling all around you. Rain was imminent. 

To add insult to injury and make your already torrid day even worse, the heavens promptly opened. And you had not worn a coat, nor brought an umbrella in the trusty backpack you carried everywhere. Even though the sky was a little grey, it had been a perfectly pleasant, warm morning when you stepped out of your building that morning. 

You muttered curses under your breath as the rain began ferociously pelting you, furious at your unpreparedness. You quickened your place, hurrying to the closest station to the museum you worked at as you continued to curse the weather with a variety of colourful language, but it had predictably done nothing to halt the relentless downpour. Even though summer should be approaching, the weather was awful. For what felt like weeks now, the weather had nothing but cloudy, cold and grey. It was beginning to grind you down. You just wanted to finally see some sun so you could enjoy the warmer months. Winter felt like it had never really ended. 

Mercifully, you eventually made it into the station, after ducking and weaving through the dithering tourists that lingered outside the prestigious institution in which you worked. You shook your head, hoping some of the water that had drenched your face and hair would at least fly off and prevent you from sitting on a crowded tube while soaked to the bone. You brought your arms around you, suddenly aware of how unpleasantly cold you felt after getting so wet in the rain.

But fortunately, as you descended deep beneath the city to the platform, the temperature rose. The tunnels, far below the city, had been built long ago; with their poor ventilation, they retained all the heat generated by the crowds. Sometimes it could be stuffy and feel as though there was no air, but today you were weirdly appreciative of the quirks of the tube.

Your momentary appreciation for the mass transportation system soon disappeared though, when you finally emerged onto the platform. There was a seemingly endless sea of bodies, crowding into every available space. You took a deep breath and squeezed between them, taking advantage of several confused tourists to position yourself just behind the yellow line in a spot that you knew would be in a prime location for the doors when the tube finally pulled up.

You tapped your foot impatiently as you stood on a crowded platform waiting for the tube to finally arrive, surrounded by the terrible din of an unappealing combination of annoyingly loud tourists and stressed-out commuters. To top off your miserable day, the line you needed to take to get home was suffering from delays, a fact the irritating trill voice of the announcer kept reminding you. They were sorry if it caused you inconvenience – of course it did! The empty apologies did nothing to quell the pounding in your head.

You were sick of crowds and noise, you had endured more than enough of it for one day. Work had been so busy that at one point, you felt as though your head was going to explode from all the tedium. The gradual buzzing in your head that you felt when you were annoyed had quietly begun in the early morning and had just gotten louder and louder throughout the day. You were exhausted. 

The rumble of the train finally hurtling through the tunnel towards you was for a moment, you were convinced, the greatest noise you had ever heard. You took a few deep breaths in preparation before it finally pulled up, now was time to fight your way through the sea of limbs and bodies to cram yourself inside the sweatbox on tracks that would take you to the comfort of your own home. To Mando. The man who helped pick you up whenever you were feeling down, without ever being able to know the impact he was having on your life.

It was the thought of how your heart would leap when you started the next episode in your rewatch and first saw his shiny form sauntering across your screen that seemed to carry you through the crowds you usually detested without draining too much of your dwindling energy reserves. You still winced, though, as you clambered aboard the sweltering carriage that was already likely too full to accommodate any more passengers. You knew there was no getting around it. This was just the reality of living in a major city like London. It was you who had been so determined to move here, after all. Eventually, after a lot of shuffling, you found yourself face-to-face with the dark brown musty jacket that belonged to a man who seemingly had not been acquainted with the wonders of deodorant. 

You fixed your gaze on the ceiling above you and tried to imagine yourself anywhere but here. You pictured Mando scything through a group of bad guys and imagined you were as strong as him. You reminded yourself over and over that this would not last long; there were only a couple of stops to a major train station, meaning the crowd would thin and you would hopefully get some more peace far away from the man’s musty jacket. You just about held it together for the next few stops, wishing you were already at home. You visualised the euphoria of finally walking through the door to your apartment, ready to change into comfortable clothes and settle down to watch your favourite show. Unfortunately, your illusion was constantly shattered by the crowds in the carriage with you.

Finally, though, you arrived at the stop where most crowds would depart and with the worst of the crowds having departed the tube, you were able to find a seat facing the window. Although there wasn’t much to see in the tunnels, you knew with every rattle that you were closer to home. You briefly considered the possibility that if your fellow travellers knew that sometimes, the only thing that got you through the day was knowing that you could come home and watch an episode of The Mandalorian, they would dismiss you as a pathetic loser. But you supposed that people coped in other ways, with harmful and destructive habits that caused pain to other people. You were not harming anyone with your passion and love for The Mandalorian, even if you knew it was not the most socially acceptable hobby for a grown woman.

Despite how sad your routine would probably sound to most people, the bond between you and The Mandalorian was stronger than any disparaging remarks that could come your way. Indeed, there were very few people in your life who truly understood the love you had for that show. Oh sure, there were casuals you had encountered, like your friend and colleague Tom, who was also a viewer of The Mandalorian – at least you had someone to occasionally discuss the latest episodes with. 

But your chats with your workmate were nothing deeper than how many people Mando had taken out in the latest episode and whether one day he could be seen on the same level as Vader in terms of iconic Star Wars characters. It was all very surface level and you felt reasonably sure, despite your closeness, that Tom would be at best bemused by your online activity and contemplate involving some kind of local authority at worst. Better that some things were kept secret.

Fortunately, you had a community of people online who unquestionably got it. You had them to talk to about the show that had become such a big part of your life. The Mandalorian had come to you at a difficult time in your life, a time when you most needed it. Recent years had not been kind to you, as they hadn’t been for most people. With global pandemics and both man-made and natural catastrophes, there were plenty of horrors awaiting you at life’s every turn. But you were so grateful that you had the show you loved so much and the people you had found because of it to help see you through. 

It had seemed that you were destined to find it at the exact moment when you did. At one of your lowest points, Mando had been there, with his deep voice and confident swagger to soothe you on your darkest days. To lose yourself for a few precious moments at the end of each difficult day and just watch the character that you loved so much flying around space, fighting bad guys and leaving each place better than he found it was deeply engrossing and comforting to you.

It didn’t matter to you that you did not have the faintest idea about what the man behind the helmet looked like. To you, The Mandalorian was the perfect sci-fi character. You had grown up loving the galaxy far far away and all things Star Wars, always keeping up with the latest releases and discussing them with your family and friends, but you would never have considered yourself a superfan who knew everything about it. It was not until you had started watching the show about the lone bounty hunter that a switch in your brain was flipped and you became completely, hopelessly obsessed with it. The musical score captured the mood perfectly and complimented the stunning visuals, the wide shots of landscapes as your favourite character travelled across whatever planet he found himself on that week, flying through the galaxy in his beloved Razor Crest. Every time you listened to music from the show – you were rarely seen without headphones, they were seemingly glued to your head – it was as though you could imagine yourself pacing through the galaxy alongside Mando. It was a way to get inside his head, imagine his emotions and how he carried himself.

You had been a little late to the party, only watching the first season after it had already aired in its entirety. But you had more than made up for lost time, completely immersing yourself in the world. You were pretty sure you had read absolutely everything about him and memorised the scant details that you knew about his life. Part of the allure of the show was how mysterious the character was himself. No one had ever seen his face nor did anyone know his real name, he was simply known as Mando. His need for secrecy was necessitated by the ancient Creed he belonged to, that followed a strict way of rules. Mando would never bend or break them for anyone, no matter how much fans fantasised about being the one to finally pull the lone gunslinger out of his shell and break through the harsh emotional walls he had put up for himself. 

After you had finished watching the first season, you joined the online fandom and quickly met a group of like-minded fans who were just as obsessed with all things Mandalorian as you were. You had found your tribe; you found solace in your online friends. They all shared the same passion for the show in a way that none of your friends in real life understood. The first person you had ever really spoken to had grown to be your closest friend Ria. You still remembered how nervous you were about speaking to her. She was a popular author who wrote many of the most well-received fanfics about Mando that appeared online after the first season had aired. But after you had nervously left your username on social media in her comment section, you found that she was just as lovely and welcoming as you had hoped when you began talking to her. After all, you were both, by definition, nerds who most people would see as losers for being so obsessed with one character. There was no need for hierarchy or competition here. 

After meeting Ria, she introduced you to some of her friends and you had all joined a group chat where you seemed to message each other constantly. On the train on the way to work, at lunch, last thing at night… there was always someone there to chat with about Mando. It helped that you were spread out across so many different times, all the way from Australia to Argentina and many places in between. The anticipation you had all felt for season two had reached a fever pitch before it was aired and, thankfully, it had lived up to all expectations. Speculating about what was to come in each episode with your online friends had been incredibly exciting. Not knowing what was coming next, who Mando would have to find or where he had to travel had been thrilling. After you had seen the first season, there had not been long to wait for the second season, which was released within a year. But now, there had been no new episodes for a few months as they worked on the next season. The wait was agonising, but your friends were helping you through.

Every single one of you in this group chat had undergone, at various stages, an identical process where you became completely enamoured by this same character, finding yourselves thoroughly charmed by his swagger and mystery. Each one of you, despite the distance that separated you, had found yourselves falling down the rabbit hole and becoming completely obsessed with the lone bounty hunter from a secretive warrior society, bound to never reveal his name or face to a single soul. 

The casting had been perfect… because just like the character on the show: in real life, you had absolutely no idea who the actor behind The Mandalorian was. Not a single one of you had any idea who portrayed Mando. His identity had been kept a complete secret – with the most watertight NDAs in history, you suspected – which was a highly unusual move in Hollywood. You were sure whoever he was must have a good reason for it. After the popularity of the first season and the viral phenomenon it had become, you couldn’t help but suspect that the man who played Mando, whoever he was, was probably extremely thankful for his decision to stay out of the limelight. You were sure that he would have been subjected to insane levels of scrutiny from the media and fans of the show. Indeed, even without his name and face being public knowledge, there was still plenty of that. 

Sometimes you felt a little sad that you would never get to hear about Mando from the actor’s perspective. Other cast members gave interviews and attended cons, but there was no way to ever get that interaction with your favourite character, the one you cared about the most. Although you remained in the dark both about his identity and the reasoning behind all the secrecy, you respected whatever reason he had for hiding it. After all, you knew for certain that there was no one else on the planet who could have played Mando as well as the actor who was portraying him. With his confident walk and deep, gravelly voice, he was already an icon without even knowing it.

Despite your respect for the actor behind Mando – you never really joined in with the speculation unless it was a joke. The trend #beyonceismando had been your favourite example of that. But sadly, most fans of the show did not share your restraint. Some of your friends could even be guilty of taking it a little too far sometimes, but you let it go. Life was too short to go around policing what other people did on the internet. Besides, you knew your friends well enough to feel confident that they could never be truly malicious. 

Due to the actor’s anonymity, speculation reached dizzying levels that you sometimes worried could be too much for anyone to live up to – you had seen every possible theory online. To you, online speculation should be fun without turning into something creepy and invasive. It was a fine line. A line that you did your best to tread, remembering there was ultimately a human being at the centre of the speculation. Your friends could let themselves go a bit more, but you tried your best to reign it in. 

The secret identity of Mando’s actor led to all kinds of wild theories. Some swore that he was actually a she, there was a woman underneath the suit and that was why Disney had to keep it secret. Others insisted that Mando was really an alien, with super strength and abilities straight out of Star Wars. There was also a sizable majority who believed the reason for his secretive identity was because the actor was straight out of the army and had killed thousands in real life. Speculation ran particularly wild on social media: everyone hoped that their favourite actor was somehow the man behind the helmet, even if their schedules did not line up and their voices did not match, which led to more theories that his voice was being altered somehow to conceal his identity. That particular theory meant everyone could now imagine their particular favourite actor was behind the character that had become such an iconic figure in pop culture.

Indeed, most of The Mandalorian’s appeal to the general public was the mystery and the speculation as to his true identity. Some people only watched every episode, thinking that would finally be the week he removed his helmet and their theory would prove to have been the correct one all along. Some people scrutinised every single shot, wondering if the mask had slipped for even a second. People had even tried to hack into the CCTV cameras of the studios where the seasons were being filmed.

You couldn’t lie and say that you didn’t enjoy indulging with your online friends. You had spent countless hours talking to them, laughing at their attempts to piece together his identity from the scantest of information. They scrutinised the internet for images to compare his build and height compared with other known actors who were in the right age range. They were convinced that perhaps the way he held himself – the gait of his walk, the stance he took with his hands on his hips, the way he often shifted his weight on one leg – could give them clues as to his identity that they were so desperate to crack. You left them to it, laughing at how they could turn the smallest things into some kind of full-blown theory and proof. But to you, Mando was just as amazing without you ever knowing anything about who he was beneath the helmet. You loved the show and the character much more than you loved the online theories.

Ultimately, watching the speculation unfold was all good fun (at least for you) and proved to be a welcome distraction that helped you to get through the horrors of being in your mid-twenties. Like the situation you found yourself in now – having to exit the tube and make food after a long day of work. 

Daydreaming about Mando and the friends you had made had passed the time perfectly, your stop was next and you couldn’t wait to finally be off the tube with all of its furious rattling. Thankfully, by the time you made it to street level, the rain had ceased. The humidity had increased in its place, though and any remaining dampness on your clothes from your earlier drenching magically evaporated in the hot air.

Only the stairs up to your apartment separated you from Mando now, and you felt the final energy reserves draining as you ascended them. You sighed as you turned the key and pushed the door open, both in relief at finally being home after such a difficult day and pure exhaustion. 

There was nothing you wanted more than to sloth out in front of the TV and watch your favourite space cowboy do his thing on your screen. But unfortunately, you were an adult. No one would magically appear with a plate of food, much as you would have appreciated it. You headed into the kitchen to begin preparing your food. You wondered what Mando would be like in the kitchen (everything came back to him eventually) – did he even eat? You had never seen it on screen, at least. You wondered if he even could eat under the helmet. Perhaps you’d text Ria about that later, and see her thoughts. Maybe she’d even write a oneshot based on it and gift it to you. 

As you stood there in your small kitchen, stirring the ingredients in the pan that would constitute your dinner – you realised just how this show had invaded every crevice of your brain. The Mandalorian had undeniably entered your brain in a way that made you think of it almost constantly. Sometimes, when you were walking around on your lunch break, you would imagine whether anyone you passed in the street could be the man that you were so enamoured by. You felt certain that you’d recognise Mando’s broad shoulders anywhere, even if you were right next to him. But it was a fruitless task, one that you knew deep down you would never get answers to. It wasn’t like he was just going to magically appear next to you one day or anything.

With your dinner plated up, you made your way to the front room to eat in your preferred position – on the sofa, in front of the TV. Sure, being an adult was hard sometimes but it meant that you got to indulge in little luxuries like this. Your family would probably freak out if they saw how you ate – hunched over on the couch, squealing with a mouth full of food over scenes you had watched dozens of times before – but you didn’t care. 

As you flopped down on the couch, ready to watch another episode of The Mandalorian while eating your dinner, your phone buzzed with a message from one of your best online friends. You had met Ria shortly after you had felt compelled to make an account after finishing the first season of The Mandalorian, but you had yet to meet in person. That was all going to change very soon, though: she was flying in to attend a convention with you next week. The promise of not only finally meeting your best friend, but also getting to spend time surrounded by others who loved The Mandalorian just as much as both of you did at the convention, had honestly kept you going recently. It was the subject of the con that was the reason for Ria’s messages:

[thisistheslay] 17:57: OMG! OMG! There’s gonna be a Mando panel at the con next week. WE HAVE TO GO!!

You tapped out a reply:

[ilovemando] 17:57: what panel? and when?

[thisistheslay] 17:58: Literally the first day at 2pm. It’s called ‘The Man behind the Mandalorian: Exploring the Identity of the Galaxy’s Best Bounty Hunter.’ We NEED to be there, like you don’t understand!!

[thisistheslay] 17:59: HELLO bestie, what if HE’S THERE! What if they finally unveil who he is!!

You put your phone down on your lap and let out a small laugh as you rolled your eyes. Ria was constantly convinced that Mando was finally going to reveal his identity. It was based on pure speculation at worst and half-baked rumours at best. It had been an ongoing debate between the two of you throughout your friendship, you doubted that Mando would ever reveal himself. He had left it this long, why would he choose to reveal his identity now? But it was all in good fun, after all. You knew how much Ria truly loved the show and Mando. Just like you, for Ria, this speculation was all a bit of fun. She wasn’t one of the toxic people who said they would never watch another episode if the actor who played Mando turned out to be ugly. Yes, unbelievably, that was something that you had actually seen people write publicly online, for others to see. Maybe even the man who played Mando himself. It made you feel sick, they didn’t deserve him or the show. 

You texted back:

[ilovemando] 18:03: oh i do, but not like you. yeah we’ll go… don’t be disappointed when mando doesn’t show tho

[thisistheslay] 18:04: No he’s going to be there! I can just FEEL it!!

[ilovemando] 18:05: ok sure, whatever u say. gotta eat but i’ll message you later

You really did have to go. No distractions would come between you and an episode of The Mandalorian, especially not while eating your dinner. As you sat back and watched the episode you had seen dozens of times before – in this one, Mando was tasked with hunting down a group of rogue mercenaries on a prison ship – your mind wandered back to Ria’s messages. You knew she was just being her usual ridiculous self, losing it over crumbs in an exaggerated, ironic way… but you couldn’t help but wonder about what you would do if her words came true. What if you did, one day, come face to face with Mando? What would you say? Would you even realise when he was in the same room as you, would it be an obvious, earth-shattering feeling? Or something far more subtle?

It was a ridiculous topic. But despite yourself, it was one you spent the rest of the evening ruminating over. The prospect of attending the con was nerve-wracking already – it was going to be a large, crowded event with many people in an unfamiliar environment. That was already setting your nerves on edge, even without the prospect of Mando being there. But thinking that there was perhaps the smallest chance that you could be about to lay eyes upon the man who brought your favourite character to life…

Well, that was a whole other level of nerves. 

Next Chapter

[ckret2]

i know you’ve talked about bill’s music tastes before, but do you have any head cannons for other characters’ music tastes?

i.e. do you think mabel would listen to vocaloid?

Mabel: here's what we know about her tastes.

She loves Dream Boy High; Dream Boy High's VCR tape design has nods to Jem & the Holograms, which has a million songs per episodes; Mabel has Xyler & Craz play synth music to defeat Bill; Mabeland plays 80's music. She's into extremely 80's-sounding synth-heavy pop. The music she plays in dream realms is the music closest to her heart. This is the core of her musical tastes.

There's something subtly, inexplicably different about music made for cartoons vs contemporary popular music, even when they're trying to portray the same genres. I can't describe what that quality is, but it's there. Anyway, if the core of Mabel's musical tastes is rooted in or near Dream Boy High, then she probably listens to other 80s cartoon soundtracks.

She's into 2010s acts that are throwbacks to late-1990s boy bands. She'd probably also like actual 90s boy bands.

She's fluent in modern top 40 music—which is no doubt where she she picked up Sev'ral Timez. I see her as the kind of kid who just keeps the radio on all the time. (And I do mean the radio—she didn't get a phone til the end of last summer, we see her with CDs, she probably had a radio long before she tried streaming.)

She's also fluent in classic rock ballads, but it's not her preference. She's a "grew up listening to the radio stations her parents picked on a car ride" kid. I suspect her dad plays 70s/80s pop in the car (cementing her primary musical tastes) because there's another Pines into synth pop so I've decided it's genetic, and her mom plays the classic rock. Mabel knows Don't Start Unbelieving from Mabel & Mom karaoke nights.

Dipper: if Mabel grew up listening to her parents' picks on the car radio, so did he. This is where he picked up his love for BABBA. From this we can deduce that, if their dad is the 70s/80s pop music parent, their dad probably drives them around more than their mom. I think you could safely give him other disco bands as well.

He plays the sousaphone but every band kid I've ever known treats band more like a musical sport than like a musical genre—the super passionate ones might practice extra and might watch other bands' performances, but they didn't just sit around listening to marching band music for fun. However, he also practices during the summer, even though he's in another state and obviously not participating in any summer band activities, which suggests an unusual passion for marching band. I still don't think he just listens to marching band music for fun but he probably keeps hearing songs and going "oh wow I've never heard the original before, only the band version."

He picked up a couple of indie folk bands to try to impress Wendy but he's not super into them.

Ford: He was on the absolute cutting edge of new wave & synth pop in the 80s. He was into the obscure stuff. Somewhere in the shack is a pile of cassettes by new wave acts the rest of the world has completely forgotten. He and Mabel trade music recommendations: he gives her the obscure as hell stuff and she tells him about all the cool new* (*post-1982) bands he never got to see. Mabel prefers peppier songs and he prefers moodier songs but there's a HUGE overlap between their tastes.

In a better, portal-less world, Ford's taste in new wave would have had time to drift into dark wave and cold wave, and from there slid over sideways to discover goth rock. There's an unhatched trad goth somewhere in his soul. He should have been listening to Sisters of Mercy, Bauhaus, and The Cure. He should have gotten a black trench coat because he thought it would make him feel cool, not because he was an interdimensional criminal on the run. It's not too late for him to discover it now, but by now he should have made it miles beyond the major 80s goth rock acts, gone down half a dozen increasingly obscure genre alleys, and be burrowed deep into some weird sub-sub-sub-genre of EBM you and I have never heard of.

He has a love/hate relationship with All Star.

Stan: He liked hanging out at a 50s-themed diner in the 70s. He likes 50s music. I also think he picked up a fair amount of Spanish-language 50s rock-and-roll while abroad. Once like five years ago Soos overheard Stan playing a record and singing a song Abuelita plays and it cemented his ambition to reverse-adopt Stan as his dad.

Soos: Popular hip hop and anime/video game soundtracks. Every rap song he knows has been on the Billboard Hot 100 but on the other hand he has the demo version of the extended version of the ending theme of an anime from 2001 that was never fully released outside Japan and he's probably got a fifteen-minute story about why he knows this song even exists. He's puzzled through the shipping info of a Japanese CD website to get the official soundtrack of the most dogshit anime you could imagine. He's spent a week pouring through anime convention forums trying to track down a song he overheard someone use as their background music at a cosplay contest. Lots of 8-bit.

Wendy: You know the stomp clap hey genre? That. I have nothing further to add, you know what I'm talking about. Her heart yearns to escape to hipster city. She didn't even like Robbie's music when they were dating, she just thought it was cool he made it.

I'm not gonna go through every character I have headcanons for, you don't need all that on one post. Anyway, have a work in progress playlist. It's rigorously organized. "😀😀😀 Character Name 😀😀😀" is what each character would like listening to, "😀 Zodiac Symbol 😀" is songs about each character, "🪐🪐🪐 Flatland 🪐🪐🪐" is backstory stuff, "🌎 Earth 🌎" is either songs I need on this playlist for the vibes or songs that belong in one of the other categories but I haven't sorted them yet. Some of the sections are still empty. I think this is forgivable since the playlist is already 11 hours long.

[inemi]

The Symphony of the Soul

Music is more than a collection of sounds; it's a time machine, a portal to forgotten emotions, a mirror to the soul. When melodies wash over me, they don't just enter my ears - they seep into every fiber of my being, awakening dormant feelings and long-buried memories.

With the first notes of a familiar song, I'm transported. Suddenly, I'm no longer in the present - I'm reliving the exhilaration of my first love, the bittersweet ache of a goodbye, or the carefree joy of childhood summers. Lyrics intertwine with my personal history, each word a thread weaving the tapestry of my past into the fabric of now.

Sometimes, a single verse can catapult me across time and space. I'm back in that old car, windows down, singing at the top of my lungs with friends I haven't seen in years. Or I'm slow dancing at prom, heart pounding, lost in a moment that felt eternal. The power of music lies not just in its composition, but in its ability to resurrect these precious fragments of our lives.

It's not about perfect pitch or flawless production. It's about the way a chorus can make my heart soar, how a bridge can bring tears to my eyes, or how a beat can set my soul on fire. Music doesn't just move through me - it moves me. It speaks truths I've always known but never found words for, and whispers secrets about myself I'm only just discovering.

This is why I cherish music so deeply. It's not just sound - it's the soundtrack of my life, the keeper of my memories, and the voice of my innermost self. In its embrace, I am fully, profoundly, and beautifully alive - feeling every joy, every heartbreak, and every triumph as if for the first time.

~ Etheric Echoes

~ Image via Pinterest

[nico-sdv-archives]

Late nights and Midnight snacks!

AKA mod's attempt at writing fanfiction! No real content warnings, just some self indulgent fluffy shit that my sleep deprived brain cooked up. Words: 1136!

Tick, tock.

Tick, tock.

Tick, tock.

The clock on the nightstand seemed to glare at me with an annoyance only inanimate objects could have, the face reading 9:30 pm. Yoba, he had been gone for hours…

I knew as well as anyone how busy the small shop could get, between deliveries, appointments, paperwork, clientele work… But even then, he was almost always back home by 8, at the latest.

The lantern by the door was familiar in my hands as I tugged it off the hook, the soft noise enough to stir the fluffy mounds of our dogs on the couch. A quiet awouf came from the one dog that woke up enough to complain, Ammit making a rather sleepy attempt to climb over her two brothers. “It’s alright Ammit, I’m just checking on Neeks. I’ll be back, ‘kay?” That seemed to be enough to settle Ammit, and even though she settled back down while halfway on top of Cerbie, she did settle back down.

Luckily, the night hadn’t gotten too cold as I walked across the old farmland, and Nico left the porch light of the shop on. The battered sign swung and swayed with the summer breeze, the layers of paint catching the light from the porch like a scene from an old Noir film. 

‘In Memoriam Mortuary.’ 

The quiet sounds of folders shuffling and pen on paper came from the back office, as well as something quiet playing from the desk radio. It sounded like some sort of movie soundtrack, or maybe a videogame backing track. That dork… I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, even as the smile found its way onto my face.

“Hun… it’s past 9:30, you’ve been working for hours. You need to call it for the night, or you’ll never get any sleep.” 

He hummed to himself as he turned to face me, the slight creak of the spinning chair following the motion. And just as I knew it would, his expression changed instantly as he saw me. His cheeks dimpled in a smile, the corners of his baby-blues crinkled up, and if I could hear his internal monologue, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Cascada had started playing. 

“Sorry darlin’, I guess time just got away from me there. Have you eaten anything yet?” 

The wheels of the chair slid against the ground as he pushed himself towards me, his arms looping around me instinctively. His head tucked itself against my chest as he looked up towards me, clearly expecting an answer.

“Mhm, I had some of the leftovers in the fridge. Though it was around dinner time, so a few hours ago-” 

Well, that seemed to be enough to get him up and moving. 

“Nope, nope. That just means we both need to eat, which means it’s dinner time. Second dinner? Bonus dinner..?”

He was already looping his arm with mine as he stood, bracing against me for balance as his other hand pushed him up from the chair. The piles of paperwork had luckily been forgotten for the moment, or at the very least, pushed to the back burner of his mind. The back burner that never seemed to let go of anything, it seemed like. 

The walk back to the farmhouse seemed a lot shorter now that I wasn’t walking it alone, the quiet click of the key in the lock as satisfying as the day I first heard it. The next noise that came from the house was the sound of three very large dogs all climbing off the couch with the grace of a drunken deer, and the sound of something being knocked off the end-table by a wagging tail. 

“Down guys, four paws on the floor.” 

He tried, but that didn’t really work. Admittedly, it never worked and one of us always ended up having to nudge the dogs by their noses until they gave us enough room to walk without tripping over them. Get big dogs, they said. They’re good for security and helping around the house, they said. 

Though in reality, these guys were definitely good for cuddles, as they were more than willing to prove as soon as I sat back down on the couch. I barely had time to settle in before I was quite literally dog-piled, watching as Nico hung his jacket on the coathook by the door. Somehow I always managed to forget how much that jacket always hid, though admittedly, I wasn’t quite sure why. He regularly lifted and maneuvered hundreds of pounds just to keep the shop running, as well as handling all sorts of deliveries on his own. It must have been the combination of his jacket and chronic baby-face.

“Hun, what are you hungry for? Anything in particular?” Oh, right. Dinner 2.0. 

“Just whatever you feel like cooking, you know what I like.” He smiled at that, that same goofy smile that lit up his whole face. Even the dogs seemed to perk up at the sound of dinner plans, though that may have been because Nico always slipped them bits and pieces while he was cooking. All with the same excuse of ‘they’re good boys and girls!’, which he did have a point with. They really were good dogs. Even if they did squish me into the couch while he made his way to the kitchen, though I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to help with cooking anyway. Last time I tried to stir something for him, I ended up getting bopped in the hand with a spatula, which was enough warning for me. The kitchen was his space, and I got to enjoy the aftermath regardless.

Luckily, the aftermath of the cooking came pretty quickly. It was only a few minutes before I was pushing one of the dogs aside to make room for him, taking a bowl of what looked to be paella before I was pulled against his side. Oh, how the cuddlebug continued to strike. Not like I could ever complain, it was too comfy to even think about getting up or moving. The fireplace was lit and crackling, the paella was hot and filling, there were not one, not two, but three dogs lounging across the couch with us, the fireflies were just starting to rise up out of the bushes around the house… 

By the time I realized I was starting to fall asleep, I could already feel blankets being pulled up and over me on the couch, a pillow being tucked somewhat haphazardly behind my head. 

The bowl of paella had been set on the coffee table at some point, and even partly asleep I knew what the gentle press on my forehead was, the slight stickiness of chapstick enough to give it away.

“Good night darlin’, I love you.”

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Aquarius / Let the Sunshine In (Summer of Soul Soundtrack - Live at the 1969 Harlem Cultural...

* * * *

Song of the Day - “Aquarius”

Today marks the 55th anniversary of the now-legendary Harlem Cultural Festival, held in Mount Morris Park (now called Marcus Garvey Park) on June 29th, 1969…

In that Summer of incredible concerts, this one is one of the best ones… but it was nearly forgotten…

The footage shot of this event was shelved for decades until drummer, record producer, disc jockey, filmmaker, music journalist, and actor Questlove took it and made it into the documentary “Summer of Soul” … which he released this week in 2021…

Performers included Stevie Wonder, Sly and the Family Stone, the Fifth Dimension, B.B. King, the Staple Singers, Chuck Jackson, Abbey Lincoln, Max Roach, David Ruffin, Hugh Masekela, Gladys Knight and the Pips, Mahalia Jackson, the Edwin Hawkins Singers, Tony Lawrence, Cal Tjader, Ray Barreto, Herbie Mann, Moms Mabley, Mongo Santamaria, and Nina Simone…

Today, June 29th, 1969 was the first day of this epic event… and would spark a series of these concerts here each Sunday for much of the Summer…

Due to its being held in that summer of amazing concerts, and its proximity, date wise, to Woodstock, this festival is now called The Black Woodstock…

While Woodstock had more of a counterculture theme, the Harlem Cultural Festival was almost exclusively Black artists and its theme was essentially a celebration of Black culture…

The Fifth Dimension had just released their mega-hit cover of “Aquarius / Let The Sun Shine In” and this group was at its peak… a song meant to be sung live… never done better than right here…

[Mary Elaine LeBey]

[courageisneverforgotten]

✨ rules: pick a song for each letter of your url and tag that many people (or don't, it's up to you) - don't repeat same artists! ✨

(tagged by @its-me-satine - thank you !! <33)

courage

calling (spider-man: across the spider-verse soundtrack / metro boomin) ; one summer’s day (joe hisaishi) ; use somebody (kings of leon) ; restless moon (maya hawke) ; any day now (trousdale) ; give me a minute (lizzy mcalpine) ; ends of the earth (lord huron)

is

i want your video (djo) ; spring / sun / winter / dread (everything everything)

never

new orleans (parachute) ; egg in the backseat (em beihold) ; valentine (laufey) ; exile (taylor swift feat. bon iver) ; rachel (steppes)

forgotten

formidable (twenty one pilots) ; oh GOD (orla gartland) ; run and hide (sabrina carpenter) ; over those hills (hayley williams) ; toxic thoughts (faith marie) ; times are hard for dreamers (amélie cast recording) ; everywhere (fleetwood mac) ; nonbeliever (lucy dacus)

open tags :D

[songofwizardry]

so for the past few years, i have made a list of 'things i really liked this year' in december, and it's never gone beyond ramblings in my notes app, but this year, finally, it is going on tumblr! mainly bc i enjoy talking about things and i can guarantee i will have forgotten about some of these things in a year and i like records.

so, here we go—a fairly chaotic list of media i enjoyed in 2023 (with links where possible!)

words (prose, poetry, etc):

the word for world is forest by Ursula K. Le Guin [prose]: i have been intending to read this for years, and i finally picked it up at the start of 2023, and it is incredible. it's fairly brutal, but it was... idk, i have not read anything else that captures the violence inherent in colonisation and the effects of the decolonial project this well. what a book

your emergency contact has experienced an emergency by Chen Chen [poetry collection]: this poetry collection was very good and pretty fucking heavy (cw for homophobia throughout) and extremely emotional and made me feel many, many seventeen-year-old-me feelings. honourable mentions to higher education (excerpt here) and doctor's note.

a master of djinn by P. Djèlí Clark [prose]: i did not read as much sff as i wanted to this year, but i did read this one, and it's great. i adore fatma. i want all her outfits. the alternate cairo is super cool. the angels. it's a really good read. there's a pretty good tor dot com review of it here, if you're interested.

darius the great is not okay and darius the great deserves better by Adib Khorram [prose]: i read a truly ridiculous amount of YA this spring/summer. some of it was incredible, some of it was less-so, but i thought at least one YA book should be on here. this was one of my favourites. both books are lovely, a really-well written look at both living with depression and the challenges and joys of being a mixed-race kid. also, Sohrab is a sweetie.

audio & music (yes music-y videos are in here don't question my organisation):

now and for always from the Watermill theatre's revival of the lord of the rings musical [music + video]: i have loved the soundtrack of this musical for years, and then the Watermill ran it over the summer and i had the incredible luck to go watch it, and it was phenomenal. this song makes me cry literally always, Nuwan Hugh Perera as Sam is amazing, and the whole musical but particularly this song with actor-musicians worked so well.

solidarity forever with Billy Bragg at the elmwood starbucks strike [music + video]: i started off this year on strike, and as such was both picking picket music and listening to a lot of Billy Bragg just for. general motivation yknow. anyway this video is posted by Aisling Ayers, who got up to sing with Billy Bragg, and it's really good. it makes me emotional every time.

artist: known from WBUR's Endless Thread [podcast]: this episode was how i got into Endless Thread, which is great fun on my commute, and – as a wrinkle in time fan – the history behind the artist of the cover was fascinating. it's a really interesting episode, and it made me emotional about old sff art.

you're gonna go far by Noah Kahan, from stick season (we'll all be here forever) [music]: this album is actually one of the very few new pieces of english language music i listened to all year (ok this and the new Hozier album) and honestly it's such a good album, incredible song after incredible song. this one is my favourite though. i have been writing more this year, and this one has been on repeat while i've been writing for the last few months.

video:

disney channel's theme: a history mystery by Defunctland [video essay]: look 1 i know we've all watched it by now and 2 yes it was posted in late 2022 but i didn't watch it till 2023 but this may be... my favourite video essay ever? it has everything. the anxiety of wondering if the mystery will be solved. the twist. the impeccable fucking editing. the emotions. the little aside about being a documetarian. it's so good.

the largest telescope that will ever be built* by Tom Scott [video]: we have one (1) more of Tom Scott's regular monday videos before he goes on leave/sabbatical/etc, and he has given us so many gems over the last several years, it's hard to even pick a favourite from this year. but this one is really fucking good. i'm biased though, there's telescopes in this one.

rehearsing a string quartet while speaking different languages by TwoSetViolin [video]: ("salmon, why is this not in the music section?" because there are no rules. this is my list). i fell down a TwoSetViolin rabbit hole at the start of the year, and you must understand i know nothing about music. can't play a single instrument. can't read sheet music. absolutely fuck all. but i am obsessed with this video. i can't recommend it enough. it's hilarious, it's an incredible show of skill, my multilingual heart enjoyed it immensely, and they clearly had a lot of fun with the subtitles and notes.

escape the greenroom - Gamechanger season 5 episode 9 [video, dropout exclusive]: if you are not watching Gamechanger yet i cannot emphasise how much you should because it is honestly fucking incredible, and every season has done more and more weird and fun things with the format, but season 5 really blew the previous ones outta the water. this episode was incredible. i won't spoil it, but here's the opening on YouTube shorts. if you have watched it, it's 100% worth a rewatch btw

plagiarism and you(tube) by hbomberguy [video essay]: you knew it was coming. it's the video of the year. this is the logical conclusion of roblox oof + who wrote caramelldansen + the author of homestuck contacted me just going to a like. whole other level. what a video. more twists than you could ever predict. iconic work. well worth the several hours.

to hurt is to heal - critical role campaign 3 episode 79 [actual play]: i've been so good. i have not put any cr on here so far. everything else on here you do not need to watch several hundred hours of media to understand. there had to be at least one though, because of who i am as a person. anyway this may be my... favourite cr episode ever? at least in my top 3. (no spoilers, promise.) it's got fey bullshit. it's got a fun twist thing i didn't see coming. it's got... asmr? it's got reveals stacked on reveals in a precarious jenga tower. great episode.

ok. there are several more things that could've ended up on this list (including more books and a lot of not-English music), but i will stop here. 2023 has been a wild, wild year with a lot of really incredible happenings and some fairly Intense Times, but hey, let's see what 2024 brings—probably more video essays and more podcasts and more critical role compilations, and (maybe?? if we're lucky???) alecto the ninth. happy new year, folks!

[romilly-jay]

Goodness Gracious, Great Helpings of Nostalgia!!

***spoilers (I assume)***

[Just realised this is NOT the first time I've written about nostalgia. And guessing won't be the last. Sure, makes sense, i) as I age and ii) as I try to figure out my drivers and influences, and which of these continue to hold good into the work I'm exploring NOW - but/and I am definitely not a The Past Was Better POV apologist.]

I didn't see Top Gun: Maverick in cinemas in 2022 - unsurprising given that it took me years to stop living as though we were still in lockdown - but having seen it now a few times on the small screen, I endorse the view that this would be one of those things to SEE BIG.

It's also in keeping with my not having seen Top Gun on the big screen while S went one further, having not seen Top Gun at all until AFTER I got him to watch TG:M with me. TG:M makes several degrees less sense if you haven't seen the original but - can confirm - is still enjoyable and suspect meant he was sufficiently interested to watch through TG: the original. Which we of course did next.

S and I agreed that TG:M was the better movie - how often can a sequel say that? Esp a sequel which perhaps originally didn't need to exist and only exists because of the success of the first and the affection in which it is held. And clearly I'm far from the first person to say what a GOOD job they did of the remake-quel. A masterclass in understanding what was so loved about the original and echoing and elevating those elements, remade for the 21st century. New story but so closely patterning the original that they recast Rooster/Goose and Iceman/Hangman as precise look-alikes and repeatedly encouraged us to put key scenes from both alongside each other.

Oh, and the soundtrack of course - how could I forget?!

Actually, I guess I forgot because music is something I've related to LESS than most/many from my culture - although I'm not completely cut off from experiencing the effect of great music. I remembered that I'd forgotten, for example, because as I did the search on the two character montages, all I could hear in my head was -

Duh - da - da - daadaa - daadaa - duuuuuuuh (etc.)

Thank you to anyone who was able to reverse engineer that into the music that goes over the titles.

Never been big for music fandom, which is not a criticism or critique of people who love music, are dedicated fans, and feel that connection to a band or singer. I'm also resisting the urge to comment about sports fans who follow their teams around and identify deeply with them.

This desire for intimate connection with people/phenomena that can't love us back is - I imagine - profoundly human and I also absolutely experience it. Just that for me, it's been with characters from books, initially, and later, certain TV shows. Pretty sure that's how I was with Buffy's Scooby Gang (I of course identified with Willow/Tara) and with Firefly (less clear who I identified with here - oh, no, actually, it's very clear - repressed/big bro Simon).

And isn't it interesting how specific images reconnect to a feeling of belonging? I wonder whether seeing the specific book cover of a previously loved book has a similar effect for me to seeing photos from the town I grew up in, from the era I was living there?

Coming across precisely the correct version of the cover activates feelings of tenderness even towards books I might have liked very much at the time but didn't retain a memory of reading.

For instance - I went looking for the cover of Summer of my German Soldier by Bette Greene which I was obsessed by when I was 14 ish and having found it (and re-read the story summary and thought ERK, big bold themes for a YA book - not sure they'd risk it today), the author's bio reminded me of another book I must have read but had never really thought about since. Found the cover and YEP.

[chorusfm]

Charity Bliss – Joy Algorithm

Music has an otherworldly connection to us all. Whether it’s playing that one song or album that brings comfort to us each time we play it, or a stellar song that comes on the radio at just the right moment in time to boost our mood, it’s no secret why so many of us adore the key artists we’ve learned about over our lives. Charity Bliss has returned with a cool-sounding third album, entitled Joy Algorithm, that has this concept top-of-mind. Brendan Machowski writes music as Charity Bliss, and he described the inspiration behind Joy Algorithm: “On July 6th 2021, I drove home from my day job. For whatever reason, the task of picking music for the commute felt more akin to waiting for a theme park ride waiting to take off. My anxious trigger finger accessed the entirety of my library and pressed the shuffle button. I’m used to this action resulting in me skipping past 10-15 tracks before settling begrudgingly on a universal song…Except this time, around 20 seconds before the end of ‘Song 2’ by Blur, I thought it’d be nice to hear ‘Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground” by Willie Nelson. Sure enough, there was Willie. My phone would go on this telepathic song and dance two more times. This was the catalyst behind Joy Algorithm.” By using a relatable concept of music finding us right when we need it the most, Charity Bliss offers up a fresh take on the importance of sharing music with others. The album concept plays like a radio station that includes some familiar-sounding vibes and sounds to them, all complete with brief “commercials” to intertwine the themes going through the record. Joy Algorithm sounds like an artist that was deeply influenced by artists and albums by The Weeknd, The 1975, Owl City, and M83, while still adding some dashes of unique personality to avoid the carbon copy feel. After a brief setting of tones on “Hello Listener,” Charity Bliss blends a cool combination of heavy synths, guitars, and smooth vocals on the title track. In the second verse, Machowski admits, “Identity is everything, so tell me who you are / We’ll all be forgotten / We’re so small / I’m working on living,” as he zooms out to the billions of people on Earth who can share a connection with each other through the internet, music, or a common activity. “Friendly Astral Projector” follows next in the sequencing with some vibrant guitar tones, similar to The 1975, and Machowski’s warm vocals engulf the listener like a blanket. Charity Bliss breaks up some of the similar tempos with a rare ballad in “Look At Me Disease,” that tackles the theme of looking to others for recognition/acceptance, and the feeling of dread when we don’t get that attention. Things continue to drift towards the heavens on “The Blue Sky Under Everything” and the blissful, frenetic single “Limitless Engine / Sadness Machine.” On the latter, Machowski commands the song with a cool confidence and swagger, and the song reminded me a bit of a mix between Motion City Soundtrack paired with Hellogoodbye. The tail end of Joy Algorithm never loses focus, even with an occasional misstep in songs like the long and brooding “Aluminum Dragon.” Things quickly get back on track with the synth-heavy “Digital Mannequin,” the self-reflection found on the summer anthem “I Kind of Like When My Phone Dies (It’s Relaxing),” before closing things out with “Ctrl+Alt+Sleep” that uses the piano as a bit of a pulse for the track to hit its intended tone. Charity Bliss has carefully crafted the right mix of synth-pop, summery guitars, and a bit of stoner rock into a crisp, and thoughtful package on Joy Algorithm. Ironically, the album plays out like a radio station that sways from big hits to deep cuts that are all across the spectrum of stylistic and artistic choices that directly replicate our change in moods as certain songs come across our speakers and playlists. A concept album in its own right that maintains a deeper connection with all who find it. That’s a win in my book, Charity Bliss. --- Please consider… https://chorus.fm/reviews/charity-bliss-joy-algorithm/

[pwblogarchive]

June 2004

June 2, 2004

“journal drama is so two years ago”

hey old faces and pretty eyes come out and see us when we hit your city. its been awhile. painted some sick bats and hearts on my bass cabs. let me know what you think.

thosewholiveinglassheartsshouldn'tthrowstones.

June 2, 2004

getting ready for tour. threw down some some vocals on the new rise against record. it sounds pretty good. talked about doing a rise against, spitalfield, fob chicago show. it would be like old times.

the truth is i am going to miss you so much more than i could ever let on.

- petey

June 3, 2004

“I'm all fingers crossed and eyelash wishes”

It feels good to be playing again. New set. New songs. New hearts. I'll get into it more later. A lot of people have been asking what I want for my birthday. Don't even worry about presents its all good. Thanks for just acknowledging it and giving me a good year that's enough. But whoever brought up halloween on june 5. Amazing.

Anyway. Thanks for everything. I don't say it enough.

I want to take you out on the road.

Peterabbit

June 3, 2004

“if I go home alone tonight I think I might die.”

The story is coming along. Saw more sketches. We have a deadline set. Its gonna be better than I thought. Well have one clandestine design out on tour but were only gonna sell a couple of designs. Tonight after the show my heart was beating so fast I thought it was going to become a constant tone. I was heaving into the bushes but it was one of like 10 occassions in my life that I felt truly alive.

Peter

June 3, 2004

“if I go home alone tonight I think I might die.”

The story is coming along. Saw more sketches. We have a deadline set. Its gonna be better than I thought. Well have one clandestine design out on tour but were only gonna sell a couple of designs. Tonight after the show my heart was beating so fast I thought it was going to become a constant tone. I was heaving into the bushes but it was one of like 10 occassions in my life that I felt truly alive.

peter

June 5, 2004

“I’ve O.D.’D On Lonliness 24 Times”

cleveland. what a weird show. got some sweet cakes- this one was possibly the coolest i have ever seen. nick took pics of it. me and some of the guys from don’t look down and anberlin are doing a metalcore band on this tour called Death Support. i am singing and it’s alot heavier than any of our bands. when you wake up alone on your birthday don’t you just think maybe thats going to happen forever? thats okay i am pretty stoked on all my friends right now. i’m tired. thats all. peter

June 6, 2004

second star to the right and straight on till morning.

there is nothing to say besides thank you.

the new taking back sunday will be the soundtrack to your summer. trust me.

peter

June 8, 2004

I only use this stage to wage personal vendettas and make you dance like I am shooting at your feet...

The last few shows have made me feel so right about all of the decisions we have made in the past year. I need a new hat- don't buy me one but tell me some recommendations. Brokehalo7 email is all but destroyed. Gotta find a better way at keeping in touch. Got some new shoes. They have flowers on the, gay or partyanimal? Watched the flight of the navigator and the new harry potter. Some stories are just too great to keep to yourself. We are setting a deadliine for printing "the boy with the thorn in his side". Sorry if I have been out of it, I am feeling kind of low lately.

Everybody loves an underdog.

So don't be suprised when we don't go down.

P

June 9, 2004

I have so much to say that I never will

What do you do "when you wake up everything will be better". Except its not. And there's no worse feeling than when you wake up and feel okay for a minute. And then that sick feeling washes over you and you remember its not okay. And were blowing this up too big and maybe not big enough at the same time. I hope this (we are) is all forgotten soon.

June 11, 2004

“when the moonlight hits your bright eyes”

And you can't sleep cause no bed smells like her or feel okay because you never really get clean no matter how many showers you take. Its all just night air and broken white lines racing by. You couldn't figure me out if you tried. You never even came close (and you were the closest). We build our own prisons and throw the keys to hearts that never knew they had them anyway. I'm ready to stop. I don't want to feel this way anymore. How long will my excuses keep you at bay? Baby, I'm sorry attentions just been my thing all along. That's all I ever wanted right? The pot calling the kettle... And so on. Call me up. Pull the blanket from over my head and say its okay that words only feel safe out on the computer screen and not whispered into your ear late at night- or just leave me alone. I gotta say I'm tempted to break your heart just cause I could do it best.

Peterabbit

June 12, 2004

“you own this sick feeling in my stomach”

You're not bad news. Your not even news anymore.

June 16, 2004

"the things he writes hurt too much to be real" right?

Friends and lovers. I haven't slept in forever. There have been so many things going on. We got the issue of ap with us on the cover- kids from chicago- there are a couple of crowd shots you can probably see yourself and friends in. Sometimes everything gets so bad that it just turns okay. Know what I mean? Probably not. Went to newyork hardcore and payed for jordan to get a mustache tattooed on his finger. You'll be able to see this and lots of other funny stuff we've been filming. We decided to do a clandestine dvd called "release the bats" so we can show off some funny footage and showcase some of our favorite bands. Oh yeah and don't worry the drawings are done for the book, just waiting on the coloring. Some new shirts will be up in the next few weeks...

I see your face in my dreams imprinted on clouds and blue sky.

Peterpan

June 17, 2004

“I'd go to hell and back for me and you”

You're the kind of kid that knows just how beautiful you are. But it's the moments in between that when I look at you and I feel like I can't breathe.

June 17, 2004

I'm living proof that there such thing as too much of a good thing. The kiss (off) of fame. You can't measure me cause I'm only lying (yeah I left out that part) "I've given up on all that stuff" to get youu back in bed. Oh yeah and how about how you steal all these words from my teeth and fingers and call them yours (yeah you left out that part) and then have the heart to accuse me. That thing aint beating in your chest, its counting down. The spotlights your only home but don't get too comfortable. Its almost too perfect. Too voyeuristic as I watch you go down. Too good to be true.

Cover of ap: www.livejournal.com/~askheychris  

- petey

June 19, 2004

“sometimes, new jersey”

I've still got my skateandsurf paper bracelett on. 2 months. I am nin love with nj.

June 20, 2004

who's bright idea was it to make captiol "I" and lower case "l" the exact same thing. fucking lame.

June 20, 2004

“R.I.P.”

American nightmare/giveuptheghost- whatever name is over. This band has changed my life in the past few years more than any band has in recent history. Honestly it hurts and feels so strange that its over. If you get a chance buy a record, you won\'t be disappointed.

When people talk to me about reacting to FOB and how it makes them feel, only this band comes to mind. Their music saved my life.

P

June 25, 2004

“there's no greater weapon then her name”

Getting ready for japan. I have so much to say. But its way too early. I don't know when ill get to a computer again. I dyed my hair. Its pink with a bit of black in it. Ask some japanese kids to post them.

Underoath "they're only chasing" is almost thje new "tell all your friends"

Napoleon dynamite is almost the new rushmore

Ilove you is the new...

P

June 26, 2004

kaweii co

boys and girls, deadly cobras and snake charmers. japan is amazing. it is a perfect cartoon over here. we are written in. i am not going to waste too much time typing. i have been keeping a real tour journal of it and will post it when we get back. until then stay lovely.

peter pan

keeprunningyourmouthontheinternetyouresuchajoke

June 27, 2004

im in japan. its real late at night. why would anyone in japan like my band? clandestine- the story is almost done, the release the bats dvd is gonna drop this fally. funny stuff. someone please send me a torch and some faith, cause i just cant see.

peter

- petey

June 29, 2004

this is my heart version 2.0

download new picture. www.fueledbyramen.com/journal

June 29, 2004

sorry that picture was huge. try this one instead. i am gonna be dying my hair black when i get back to the states caused i am sick of making pillows red. its been a really great time over here... dont mistake my arrogance for shyness or the other way around. i cant wait to get back out and touring again in the states. thats what feels like home to me- i know i can be hard to understand and deal with at times, so thanks for putting up with me.

please dont hate me

did you expect us to just roll over and die. your mouth is writing checks your heart cant cash.

i miss you guys so much

peter