#syne speaks

[forauldlangsynewastaken]

Starting to have nightmares again. It has gotten repetitive. Someone in a dress in front of a massive tree. It looks like she starts dancing and outstretches her arms out like branches, turns to the side, and it's like the visual starts to rot. Idk how else to describe it other than rot. Like the earth is breathing and dying. She never says anything to me she just freezes in this sorta poised way. Like she's trying to show me something or present something

This time I looked down before I woke up and i saw hands coming out of the ground reaching up at me. One grabbed my leg and I woke up. Working with about two hours of sleep and a headache

[puzzled-on-main]

did you know you can just type “auld lang syne a cappella” into your phone and it will show you some of the most beautiful music you have heard in a very long time

[yutarot]

IN PERFECT SYNC [j.jh smau]

twenty-six — however hard it may be. wc: 0.8k

(written section is below)

“i love this song!!!” jungwoo yells over the scream of ‘stereo love’ blasting from the speakers. you’d already been at the party for an hour, and jungwoo was still yelling ‘i love this song’ at every single damn one that played.

“honestly, one day, that man is gonna realise that haaland does not give a single shit about him.” yuta laughs, huddling into you, johnny and kazuha in order to speak quieter and you still hear him.

“he’s right, jungwoo really is trying wayyyy too hard” johnny says, and you turn to him with a dead expression, panning your eyes down to his ‘i love haaland’ t-shirt.

“righttt….” you reply, and johnny shrugs innocently. “i’m gonna go grab another drink. anyone want refills?” you ask.

before kazuha can reply to tell u she wants another, jungwoo comes charging through the middle of your group, arms drunkenly slinging over yours and yutas shoulders as he sings the words of ‘auld lang syne’, very wrong and very out of pitch.

“oh shittt.” jungwoo yells as he looks at you, his half drank cup of cherry vodka now decorating your very expensive and very white dress. “i’m so sorry!”

you laugh, telling him it’s okay and lying that you can simply wash it out, which eases his very incessantly loud yells of apology.

you wait for him to drag yuta, johnny and kazuha back up near the speakers before you silently slip away to the kitchen to grab a towel to dry yourself.

but your journey to haalands kitchen is short lived, as a hand clutches your arm, pulling you into what seems like a coat closet, the door closing behind you.

a very small, very dark, coat closet.

and there’s someone stood, very close to you.

“i was right. you do look beautiful.”

you recognise his voice immediately.

“it’s literally pitch black in here, jaehyun.” you bicker.

“i saw you earlier, before jungwoo spilt half a cup of cherry vodka down your dress.” he laughs at the mention, drawing your attention back to the wet fabric seeping into your skin and far from the thoughts you were having before.

you can’t see him, but you can feel him. his arms by his side, his chin just above your forehead and his eyes, baring into yours.

you’re very aware of where your bodies are. and you’re very aware when his hand begins to trace the curve of your jaw before pushing the loose strands of your hair from your face, gently brushing the nape of your neck as he moves your hair to the side.

his touch is barely there, but you feel it.

he clears his throat to speak, but there’s nothing he can say to define what this moment means to him.

but all you can think about is the nagging in your head.

speak to him, ask him, now.

“jaehyun?”

“hmm?”

“i need to ask you something.”

his hands drop from your hair, falling instead to the door handle.

your hand goes over his, “what are you doing?!” you whisper-yell.

he laughs. “chill out, yn, the kitchen is empty, we can talk there.”

you’re hesitant to comply, but you’d rather be in there than in the close proximity of that god-forsaken coat closet any longer, as much as the butterflies in your stomach wish for you to stay.

as you get to the kitchen, you finally find a towel, beginning to pat yourself down.

jaehyuns eyes are on you, full of amusement and something beyond.

something you are so incredibly unsure of.

you set down the towel. “you wanted to ask me something?” jaehyun asks.

“oh right.” you nod. “the way you feel about me, it’s not in a relationship kind of way, is it?”

he’s silent for a few moments, leaning back with his elbows on the counter, his fists clenching as he thinks of what to say next.

“no.” he replies.

so you were right.

he doesn’t want you, for you. he just wants to sleep with you.

you’re just another one of his one night stands.

you can’t say you expected this, all his struggle with telling you how he feels, all his words as Y.

and it was all just so he could sleep with you.

you don’t want him to elaborate, but he does. “i’m not ready for a relationship yet, yn. not just with you, but with anyone. you can’t be mad at that, can you?”

he’s right, you can’t. if he’s not ready, then he’s not ready.

but a pang in your heart is the only thing that follows.

and there is nothing that you can do.

nothing but the simple act of acceptance.

so, you accept it.

however hard it may be.

mlist — next

notes; sorry guys… pls don’t hate me…anyways! 4 chapters left im so sad i dont want it to end but i also can’t wait to start ride or die f1 jeno is actually killing me 😊😊 also the notes on that is insane thank u sm?????? i will NAWT let u guys down🙏

taglist — open; @https-yeonjun @chenlesfavorite @therealbobbyshloby @f6llsun @jkslvsnella @nanaxwi @cloudmrk @neocrashed @vernonburger @vividwritess @taeeflwrr @mmjhh1998 @cyjzzl @stareaa @minkyuncutie @mrkleelvr @dudekiss3r @nattan127 @slayhaechan @jaeveil @tynlvr @mslora @nosungluv @grassbutneo @dokyriu @girlz4jaem @axo-l0tl @yyangj3lly @solvrse @m1ng1swife @gentlepeach @xiuriii @soobinbunnie5 @tocupid @apolloxxivmin @ctrlstar @gyuguys @tokitosun @i-kai @flamingi @mrkleelvr @en-dream @queenrachelpink @ssweetreveries @swanyvess @flaminghotyourmom @hyuck-me @cryingforjae @hizhu @starfilledgaze

[syoddeye]

useless, part two

Part Two of my submission to @glitterypirateduck's O, Captain! Challenge. As a reminder, I rolled a d100 to select three prompts. Unfortunately I got carried away with this part, so I haven't used my third prompt yet. But that just means a Part Three is coming.

You could argue this fits 95. Attending an event together...

Read Part One. Tag list: @v1x3n @kiranezra

~2k words, Price x f!Reader. Enjoy!

The ice bites through the steel shaker, your fingers sting, and the noise is a tick too loud, but both are decent distractions while you figure out what to say. In the corner of your eye, John watches with an amused look, tempting your elbow to somehow find his chin. When you finally stop, popping the cap to strain the vodka and vermouth, of course, he's already prepared with a snarky comment.

"Did it owe you money?"

"Yeah," you say, pulling an olive from a jar and dunking it into the glass. "Be glad you don't." 

John leans on the counter beside you. "I'd hate to cross you."

"That's new," you retort, savoring both his mildly confused look and the drink. "They feed you growth hormones in the army?"

He laughs. "Breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

You suppress a smile behind your glass and cross an arm over your front. "Are you back for long?"

His laughter peters out, and he shakes his head. "Nah, I leave tomorrow night."

"Mm," The noncommittal masks your wilting. You study John's face in the half-second pause. Since stepping foot in the house, no, since hearing about this soiree yesterday, he's plagued your thoughts. All those hours spent in each other's company for the better part of a year. That dumb fight resurfaces. You're not going to amount to anything! Classic John to prove you wrong. The jerk. 

"My mom told me you're doing well for yourself. You graduated something early? That you got into the SAS or whatever?"

"'Whatever'?" John scoffs, turning to face you better, enunciating each word as if you can't recite As You Like It by memory. "Yes. I'm doing well. You're looking at Lieutenant John Price, I'll have you know."

You arch an eyebrow. You know, in your gut, it is impressive. How or why is a mystery; it just is. Zero chance you'll let him know that. "And that's a big deal?"

"To some people."

"Well, I'm not 'some people'." You say with a tilt of your head.

"No, you're not," He answers a mite quieter before taking another swig and straightening. "Rumor mill says I'm looking at another promotion, maybe next year."

"What'll your title, er, rank be then?"

He smirks. "Captain."

You nod as if this again means something to you, a foreign civilian, and make a show of it. "Right," Your eyes hold each other in place in his parent's kitchen. A balloon of silence begs to be popped, for a decade's worth of fleeting memories and games of telephone through your mothers, to burst and ease the tension. And it's so typical, so John, that he hasn't even asked about y–

"And how're you faring?"

Stunning. Fucking karmic.

You can't stop yourself. "Oh, look at you, John Price. Did the army also finally teach you how to hold conversations?"

His eyes narrow a fraction, and that quizzical pinching of his brow returns. His lips part to speak, but a commotion at the entrance to the kitchen draws your attention. A pair of older men meander in, pink-faced and glassy-eyed, slurring the words to Auld Lang Syne two and a half hours too early. You take it for what it surely is, an out, and slip away. 

John's parents are eager enough to receive you in the crowded living room and return to their fawning. You'd rather wade through another stint of stilted conversation with their questions about your credits stateside or reminisce about embassy days than suffer John pretending to give a shit regarding your useless career.

You dance around speaking to him again, politely finding ways to dip in and out of conversations he thrusts himself into. The practice leverages all parts of your acting career and what you remember of the education your mother gave you. Smile, nod, ask leading questions, and watch for the interloper. It pays off, as John seems to eventually get the hint and fades into the background of the party.

When the clock strikes half past eleven and some ex-policy advisor nearly spills his ale on you, you decide it's time to sneak out. You've overstayed your allotted time. John's nowhere in sight, most guests are deep within their cups, and the giddiness of the impending countdown is palpable. It's easy enough to step into the front hall unseen without an ounce of guilt in your veins. You came, you saw, you drank expensive vodka, and made nice with your mother's friends.

Buttoning your coat, you step out into the night's chill and start down the steps. You're two paces from the garden gate when a man's voice pushes into your ear.

"Goin' somewhere?"

The two courses of stage combat you've completed guide your hand in a flat chop to the offending jugular. The owner of said jugular, however, catches the blow with an arm, then laughs, a rich and deep sound, to drive the humiliation home.

"John, Jesus Christ, you complete asshole!" You hiss, turning to shove the man standing in the shadows behind you. 

"There she is," He cracks, still chuckling. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Yeah right, you absolute-"

"Arse?" His hands rise in defense when you glare, the glow of a cigar catching your eye before he lowers it to his mouth for a puff. It's a moment before his mouth opens, the tobacco scent permeating the short distance between you. "Just out for a smoke."

Wrinkling your nose, you sigh. "That is awful for your health."

"So's my line of work," He counters.

"Fair point."

"Glad you think so."

You stare at him again. Admittedly, it's hard not to. Even in the dark, the glint of his steady gaze tethers. Maybe it's the military thing—like he's learned to restrain people without touching them. It must be because it couldn't be anything else. A shiver compels you to speak. "I have to get going."

"So close to the bell?"

"I need to prepare for an audition," You lie. There is no audition. The only thing waiting for you at home is an inherited prompt book for Kiss Me Kate to work on.

"I'll walk you to the station."

"You don't need to do that."

John corrals you toward the gate, his accompaniment apparently a foregone conclusion, and holds it open as you pass. "C'mon. It's been ten years. You used to escort me all the time."

You huff. "That was security, not me."

"You were always in the car, weren't you?"

John sticks to your side despite your protests, which last for all of one street. You slip once, and his arm offers itself immediately, which you take only for stability. Beneath the layers, his muscle is firm and a sure thing, unchallenged by your leaning on it. He's always been strong. 

"Is there a reason you avoided me all night?" he asks suddenly, showing you the small mercy of keeping his eyes trained forward.

The walk is slick, and you realize that a minute too late, his arm is both a gentlemanly safeguard and a leash.

"I didn't avoid you."

"No, you just ran off again before I could talk to you."

Ran off again. The lout remembers. Has to.

"Fine. I wasn't in the mood to be reminded of my failures."

He scoffs, arm flexing to squeeze your hand. "You weren't a failure. Furthest thing from it."

"I'm not talking about school, John," you snap, exasperated. You regret ever wishing he'd inquire after you. "I don't—I don't want to talk about that." You see him glance in your periphery and then search the air for a way forward. You provide it.

"So, Captain. That's a big deal." As much as it kills you, it's easier to speak of his successes. "Bet your parents are over the moon."

John sighs. "They're thrilled."

"You do anything particularly insane to earn it?"

"Can't tell you," he answers automatically, a notch more serious, his cigar adding a touch of drama.

You pat his arm. "You'd have to kill me?"

"Something like that."

A few minutes pass in silence. Muffled music and cheers trickle through open windows on either side of the streets. Midnight rapidly approaches, as does the station.

"You seeing anyone?"

Oof. Maybe you should've spoken about your failing acting career. At least that had some color and excitement.

"No. My boyfriend, uh, ex-boyfriend ended things a week ago."

John stops, gently tugging when you nearly stumble. His expression is difficult to read between lampposts, but his tone suggests contempt. "At Christmas?" 

You want to laugh at his incredulity, the pure scandal in his voice. But you don't. He's gone all serious again. "Two days before, actually. It's alright though," you nudge him to walk again. "It wasn't anything serious."

It's the truth. Jeff was a middling boyfriend. He was never going to go the distance. He'd been a half-decent romp and someone to drink with. 

"Well he seems like a serious idiot."

"I won't fight you on that," you shrug. "And you, Captain? I bet you must beat them off with a stick in uniform."

He chuckles, releasing smoke. "I'm not a Captain yet. And I'm too busy."

"You'll make Captain," you say a little too quickly, too confidently, snapping your focus back to the stairs to the station ahead. "I can make it from here."

John seems to consider it. He's quiet before he snuffs out his cigar on a bin. "I'll walk down with you."

You descend the steps arm in arm, passing a giggling, buzzed couple on their way up.

"It's a shame you're leaving before midnight, Cinderella," John teases as you stroll slowly into the virtually empty tunnel. His head is on a swivel. Ever the soldier, apparently.

The ground is dry and even below street level. There's no need to keep his arm.

"Yeah, well, I'd rather not stick around to see everything turn back into pumpkins," you check the time. The train is due at 12:02 AM.

John seems almost on edge as he looks around. You feel a slight, frenetic energy reverberating where your arms touch, mismatching the absolute rigidity of his bearing. His eyes are wilder when they meet yours, and his head dips slightly.

You frown. "What's wrong?"

"It's good luck to kiss somebody at midnight." He all but blurts out.

Your hold on his arm loosens, but he grips back firmer. "That's what's got you in a tizzy?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm going to need all the luck I can get this next year."

What is he going on about? His promotion? You're unsure if you like how he's looking at you. "John—"

A trio on the platform starts counting down some distance away, but the sound carries.

"Please." It's earnest. It's certain.

You bite your cheek, searching for any hint of this being a joke. "Just a friendly peck." you clarify.

"'Course." He reels you in, eyes half-lidded, closing in suddenly with a barely held-back urgency.

A hand cupping the back of your head knocks a gasp out of you. "It doesn't change anything." You quickly add.

"Not a thing."

Cheers erupt down the platform, but you barely hear them over the roar of blood in your ears. John's mouth is a force. It's earnest. It's certain. It was never going to be a friendly peck. You've kissed many people on stage and off, but never quite like this.

The train's rumbling knocks you back into reality. You're both breathing heavier. John's eyes darken with a hungry look, and everything in his posture suggests he's after more. Your name slips from his mouth like a command.

"Stay," he orders.

But you're not a soldier. You've never even played one. You're not equipped to face whatever this is—what that was. The doors to the car open behind you, and his eyes flicker toward them as if to will them shut. You shake your head imperceptibly.

"Happy New Years, John."

You step into the train, a coward. You don't look back to see if he watches the train depart, but you know he does.

It's another fourteen years before you see John Price again.

[riofann]

5. tempestuous

Tempestuous: characterized by strong and turbulent or conflicting emotion.

Previous Chapter

Trigger warning: Violence, Arson

Tuesday December 31, 2019

The bar is alive, it's expected it is New Years Eve after all. There's sooo many people it makes it difficult to maneuver with drinks and food in hand, it felt like the entire city was convened at your bar even though you knew it wasn’t true.  Thank goodness for your staff being willing to pick up extra shifts all hands-on deck  was the moto tonight and they were going to get compensated for it. You had triple the amount of people helping. You gave a limited menu today as well, no way were you having your team  frying up and grilling all types of food. Finger food: fries, sliders, sandwiches, dips, chips, mixed nuts, you name it things that wouldn’t matter if they fell on the floor or were lost due to the commotion. 

At first you didn’t see him because you were so busy running around delivering food, picking up glasses arguing with drunk customers. You felt like someone was watching you and that's when you paused to scan the bar, and your eyes met. He lifts his glass to you before turning his attention to the TV ahead. 

Why was he here? Shouldn’t he be with Marcus or Nick and family? You didn’t have time to worry about him because your bartender was arguing with a customer.

“I ASKTH FOR ANOTHER FUCKING SHOTH OF JAGERBOMBS AND THIS DHICKH WON’T GIVE THEM TO MEE!” he screams slurring his speech

You smile and nod clasping your hands “That is because you are at your limit you are slurring your words you can’t stand straight so we are closing your tab” “I AM A LHOYAL CUSTOMEH YOU BITCH! YOU GIVE ME MY FUCKING SHOT NOW!” You make a face and smirk before picking up your walkie talkie “Sean I need you at the bar rear entrance” In less than 1 minute Sean arrives

“What’s up boss?”

“We have closed this gentleman’s tab because of his current state, I want him out of the bar please” “Oh come on you don’t have to do that listen he is our friend we will watch him we know he gets testy when drunk” his friend defends You give a half sympathetic smile “You’re friend called me a bitch at my own bar he’s not welcome anymore” “Come on listen we will leave a good tip” You shake your head “Nooo, I’m sorry but that won’t do, you can go with him if you would like” The group remained silent “I am happy to close out your tabs and let you enjoy the rest of new years but I don’t tolerate disrespect to my staff or myself so what’s it going to be?” “Fucking bitch men” you hear from behind “Excuse me?!” You lean forward over the bar “I didn’t hear you speak up” you talk directly to the one you know said it   “It’s nothing name on the tab Taylor” another friend speaks seemingly embarrassed by the situation at hand You beam at him “Perfect lets close you out so you can enjoy the rest of your evening!” You turn to Sean “Don’t leave until they are gone” “Yes ma’am” 

You turn to find Rio gone, you needed to speak to him. You urgently leave the bar running onto the parking lot to see if you can spot his car. You don’t. You make it back to the bar defeated. 

The time reaches when the countdown begins, you have the staff pass out champagne flutes to everyone 3 minutes prior to the count down. You on the barstool by bar along with the rest of your bartenders, your staff surrounds you. You even have the kitchen staff join in. 

“10! 9! 8! 7! 6! 5! 4! 3! 2! 1! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!” The crowd erupts in celebration as Auld Lang Syne blasts through the speakers! You take a few shots with your staff before the party continues. Time moves by faster now and you and your staff are focused on getting people home safely and making sure nothing nefarious is taking place. 

“Have a good night, remember we aren’t open till Friday” “Oh so you guys get some days off?”  A customer comments “YES FINALLY” one of the waiters comments laughing along with the customers

“She got y’all working on tight schedule” one customer comments “Nah we love her” they hug you 

“Yea yea yea” you joke around with them. When the last customer is gone you all work together to clean up all the bar so that the only thing that needed to be done was opening back up on Friday and get into the swing of the new year.

“Thanks guys, drive safe please! If you’re gonna party please be safe!” 

“We will” “Sean Gracie (bar managers)  thank you so much your hard work I’ll see you guys Friday be safe okay” “Will do Y/N” 

Sunday January 5, 2020

You wake up groggy from the night before you had picked up drinking as a coping mechanism to nurse your stress. Slowly you make your way to your kitchen. 

“Good morning sleeping beauty” You hear his voice which makes you drop your mug with a scream. He snickers behind you. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask him 

“Well seeing that you made a scene last week” He speaks to you going to his warehouses and demanding to talk to him 

You turn to face him “I have to talk to you” 

He smiles “what could be so important?” “Where have you been?” He smiles at you “I’m a busy man I’ve been working” Your phone rings and you look down at it 

“How’d you get in?” You had upped your security recently, for sure you thought if someone was breaking in you would be alerted

“Gonna pick that up?” It was Alejandro calling you

“I need to talk to you” “I’m here, better hurry up before your man shows up” 

You roll your eyes “He’s not my boyfriend” 

Your phone rings again “I think you should pick up” “I have to talk to you” “I’m listening” Before you can say anything there’s a knock on your door that makes you jump again. “I’ll get it” he smirks before standing up to open the door 

One of Alejandro’s goons barges in with gun in hand pointing it at Rio 

With hands up Rio says “I’m leaving, I’m leaving” Your phone rings again you watch as Rio walks out before picking it up 

Saturday January 25, 2020 

“Hey boss” you hear Gracie call to you while knocking the door “Rio and Mick are back!” she beams “Ohhh.... that’s great!” you force a smile

“Wanna take the food out to them?” You shake your head “just pass my hellos” “Oh okay, Rio asked for you” 

“Tell him I’m busy” “Okay” 

You resume the task on hand 20 so minutes later there’s another knock 

“Hey, he said he really wants to talk to you” You sigh “okay” you feel your hands shake but put your best poker face on and leave the office

“Hey” He smiles at you as Mick shimmy’s he’s way out of the booth. You don’t protest like you usually did

“We got interrupted last time what did you want to talk to me about?” 

You shake your head “Nothing, no longer relevant” He snorts “Oh your man got you on a tight leash” “He is not my man” you speak defeated He hums taking a bite of his food “You good?” You nod vigorously “Yea! Just working” “Y/N” You feel your phone vibrating  “I have to go” “You just got here” You take a deep sigh and mutter out “He threatened to kill Marcus, thought you should know” You glance at your phone Alejandro was calling 

Rio laughs throwing his head back “I’m not worried about that” and you knew if anyone had security it was his family no one could get close without one of his men running interference “Yea see not important, figured I just panicked for nothing initially” He glances at you “nah.… that aint what you wanted to tell me” “It’s all I got excuse me” You don’t give Mick the option, instead you practically push him out of the booth before you very quickly find your way on the other side of the restaurant. 

(A/N: when I wrote this I envisioned pushing Mick out the booth and it made me laugh, because the man doesn’t say much so you know he huffing and puffing while you got hands pushing him out)

Wednesday February 5, 2020

You proceed opening the delivery boxes to find a burner phone with the words “call me” written on the paper. You stare at the box and the cell phone before placing it to the side gently as if it was a bomb. It adds to your paranoia. It could be Rio or Alejandro or someone else and you weren’t willing to take the risk.

Monday February 17, 2020 

“What’chu doing here lady I already told you we don’t know a Rio!” the very scary looking man comments as you attempt to make your way into the warehouse “They know where everything is stashed” The man scoffs “They are gonna hit all of them at the same time” “Lady you must be on that shit huh? I don’t know what’chu talkin’ bout!”

“Just warn Rio” with that you leave 

Friday March 13, 2020

“Hey mama” You hear as soon as you walk into your office at 9:00am that morning “Why ain't you....” you slap your hand on his mouth to shut him up 

Your phone rings “Hello” “Buenos dias Carino? Who’s at the bar now?” “No one” you turn to look at Rio and put the phone on speaker

"Sounded like a man, is Cristobal there?" "No!" you clear your throat to sound more convincing "No he is not here, seeing how you chased him out of town"

He chuckles arrogantly "Eso perro didn’t stand a chance just checking, I’ll keep in touch"

"Listen before you go I need to be able to do payroll so i need money for my workers"

He chuckles "si si si carino, yea you will" you don't believe him

You hung up with your hand still on Rio’s mouth, “sorry” you mouth removing it. “I can’t talk” you mouth to him pointing out your headphones 

He nods understanding your situation, you slowly remove your hand from his mouth hoping you two would remain silent and communicate via pen and paper

"What do you want?" You write on the note pad

He looks down at the paper then up at you, there's a pause you can't tell what he is thinking

You motion with your hands opening them up and mouth "what?" to him

He throws his head back laughing “Nah I'm not doing this, you might not be able to talk but, I can though, so what you wanna talk to me about?” Your mouth hangs open, your phone rings and it's Alejandro again “Why?” You ask with tears in your eyes He stands up and looks at you “I told you to pick wisely, see you around yea?” He smirks leaning close to your ear  “hola Alejandro, mi amigo” 

You look down at your ringing phone 

Thursday April 1, 2020

You wake up body sore groaning internally wishing for 2 mores hours of sleep or 1 more at least. You were starting to look and feel like a shell of the person you used to be. You sit up on your bed and notice Rio sitting on the corner chair bloody and bruised. Gun aimed at you with a deep scowl. The instant fear makes you freeze in place, making sure your eyes didn’t deceive you. Damnit what is going on with your new system? It’s supposed to be alerting you. Why was Rio the only one slipping by it?

You both sit staring at each other it feels like hours have passed by when he decides to speak. You have a death grip on your gun although if you move you know he would know and shoot you instead.

He adjusts sitting up straight “How’d you know?” he asks. You swallow not wanting to reveal the secret. “Better start talkin’” he warns aiming the gun at your head

“I heard them”

“Heard them say what?” “They were gonna attack your family, a planned attack all at once” you whisper

Your phone rings, its Alejandro, you had a specific notification to know it was him

He nods “Gonna pick that up?” You shake your head 

“They knew everything” 

“I know” you confirm

He mugs you “You told them!” You shake your head “It wasn't me Rio” “They knew where my safe houses were, they attacked Marcus, my kid, my son Y/N!” He pauses to gather himself

“Is he okay?” you ask

He nods slowly “He will be” 

Your phone rings again

“Gonna pick that up?” 

You shake your head “I’m good as dead anyway so no” 

“How?” “You have a mole” you comment

“You!” he accuses 

You shake your head “I didn’t know everything, someone high up, someone close to you. You gotta go it takes them 5 minutes to show up” you advise

He stands up and limps away out the door 

Wednesday April 15, 2020

After the attack on Rio things had been extremely tense. It felt like the city was a war zone the amount of shootings/mutilation of bodies increased exponentially. For some you were sure they had Rio/Alejandro attached for the others you couldn’t tell if it was just a bi-product of the issues happening or a random act of violence.

Your head is throbbing, no literally it feels like it has it’s own heart beat. You go to touch it but your hands are tied.

“Rapido cabron!” you hear

There's splashing and sloshing sound around you, droplets of the liquid was getting on you and try to look around 

“CHINGA TU MADRE!” you hear before intense pain, and you’re blacked out again 

“Y/N! Y/N!” 

You groan 

“Get her in the ambulance now!”

“Y/N, Y/N, It's Jasmine can you open your eyes?” 

You try to cover your eyes but your arms don’t move again “the light is bright”  you close them again as you fade in and out of consciousness 

Authors Note: Please leave your feedback do you like it do you hate it?, again please don't steal. Only repost, like, or give credit.

XOXO Rose

Taglist (are you guys getting notified? Can't tell):

@katymae12344, @yinmaggiorebass , @flirtyjen, @wnbweasley, @meadows5, @ffenthusiastt, @rio-reid-whoreee, @belezaya, @meera10

[cranberrymoons]

same old lang syne

prompt: snow (@steddieholidaydrabbles) word count: 1,000 rated: t tags: angst, open ending, post-breakup (like years and years) – aka the existentialism of running into your ex in the grocery store at christmas notes: title from earth's saddest christmas song – same old lang syne

welcome to Day 21 of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

He’s standing in front of the avocado display, contemplating life and guacamole when he feels a hand land on his shoulder from behind.

“Steve?” 

He jumps, sucking in a sharp breath as he turns around, blinking at the face of the man standing a few feet away, who’s staring at him with wide eyes and a little smile. It’s so unexpected that he almost doesn’t recognize him, which is insane, because –

“Eddie,” he says. He shakes his head, letting out a little laugh. “Oh my god.”

Eddie’s face relaxes into a smile, and he holds out an arm for a hug. Steve returns it, feels his hand settle over his back in that place where he always used to hold him, slotting together warm and solid and familiar in spite of how long it’s been. 

They’ve always fit like this, together. Without even trying, they just fit.

“How are you?” he asks, pulling away before his throat can get too tight. “What are you doing here?”

There’s a lingering whiff of Eddie’s cologne clinging to his collar, and he tries not to focus on it too much. Tries not to let it draw his attention away from the way Eddie’s eyes are raking over him, his hair as wild as ever where it’s pulled back from his face. The trim cut of his leather jacket and the shine of his shoes, the soft hint of lines around his mouth.

“Just visiting,” he says, gesturing over his shoulder at nothing. “Christmas. Wayne.” He holds up the thing in his hand, which is a block of butter. “Baking cookies.”

Steve lets out a little laugh. “Nice,” he says. He holds up his basket. “Um. Same – just, parents, you know.”

And it’s been… how long? Almost ten years since they’ve seen each other. It feels a little awkward, a little weird, a little – something, but Eddie’s smile is still there on his face same as ever, and Steve’s heart gives a wet little thwump in his chest.

“Hey, uh –” Eddie clears his throat, scratches the back of his neck. “You want to grab a drink or something? Catch up?”

---

It’s Hawkins, Indiana, at 8 PM on Christmas Eve, so they predictably don’t find an open bar, but they head back to the store for a six pack and sit with it in Steve’s rental car.

It’s snowing outside, big soft flakes falling from the sky and gathering on the windshield, but he doesn’t turn on the wipers to clear it away, and neither of them comments on the fact that it was snowing like this back then too, the last time they saw each other. 

Steve’s thinking about it, though. He thinks Eddie probably is too, judging by the faraway look in his eye as he stares out the window and takes a sip of his beer. The radio is playing softly in the background, a cheery Christmas song that makes Steve feel a little like sticking his fist through the whole stereo system. The snow makes everything else outside the car feel muted and gentle, like the whole world is holding them close. 

“So how’s the–”

“What’ve you been–”

They both speak at the same time, then break off with matching embarrassed laughs. It seems to unwind some of the tension between them though, and Eddie smiles at him in the glow coming from the lights of the grocery store parking lot.

“How have you been?” he asks, turning so his back is pressed to the door, facing Steve as much as he can in the tight little space. “Where are you living now?”

“Yeah, good,” Steve says. He feels the corner of his mouth twist down. “For a while, you know. Chicago, sort of. I got married?”

“Oh, that’s–” Eddie’s eyes go a little wide, darting down to stare at his ring finger, which is empty. “Great?”

Steve lets out a quiet little sound, tilting his head to the side. “It was for a while.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says. “Was he – or…”

“She,” Steve says. He clears his throat. “She’s great. Just– you know. Deserved better than me.”

A little line appears between Eddie’s eyebrows, and one of his hands reaches out then stops an inch away from landing on top of Steve’s. He hesitates there for a minute, like he’s not sure if it’s okay, and Steve’s eyes drop away from his face to stare down at it. 

He lifts one of his fingers, just enough that it grazes against the underside of Eddie’s palm, warm and soft, tracing a little pattern there until he draws Eddie’s hand down into his. His throat is tight, eyes hot and pricking at the corners, and he blinks a few times to clear it, eyes lifting back to Eddie’s face.

“And you?” he asks as Eddie’s hand settles in his. It feels safe there, like it’s never left. “Are you…”

“For a while,” Eddie says. “Not– you know, not married or anything, but just… seeing people. Dating. And then touring a lot and just– you know how it goes.”

And Steve doesn’t really, but he nods anyway, a little smile playing out over his face. 

“That’s right,” he says. “The band’s– I mean, congrats. You guys are doing really well.”

“The band is doing really well,” Eddie says, nodding slowly. His eyes are shining a little, and he sniffs, blinking back to Steve’s face. “I miss you.”

Steve lets out a little sound. “Don’t.”

“I do,” Eddie says. He shakes his head again, and Steve can feel it too, vision going blurry with it. “Every day. I fucked up.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did,” he says. “I never should’ve let you go.”

“It was the right–” 

But Steve cuts himself off, because he was going to say the right choice, which is what he’s been telling himself ever since it happened. But he doesn’t actually believe that. He never has. 

He takes a breath.

“I miss you too.”

[also on ao3]

[alpydk]

How would Gale react to Tav revealing that her native language is not common?

What a Røv

I'm sorry this has taken me so long to answer. I initially had a whole smut idea with this and then it went sort of angst homesickness idea, and now it's just ended up as a comfort/fluff thing. Either way, I wrote a little fic for it - Overall though, Gale wouldn't mind, he'd find it endearing.

Word Count - 1635 - Fluff - CW - shameless use of Danish (Shut up I'm allowed.)

Gale had heard the utterances only once or twice before, a grumbled obscenity as a toe was stubbed on a bookshelf, a quiet obscure whisper between clenched teeth during the throes of passion. He knew his partner Tav was a half-drow, but their accent was entirely from Baldur’s Gate, the lilt of certain words always putting a smile on his face with how pitch perfect they were. He’d asked her about her heritage, a curiosity he could not help but indulge in, and she’d claimed there wasn’t much behind it all; her mother was a Drow, her father a human, and she’d grown up with neither in the city.

The story had been good enough for him until he’d caught her perusing through his library, peering into tomes not written in the common they’d spoken between themselves so often. His first instinct had been that she possibly spoke a form of Undercommon, or more likely Deep Drow; her wanting to hide it a shame of some sort, but the tomes found didn’t match up with what he’d heard. There seemed to be a mixture she had glanced through, some books written in the Elven Espruar, others closer to the Thorass alphabet they used each day, but no one specific tongue. It was as if she was searching for something amongst the pages that had not been there. Gale had questioned her about it just to be met with the answer that she was as curious about literature as he was. “Who needs to understand the words to see the beauty in poetry?” and with this he had continued to just observe, to listen for those obscenities and whispers and make a mental note of them for when he could check their meaning.

---

“Sollys, skin på ham. Beskyt ham mod mørket. Skygger, skjul mig af syne. Beskyt mig mod lyset.”

It was a small prayer, but one that had Tav whispered most days as the sun rose over Waterdeep. Gale had heard snippets of it often as he’d rushed to change into his robes for a day at the academy or been trying to tame his unruly hair after a night of excitement. Now he lay in bed, the words drifting into his subconsciousness as he lay sleeping, his mind questioning the meaning behind the dream of a language he did not understand. His eyes flickered open, keen to find the source and catch her red-handed.

“Tav?”

She turned to him from the foot of the bed, her hazy blue skin lightening under the rising sun that drifted lazily in through the parted curtains. She wore the black lace nightgown he’d bought for her, the one that contrasted so well with her salt white hair. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she whispered.

He groggily wiped the sleep from his eyes, a disappointment that he’d not been quick enough to understand what she’d been saying before he woke fully, but a smile at the sight of her as welcome as ever. His hair lay messily tufted around his face and ears, a reminder that he needed to tidy it up with some scissors even if she protested to it. “Did I hear you speaking before?”

Tav quietly moved up next to him, stroking a lock of hair from his face. She looked down at him lovingly, her violet eyes a pleasant reminder of the tattered robes she’d once passionately removed him from. “Only in your dreams, I’m sure.”

His hand reached over to her, his fingers rubbing along the arm of her nightgown, an invitation for her to join him before either of them got distracted by the world’s need for their attention.

She leant in and kissed his forehead, a teasing warmth lingering from her lips upon his brow. “As much as I’d love to, I’m needed in the library this morning.”

Gale longed for time to stop, for the curtains to stop the impatient daylight from entering any more than it already had, for her lips to find his own, and for her body to have as little control as his did in that moment. He unwillingly withdrew his hand, knowing he would see her again later amongst the dusty books and candle lit corners they’d both frequented so often. “You are but a cruel harpy.”

“My waterlogged wizard doth complain too much.”

---

Gale watched her for some time after she had finished her shift, their game of cat and mouse a regular occurrence at this point of the day. Tav would end work on schedule but would then spend time amongst the well-organised shelves, looking either for poetry or something she could bring home for his amusement. He would eventually find her amongst the tomes and would whisk her to a dark corner where they’d indulge in the art of self control and silence. Her delicate fingers traced along the spines of the books as she walked down the aisle, her eyes gazing across the titles until something caught her attention. Seeing the gentle sway of her ponytail as she took each step forward, he kept his own pace matching hers, knowing it was only a matter of time before she glanced up and saw his deep eyes spying on her.

Her words were quiet, another whisper amongst the library’s inhabitants. “Der er få der prøver at forstå Vævet - det er synd, da kun de der er fuldt på bølgelængde med Vævet kan kalde dem selv for ægte magikere.”

He listened with curiosity to her mutterings, some words like that of Common, others a reminder of a distant language he had researched long ago. But this was proof that not all was what it seemed, that there was a secret she kept from him, a mystery to be solved. What she spoke naturally was not a simple speech of Baldur’s Gate, but something else, no Drow nor Elvish, nor something that matched his tomes. He thought possibly it could be a form of Jotun, but why would a Half Drow ever speak such a tongue? It was as her fingers continued to grace the titles of the books between them he realised it was that of Illuskan, a language rarely spoken outside of northwest Færun. Gale smiled, a plan being conjured up to have her reveal all. One that he knew would have her spilling all secrets.

---

“Y – eh – g” He spoke deliberately, a hard pressure put on each sound as Tav walked through the door, knowing she would hear him.

 “Yegg? Working on a new spell?” she asked innocently as she placed her bag down near his desk, her eyes glancing over the papers that lay scattered in front of him.

Gale looked up at her, seeing the way she recognised the texts in front of him, a momentary smirk at the realisation of what it was he had been trying to pronounce so poorly. “Just some new linguistics materials that I found tempting to dive into.”

“Hm... I’ll leave you to that, then.”

For the next hour Tav sat in a nearby chair, her finger tapping irritably at every mispronounced syllable, at the purposeful bastardisation of her native language. He held back a laugh as he attempted to read through a basic cooking recipe; the word fløde, causing her to close her book sharply and grit her teeth. He didn’t want to torture her, but their relationship was one of games and puzzles. Now, however, this attempt to have her reveal her secret had turned into one of simple teasing.

“Yegg har fang-et een store row...”

The cackle was unmistakable from her lips as he spoke the last word, the combination of letters a confusion to utter out loud even though he knew the phonetic for each now. He twisted on his chair, her laughter becoming a snigger in between breathed out words.

“A røv?” Tav laughed further, her own correction making it all the funnier in her mind. “Is that what you’re trying to say? Or is it-” She exhaled, trying to regain her composure. “Ræv?”

Gale heard little difference between the two words, but it mattered little as he caught her in his web. “An expert on Illuskan, my love?”

“I consider myself more the expert on røve...” She gave him a playful smirk.

“On foxes?”

She chuckled again at his misunderstanding; the laughter causing her cheeks to flush, and she rose to her feet to come closer, placing herself in his lap. “On arses, you fool.”

He lifted his hand, pushing aside a stray strand of hair from her face. “You were letting me make an idiot out of myself, weren’t you?”

“I wanted to see how far you’d take it to draw it out of me. Though I’ll be honest, I was expecting something a little sexier, and less... painful.”

“Painful?” Gale said with a mock exaggeration. “Remind me next time to add it to my repertoire, should we find ourselves upon another adventure.” He stroked her face, her skin as soft as silk, the scent of the library held in her robes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tav leant into his touch, a gentle smile curling the corners of her lips. “You like puzzles, to solve things and learn. What fun would there be without a little mystery?”

“Are there any other mysteries I should be aware of?”

“Only time will tell.”

Placing a longing kiss upon her lips, he felt the warmth of her breath mingle with his. “Jeg elsker dig.” He whispered, his pronunciation of the simple phrase of love clear and understandable.

She looked into his eyes, a surprised but proud look in her gaze. “So, you’re not a complete røv with the language.”

“Only those few words at this time, but I’d learn it for you. I’d do anything for you.”

---------------------------------------------

The Illuski language group is based on real-life Nordic languages such as Old Norse, Danish, and Norwegian

----

“Sollys, skin på ham. Beskyt ham mod mørket. Skygger, skjul mig af syne. Beskyt mig mod lyset.”

“Sunlight, shine on him. Protect him against the darkness. Shadows, hide me from sight. Protect me against the light.

“Der er få der prøver at forstå Vævet - det er synd, da kun de der er fuldt på bølgelængde med Vævet kan kalde dem selv for ægte magikere.”

“Few try to understand the Weave - a true pity, for only they who are truly attuned to the Weave can rightly call themselves spellcasters.”

[scotianostra]

September 18th 1905 saw the death of the Poet and author George MacDonald.

After studying Moral Philosophy and Sciences at Aberdeen University, he trained for the Congregational church, but his liberal views prevented him from being successful as a minister. He was, however, successful as a writer, giving expression to his religious beliefs through allegorical novels and poetry, notably Phantastes.

Although best know now for his classic books for children, I don’t know much about him but have posted on here before after learning that he influenced many well known authors including W. H. Auden, C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien he was also mentor to Lewis Carroll and became good friends with Mark Twain.

His father, a farmer, was one of the MacDonalds of Glencoe, and a direct descendant of one of the families that suffered in the massacre of 1692. A number of his writings were written in Doric, the more I researched into the man, the more I liked him, this quote is great,when asked what his fairy tales mean, he replied, “So long as I think my dog can bark, I will not sit up and bark for him”, meaning that his tales must speak for themselves. Come on look at his photo, doesn’t he ooze character?

Ane by Ane.

Ane by ane they gang awa’, The Getherer gethers grit an smaa; Ane by ane maks ane an aa.

Aye whan ane sets doun the cup Ane ahint maun tak it up: Yet thegither thy will sup!

Goulden-heidit, ripe an strang, Shorn will be the hairst or lang: Syne begins a better sang!

[werewolfetone]

Btw speaking of burns today I went to a cafe to study and while I was there the girl behind the till played what can only be described as "auld lang syne dubstep remix" upwards of ten times in a row on her speaker. the people of my town are truly losing it

[intothemultifandom]

Auld Lang Syne || Chapter One

Pairing: Han Gyeong-Su x Reader

Summary: Class 2-2's Vice President: VP.

In which the sensible Vice-President does their best to keep their little band of survivors alive.

Tags/Warnings: reader insert, character death, swearing, canon divergence, pre-relationship, angst + more

Chapter One

Harabeoji lays on the hospital bed, unaware that the world continues without him.

You're his only visitor today. The room is cold, and his heart monitor fills the silence since you won't.

You don't know what to say, where to start.

Do you tell him that he needs to wake up? That since he fell sick, your step-grandmother used his coma as an opportunity to move everyone from your family home (sans yourself) and that her son, your half-uncle and proxy, is already making deals to have the line of succession passed to him instead?

Seoul is too far from Hyosan for you to visit him, to remind him to keep fighting and to keep vigil at his bedside, but they moved his treatment here anyway. Have already brought themselves a sky-line apartment right in the centre.

If you told him that they've left you alone, that they've left you behind, would that be enough to wake him up?

On your lap, you've brought a collection of Western comic books you've been reading to practise your English and since you need to fill the quiet somehow, you pick one out to read:

The Walking Dead, it says.

If Harabeoji finds your pick distasteful, he doesn't say.

(You wish he would).

In a class-room setting, the Vice-President is meant to ensure that there is strong communication between the Class Reps and the President. When the President is absent, it is up to them to act in their stead. To lead the class through ever-changing situations with a clear head and mature outlook.

At times, you enjoy being responsible for such tasks. The position gives you a sense of purpose on days when you feel set adrift, makes you feel more present as you tend to your responsibilities and resolve minor conflicts. Those are the days you feel like an ordinary student, responsible only for the happenings of your class.

Other times however, it's a bitter reminder. Of Harabeoji who's counting on you to do good, of the dynasty you're set to inherit in his name and of the interests you've had to sacrifice in favour of activities more appealing for Universities overseas. Like being Vice-President.

Joon-Yeong insists you should have been Class President when the positions are first announced. It's unfair Nam-Ra gets the position because of her Mother's bribery when you're not only first in class but have given up more to commit to your school's night self-learning programme and your new role.

He says it with an air of indifference as he crosses his arms, but his eyes burn behind his glasses. You think it's because losing the Presidency to a friend will make the loss hurt a little less, and because it would excuse you from not hanging out with him and the others as much as you used to.

You don't point it out to him, though. Joon-Yeong has to come to his own conclusion for things to stick. Instead, you make a show of pointing your finger right at his nose as you order him–and the others watching–to call you "VP" henceforth.

It's not much, but if you show that you're not upset with the position you're given then your friends have no grounds to be angry on your behalf. You just hope that overtime, they'll come around about the Class President you do have in the meantime.

You did in the end, hadn't you?

Speaking of your Class President, Nam-Ra always complains about the music playing on your headphones whenever she slides into her seat next to you, but it doesn't stop her from leaning over your textbook to assess your work.

You respond by turning your volume all the way up so the melody of Auld Lang Syne rattles your ears, mouth curling when she nods begrudgingly at your answers.

There isn't much she'll find to begin with, but it's routine; Nam-ra grumbles about your music in the morning as she looks over your work (way better than her rhythm techno beats, mind you), and you pretend this isn't her odd way of showing her friendship.

Silently, you offer her a piece of Poki from your half-opened bag, your own show of friendship, and she accepts the treat after a long, drawn out moment. Even though she doesn't say anything, you can see her face soften in the corner of your eye, and beyond the obvious, you're glad that she's not actually mad about your song choice for today.

"Wake me up when Ms. Park comes," you say after a moment, falling into your normal position as you cross your arms over your textbook, cushioning your head as you close your eyes. Nam-ra predictably grumbles at your command, but doesn't make a move to disturb you.

And drifting off, you hope that today is another calm day.

It's not.

Hyeon-Ju's bloodied entrance is too shocking for the day to be anything but calm.

Even when she's whisked away by Ms. Park, Su-Hyeok and a few others to the infirmary, the shock gives way to unease and the feeling settles under your skin before you can do anything about it. It makes you itch to do something, anything.

Ms. Park instructs you all to resume studying but hearing what Hyeon-Ju said and seeing her state in general, more than half the class group together to brainstorm what happened between your classmate and Mr. Lee.

Nam-Ra seems to be the only one actually studying and while it looks like you are too, with all your pens laid out and your head tilted down to your book, you're actually listening in on the chatter around you. Pulling out your stationary was just a show of solidarity, if anything.

From what you gather, no one seems to say anything that corroborates your unease or the sense of foreboding that's taken root. Dae-Su's idea is perverse, Wu-Jin is quick to slap him on the back of his head, and I-Sak returns with a troubled face before the others can chime in.

At once, everyone turns their attention towards her, even Nam-Ra, but the weight of someone's stare grows heavy on the side of your face so you turn to other side of the room instead, catching Gyeong-Su's gaze just as he snaps his head back to I-Sak.

You're sure he knows you caught him staring at you because the tips of his ears are pink, and his posture is rigid as he faces the front. If you weren't feeling so agitated, your skin still itching, you'd smile at his embarrassment.

How long will he wait before he confesses?

"–What happened? Is Hyeon-Ju okay?" Wu-Jin chimes. He kneels next to I-Sak when he asks, and you begin tapping your finger on your desk when she speaks, pulled back to the matter at hand.

When you saw Hyeon-Ju last, the poor girl was delirious as she stumbled into the room, eyes fluttering as she tried to stay awake. Her face was bloodied, her hair was matted and when she collapsed by Ms. Parks' feet, she could could barely move.

However, the Hyeon-Ju I-Sak left in the infirmary sounds like a completely different person.

Having to be restrained as she thrashed on the bed. Hissing. Biting.

She scratched Ms. Kim, I-Sak says.

There's a cold sweat running down the back of your neck the more you imagine it, different scenarios flitting through your head in quick succession, but when I-Sak mentions some weird shot Mr. Lee injected her with, the agitation you feel reaches a crescendo.

You stop tapping, deciding that you need to see things yourself.

Nam-Ra glances at you from the corner of her eye, and you hope the look you flash her doesn't belie your nerves.

It turns out though that the Class President must consider you more of a friend than you realised (the kind of friend that you cover for), because her mouth twists like she knows you're up to something but doesn't push.

"I'll find a mop to clean up the mess," you lie, grabbing your bag.

"Hurry back," is Nam-Ra's cool reply.

This is a multi-fic story. 

I intend to post this story on Wattpad and Ao3 shortly. Maybe even Quotev and FF.net, too. 

[arqueete]

I think "Auld Lang Syne" is popular in Hollywood not just because it's in the public domain and therefore cheap, but also because it's the rare song that is genuinely wistful—it acknowledges human longing without romanticizing it, and it captures how each new year is a product of all the old ones. When I sing "Auld Lang Syne" on New Year's Eve, I forget the words like most of us do, until I get to the fourth verse, which I do have memorized: "We two have paddled in the stream, from morning sun til dine / but seas between us broad have roared since Auld Lang Syne." And I think about the many broad seas that have roared between me and the past—seas of neglect, seas of time, seas of death. I'll never again speak to many of the people who loved me into this moment, just as you will never speak to many of the people who loved you into your now. So we raise a glass to them—and hope that perhaps somewhere, they are raising a glass to us.

John Green, The Anthropocene Reviewed

[forauldlangsynewastaken]

I never should have started fucking posting. It was a stupid impulsive decision. I wish I could go back and delete shit and just fucking check myself in again. I don't wanna fucking do this. Every time I post I hate it being seen. Every time I post I'm on the verge of a breakdown and nobody fucking knows how to shut up and just make a decision and I can't even get a moment of peace in my own fucking head

[averagepsychouser]

Songs that actually remind me of fallout companions characters in no particular order. The themes vary pretty wildly.

Arcade: Starting off with Danke Schoen (I listen specifically to the Wayne Newton version on Spotify) which is a thank you to an old love for all the good memories. This song fits the general motif of goodbyes to the past that Arcade’s character is struck through with, and it was translated into an English version from a foreign language (like auld lang syne).

Benny: In very Benny fashion, Luck Be A Lady by Frank Sinatra. It starts off slow but quickly speeds up, and of course the lyrics all sound like things he would say. Naturally the song is about gambling and the fickle nature of luck. Also, it is annoyingly catchy.

Vulpes: Basic, I know, but A Well Respected Man by The Kinks is definitely like him. While the song is originally a satire about the middle class in Britain, it speaks of a monotonous life with darker undertones in the background. Understandably, a spy is going to need to live a monotonous life like this in order to maintain his figure as an upstanding member of whatever society he’s infiltrating. Vulpes, right?

Boone: I Don’t Want To See Tomorrow by Nat King Cole (Holy shit fallout show reference). Yeah yeah yeah, sadman deadwife stuff, I get it, but this song really does seem like him. The lyrics are pretty damn depressing, talking about how life without a love is a life not worth living. It’s very slow and deliberately paced, and hauntingly mournful.

Cass: Here’s a surface level song, and I know her only character trait isn’t drinking, but Poor Little Critter on the Road by The Knitters, X, and Dave Alvin fits. Essentially its about having a good time drinking and living life chaotically.

Ulysses: Going back to somber songs, Buffalo Soldier by Bob Marley & The Wailers. The song is about African American cavalry troops fighting in the American Indian Wars and their struggle for survival, and I think it can reflect onto Ulysses very well. Some lyrics that are so, so, so much like him are “If you know your history/Then you would know where you’re coming from” followed by “Then you wouldn’t have to ask me/Who the heck do I think I am?”

I’ll prolly repost with more songs later idk

[franklyimissparis]

Some great 1970’s fix it fics: a toot and a snore by 15clubsaday

They also wrote a great 1967 fic called auld langs syne that’s is perfect because it’s about new years

They’re currently writing a fic about 1976 house husband years called Writig Letters

Also Bermuda and The Jumper and I can only speak my mind

love all of these fics dearly!!! we’re so lucky to have such great writers around here.

some of other 70s/80s fix-it recs for my fellow enthusiasts :)) (all of these are on ao3)

- the birthday party by merseydreams

- take a sad song and make it better by javelinbk

- having coffee by dornfelder

- going nowhere by inspiteallthedanger

[niseag-arts]

Integration

I have seen the Highlands and plucked the Wild Mountain Thyme In culture i've partaken Yet never truly mine

I speak a word of Gaelic and tasted Doric on my tongue This culture i've adopted Yet still I don't belong

I cannot tell you stories of my forbearers at Harlaw For they would never live here, even though I do so now

No, I don't connect here through days of Auld Lang Syne But in matters of the soul, then where does one draw the line?

I stand here at the seashore the waves they crash and foam and Caledonia is calling me so I am going Home

[beefrobeefcal]

You know what we haven’t done in a while?

Auld-lang-syne-my-dear regards,

Beefro 👌🥩💜