#van morrison voice

[blondephil]

beautiful brown eyed babygirl…..

[guerrilla-operator]

I have finally finished another blog entry and have several more in my drafts I'm vowing to finish up. Please enjoy.

[canongf]

goodnight from me & the cute brown eyed boy laying on top of me whining and pouting because i'm not rubbing his back

[cruelsister-moved2]

lesson i keep forgetting to learn with literature is. the thing with music is 9/10 times if someone comes back 15+ years later and releases more music its really horrendous so I have the habit of seeing am author I like put out another book 20 years later and not wanting to read it but the same is NOT true with literature and people generally produce better books later in their career and even direct sequels that are added years later are often really good and worth it. ESPECIALLY in spec fic where the generally female authors I read are coming back to their worlds later ready to consider gender issues more thoroughly etc I need to remember this

[rip-quizilla]

Jinx

Janitor!Eddie X Teacher!Reader

700ish words

It was your first year teaching at Hawkins Middle School, and you’d already failed to establish a respectable work-life balance. 

You were new to this career field, eager to prove yourself a capable educator. You always arrived early, always left late. Often, you wound up leaving after everyone but the administrators had already gotten home, undoubtedly to prepare dinner for their families or take care of household chores. You had no one waiting for you at home but your cats, so heading home around 5pm was the norm for you. 

Today, you sat grading papers at your desk while Van Morrison played through your headphones. You’d finally settled into a rhythm, methodically bobbing your head to the beat as you drew check marks and X’s with a pink ballpoint pen when suddenly, something in your empty classroom moved out the corner of your eye.

You let out a startled yelp, joined by a twin curse from the ponytailed custodian who’d intruded upon your quiet room. He looked just as surprised as you were, eyes wide with headphones blasting what sounded like the screech of metal guitar from around his neck where he’d quickly shoved them off his ears. 

“Shit-” he breathed, chest letting out a heaving breath, “-Sorry, I didn’t realize-”

“I didn’t see-” you began at the same time as him, apologies spilling out of you both simultaneously. 

“I shouldn’t have been-”

“My headphones were-”

“Should’ve been paying more-”

“Wasn’t paying attention, I’m-”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

You spoke as one voice, that last word filling the empty classroom. Slowly, an amused smile broke out across the custodian’s features, his idle hands stuffing themselves into the pockets of his black work pants. His eyes flicked over you at the speed of light before he broke the silence.

“Jinx.”

You chuckled quietly, pausing your music and setting your own headphones down on your desk. 

“Guess I owe you a soda.” you retorted, your smiling voice made small by the overpowering after-hours quiet.

He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. “I never say no to a soda.” Then he got to work, grabbing the small plastic garbage bin from where it sat by your door and pulling the thin plastic lining from it. 

You returned to your grading, but left the headphones off your ears out of respect for the presence in your room. You didn’t want to appear rude, after all. 

The custodian did the same, leaving his headphones around his neck as he performed various routine tasks around the room. Even from the opposite corner of the space, you could hear his music singing out at top volume from where it rested across his decolletage. Harsh screams and rage tore through the soft-looking spongey speakers, and you were struck by how much they were contrasted by the pleasant air that followed this man who was currently sweeping up crumpled notebook fringe from beneath a wooden desk. 

You peered a little closer at his gray uniform shirt where a little embroidered patch sat stitched to his breast pocket. Eddie, it read. You committed the name to memory.

The two of you continued your work wordlessly until he finished, and just before he exited the room he shot you a friendly smile accompanied by a nod of his head.

“Have a good night.”

Those eyes were breathtaking; they were unwavering in their contact with yours. You nodded and grinned, trying not to sound quite as charmed as you felt. 

“You too.” you said. 

The next day, you’d needed to leave as soon as the final bell rang. Eddie had been slightly disappointed to find your door closed with the light off when he’d gotten to your classroom, but when he’d unlocked the door and flicked on the light to reveal a sweating glass bottle of Coca-Cola on the desk closest to the door, he could’ve sworn his heart did a backflip. 

A pink post-it note sat stuck to the surface of the desk next to the bottle.

Eddie, soda’s all yours.

P.S.-per the rules of jinx, I can’t talk until you say my name.

You’d signed your name at the bottom, and Eddie admired the way the ink from your pen bled into a little starburst where the condensation had pooled into a drop at the base of the bottle and dripped to your note below. He peeled the note off, folding it carefully into a small square and sticking it in his pocket. He opened the bottle, lifted it to his lips and drank. It tasted sweet and bright, bubbly and full of unexpected possibilities. 

[minisugakoobies]

It's You - Choi San | 3 AM

Pairing: San x Reader Genre: smut, crack, fluff, angst, roommates to lovers, BFF’s Lil Bro!AU Series Rating: M (18+) Drabble Warnings: sneaking around, sloppy making out, lots of cuddling and kissing, honestly this is super soft, drunk San is a whole different type of menace, a little angst on OC's part, pet names deployed as weapons (baby) Word Count: 2.1k Disclaimers: SFW, obviously I don’t own ATZ - they just inspire me

Summary: He was only supposed to be a temporary roommate. Your best friend’s little brother, crashing on your couch for a few weeks. That’s it. How did this happen?

A/N: This started with talking about drunk San with @minttangerines and @kiestrokes, and then @moni-logues made me miss this couple, so boom! New vignette! I should warn you that I wrote this over the course of 2 days, entirely between the hours of midnight and 5 am because I've been staying up wayyyy too late to watch the Coachella livestreams (can we talk about Chellateez?! because holy shit!), so it's probably a mess and it's unbeta'd, so… blame any typos or incoherency on my fucked up sleep schedule! 🥱

Lyrics are from "Moondance" by Van Morrison, inspired by that one toktoq of San singing that song, which absolutely killed me.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment, or send me an ask to be added! You can also send me any ideas/thoughts you might have for a future scenario - who knows, it might end up in a drabble! 💕

It’s You Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ ATZ Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ Main Masterlist

It’s three in the morning, and you’re wide awake, at your desk, working frantically on an article whose deadline is mere hours away. For not the first time tonight, you curse your natural inclination towards procrastination and scrub your hand down your face, wishing you’d chosen a different career. 

There’s some noise outside your door and you realize San must be home. He’d been down at the Blue Bird with Hongjoong, drinking and hanging out with Wooyoung as he bartended. From the way San’s shuffling around, it sounds like Woo had been his typical kind self and given San more generous pours than he should have. A loud “oof” resonates, and you hear the armchair scrape the floor a bit, as if he were setting it back in its place. You wince, hoping he didn’t wake his sister, who has an early shift and needs to be up at dawn.

“Noona. Nooooooona.” Tap tap tappity tap. “Are you up? I can see - I can see your light.” 

San raps on your door, calling out to you in a voice that’s hushed but maybe not quite as quiet as he thinks it is. From his spot on your bed, Nero lifts his head off his paws at the sound, then blinks at you with his bright green eyes. 

“I know. He’s loud as fuck, isn’t he?” With a cluck of your tongue, you quickly hop up and open the door. San must’ve been leaning against it, because suddenly you’ve got a mountain on top of you, a loose-limbed one at that, eagerly but clumsily wrapping its arms around you. “San!” 

“Hiiiii,” San coos into your shoulder, where he’s buried his face. You shudder slightly as his breath tickles your skin exposed by the tank top you wear, and stagger away from the door enough to close it quietly as you can, not an easy task to do given the giant mass of man hanging his dead weight on you. 

“You know, your sister is sleeping just on the other side of this wall,” you remind him, but he doesn’t respond, too busy lathering the column of your neck with tiny kisses. “San. Come on, sit down.” 

With some stumbling from San and a not insignificant effort on your part, the two of you make it over to your bed. Your attempt at coaxing San into a sitting position fails miserably as he promptly splays on his back, pulling you on top of him. Nero hops off the bed in a huff. 

You go down like a sack of flour, not a gram of gracefulness in your fall, but San appears not to notice when your chin bounces off his sternum or your knee rams his thigh. He sighs contentedly, wrapping his arms around your back, tucking you against him.

“Mmmm. So nice,” he murmurs, resting his cheek against the top of your head. 

It’s three in the morning, and you need to finish this damn article. Except that right now, your body is telling you that what you really need is to stay exactly where you are. Because the minute the warmth of San’s embrace surrounded you, your stress melted away. The steady rise and fall of his chest calms you, makes your own breathing slow. You close your eyes, nestling closer to him, sliding your own arms around his waist. You could so easily fall asleep like this. 

But he can’t sleep here. 

“San. San, are you awake?” 

“I’m awake,” he replies, but with closed eyes, which doesn’t really give you a lot of confidence in his response. “I am,” he insists when you shake him, rolling his head away, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“Don’t fall asleep,” you warn him sternly. “I mean it!” 

San smiles, the one that tells you that he knows you’re going to give in to him, which is the smile you tend to see him flash the most often, because you’re weak for him and always giving in. But this isn’t one of those times when you can indulge him. No matter how much you want to. 

“Wish you’d come to the bar tonight. Wanted you there.” 

You knew that. He’d told you as much when he’d texted earlier. Unfortunately, you had to turn him down for the sake of remaining gainfully employed. He’d tried to convince you otherwise at first but finally said he understood. And then sent you a series of sad selfies, each one more pathetic than the last, lips puffing to an extreme. Because he understands the power that pout holds over you.

It’s embarrassing how bad you’re down for this man.

San’s fingers dance idly down your spine, and you sigh, eyes slipping shut again as you speak. “Believe me, I would’ve rather been there with you.” 

He hums, fingertips quickening their light minuet. He mumbles something into your hair, low and unintelligible from the way his lips are smushed against your head, so it takes you a few seconds to realize he’s not talking, he’s singing. 

“... marvelous night for a moondance, with the stars up above in your eyes…” 

“San,” you begin, but before you can warn him not to get any louder, he does so anyway, raising his beautiful voice a little, starting to get into it. 

“A fantabulous night to make romance, 'neath the cover of October skies…”

“Shhh!” Your shushing is cut short by your giggling, as you clap a hand over San’s mouth. “Oh my god, now is not the time for this!” 

This is one of San’s more notable habits - when a song gets stuck in his head, you’ll hear him singing it for days, just walking around the apartment humming the melody or, if he has an audience, belting out the lines. He knows how much you love his sweet tenor. Another fact about you he’s filed away to devastate you with at the most opportune times.

Like when you need to kick him out of your bed. 

He continues singing despite your hand pressing on his lips, slurring the words directly into your palm. His eyebrows are working overtime, top half of his face playfully conveying whatever lyrics are being smothered against your skin. He’s so ridiculous, so over-the-top, even at three in the morning when anyone else would be exhausted, like you felt before he walked into your room, since his energy is infectious and perked you up better than the multiple cups of coffee you downed in your desperate attempt to stay awake. That’s San for you - he’s always giving you something when you need it - his time, his help, his energy. 

So you decide to give him something back, and replace your hand with your mouth, drawing him into a tender kiss, imbuing it with all those things you feel but never say. His muffled singing becomes a hum becomes a moan, at first surprised, then pleased. One of his hands drops to your thigh and with a bit of urgent tugging, he maneuvers you on top of him, chest pressed to chest.

His kissing is only the slightest bit sloppier when he’s been drinking, wetter from his tongue caressing yours with somewhat less skill than usual, but it’s never bothered you. You like seeing this side of him, looser with his inhibitions, with whatever holds him in place - or holds him back. One day you’ll ask him to show you more, when you’re both sober. 

And when things are different. Less… ambiguous between the two of you. 

If you reach that point. 

“Noona.” San whispers, thankfully pulling you from the heavier thoughts threatening to sink you right out of the moment. You open your eyes to look at him as he pecks your cheeks.  “I like kissing you.” 

You grin, letting your forehead knock against his. “Yeah, I kinda noticed.” 

“Aren’t you going to say it back?” The look he gives you would melt the hardest of hearts. This is why you’re not afraid to be needy with San. There’s no reason to be, not when he’s just the same. 

“I like kissing you too,” you declare, kissing the tip of his nose, laughing at the way his eyes cross as he follows your lips. “But now’s not the time for that, either.” 

“Then what time is it?”

Laughing, you gently guide him into a sitting position, keeping your arms looped over his shoulders. His lust is morphing into sleepiness, eyelids drooping as he gazes at you, and your heart goes so soft at the sight of him. 

“It’s time for you to go to bed.” 

“Okay,” he chirps, immediately flopping onto his back again. 

“Ohhhh no, not here. You gotta go. I still have to finish my work, and you…” The words stick in your throat. You can’t be here. You don’t want to say them. You want him to be here. Tonight, and tomorrow, and on and on. 

But that’s a conversation for another time. Not three in the morning.

“You have to go,” you groan, sliding off the bed and grabbing his arms, less gentle and more insistent this time. “Come on, get up!” 

San lets out a whine of protest. “But baby, why can’t I stay here?” 

Oh, he would drop a ‘baby’ now, slipping it in so casually, so naturally, like there’s nothing unusual about him calling you that. As if it’s not something new he only started doing the other day, happening maybe a handful of times since. 

Since the two of you have been doing this undefined thing, there’s really only been one unspoken rule. You sleep in your bed, and he sleeps on the couch. Even on the nights when Haneul’s working the late shift, or she’s over at Jongho’s. You never know if she’ll come home early, so you don’t risk it. It’s just easier this way.

Doesn’t mean you like it, though. 

“Because. If Haneul catches you coming out of here - “

The sound of a door opening makes you freeze right down to your tongue, leaving your sentence unfinished. Your head swivels towards your own door. A pair of feet pad down the hall, getting closer, then fading away, until you hear another door being closed. The bathroom. 

“Noona.” 

You turn to find a sober-looking San staring at you. He reaches out, hands settling on your hips, holding on to you as you stand between his legs. Clinging again. 

“She’s in early today, right?” 

The two of you probably know Haneul’s schedule better than she does. You nod.

“Then I’ll just stay in here. She’ll think I never came home.” 

He makes it sound so simple. So reasonable. He’ll stay here until she leaves. Why didn’t you think of that? Is it because you don’t like thinking of San with someone else, even if said person is an imaginary person who exists solely to provide an excuse that will allow you to get what you want? And if you get what you want now, it’s only going to hurt more when you can’t have it anymore?

Yeah, that’s probably it. 

“I don’t know…” you bite your lip.

“Come on,” he wheedles, drawing you into his lap again, cupping your face with both hands. “Let me stay with you. Don’t you want me?” 

And there it goes, the last remaining bit of your resistance. 

“Okay.”

San seems a little shocked, face lighting up in delight, and you wonder if it’s at how quickly you agreed, or that you agreed at all. Maybe both.

“But we have to be quiet. So, you know…” You trail off, gesturing wordlessly. 

“No moondancing?” He emphasizes the word heavily, lifting a brow, and you roll your eyes but grin as well.

“Right, none of that.”

“Just cuddles?” 

As if he needs to ask. You nod. “But I’m not coming to bed until I finish my work.” You reclaim your seat at your desk, folding your arms over the back of it, trying to give the appearance of someone with a solid backbone, since yours is apparently made of pudding. 

“That’s okay,” San says, already tugging his shirt off, then his pants, until he’s only in his boxer briefs. He peels back your comforter, sliding into the soft sheets, and again the action is so natural, so normal, like he does this every night, that something in your chest constricts. “I’ll just wait for you.” 

Your first thought is that you should inform him that he’s going to be waiting a while, but then again, maybe he won’t. 

You’re feeling suddenly inspired. 

(It’s three in the morning, and you’re falling in love.)

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

Taglist: @sweetnspicy-noona @krystal-a @jennylychee @hiefisch

© 2023-24 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[jennaispunk]

Someone Like You

Summary: A vacation you didn’t want to take turns into something you never expected.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.3 k

Tags/Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, allusions to smut, shitty ex-boyfriend (not Marcus), brief mention of infidelity (again, not Marcus. He would never), meet cute, instant attraction, Marcus being Marcus (aka perfect), reader is shorter than Marcus and has hair that can be tucked behind her ear but no physical description is given

A/N: I wrote this for @whocaresstillthelouvre follower challenge (I hope you enjoy this Mallory!!). The moodboard was dream vacation with Marcus. This moodboard is gorgeous and I am so in love with it. I’m sorry I held onto this for so long. I went at the idea of a “dream vacation” a little differently. This was the idea that immediately came to mind when I saw this moodboard. This is for all my Marcus girlies (gn). Marcus deserved so much better and this is my (lame) attempt at a fix-it fic for Marcus. Thank you @clawdee for the beta read. The title is taken from a Van Morrison song.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

You didn’t even want to go on this stupid trip. You’d planned it with Justin, and it was supposed to be a romantic getaway…until you caught him in bed with his ex-girlfriend, the one he called crazy and told you he wasn’t talking to anymore.

Your friends had convinced you to go on the trip anyway. "Fuck him!" they said. "Go on this trip and have the time of your life." Since the trip was paid for already, and you couldn’t get a refund, you reluctantly packed your bags.

The plane ride to Miami was peaceful. The older married couple sitting next to you was celebrating their 45th wedding anniversary. They showed you pictures of their grandkids, and you smiled politely. They were the goal…one that was looking increasingly out of reach.

You dropped your bags in your hotel room with a loud thud. You fell onto the bed and let yourself sink into the soft comforter. The sun shone brightly into the room, warming your skin, and you slipped into a peaceful afternoon nap.

Most of that night was spent sitting on the balcony listening to the ocean crash against the shore and feeling sorry for yourself. How did you not see the signs that Justin was cheating on you? They were there, you just chose not to see them. Every time that little voice in the back your mind started to chirp, you ignored it and told yourself it was just your insecurities. Looking back now, you should have listened. Hindsight is always 20/20.

You woke up the next morning with a renewed determination. You were done thinking about the past, it was time to live in the present. Today was going to be different. Today, you were going to go the beach and soak up all the glorious South Florida sun you could handle. You were going to let the ocean breeze carry all your worries away. This vacation was meant to be enjoyed and that’s exactly what you were going to do.

In your cutest bikini (bought specifically for this trip) and cover-up, you confidently strolled across the hotel lobby. It might be considered modest by Miami standards, but it showed off your assets. A small smile played on your lips as you remembered how sexy you felt the first time you put on the hot pink fabric. All around you were happy couples, holding hands and stealing kisses. Your resolve to not wallow in your sadness faltered just a bit as you made your way to the door, but you held your chin higher. You weren’t going to think about Justin anymore.

“Excuse me…”

You jumped as someone touched your shoulder and wheeled around to see a handsome man looking down at you. If you had to guess, he looked to be around your age. The style of his chestnut brown hair screamed young professional, and his mocha eyes were the kind you could get lost in.

“I think you dropped this.”

His large hand held a hotel key card toward you between thick fingers. Your brow furrowed and you patted the pockets of your cover up only to realize that your room key was missing.

You smiled at him and the heat rushed to your cheeks. Your carelessness struck again. How did you not realize you dropped your key?

“Thanks. It was sweet of you to track me down.”

The smile he shot back at you almost made you melt. It was so genuine, and the way the corners of his eyes wrinkled made you weak in the knees. Your eyes darted over his shoulder, half expecting his wife or girlfriend to be standing behind him, waiting. He was alone, and you smiled just a bit wider.

“It’s no problem.” His soft voice carried to your ears like a sweet melody. “You’re probably going to need this later.”

Your soft laugh was met with a nervous chuckle of his own. His soulful eyes studied you like a work of art but somehow it didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. He wasn’t looking at you like other men do.

“I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m Marcus.”

He extended a hand toward you, and you froze for a moment. You couldn’t even remember the last time a man introduced himself to you this way outside of a professional setting, and you found yourself intrigued by this stranger.

You offered your name in return and placed your hand in his. His skin was rougher than his appearance suggested, and the warmth radiated right through you.

“So, Marcus, does your wife or girlfriend know that you go around saving strange women from being locked out of their hotel rooms in your spare time?”

His laugh came from his belly, like you told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. It was warm and genuine. Suddenly, you had butterflies in your stomach.

“Actually, I’m not married or even seeing anyone right now.”

Your brow raised and those butterflies intensified. How in the world was this man still single?

Stop! This isn’t what you were here for. The last thing you needed was to get mixed up with anyone while you were here. The purpose of this trip was to stop thinking about your ex, not lust after a handsome stranger.

“Well, there’s a beach chair out there calling my name.” Your eyes darted toward the door and then back to him.

“It was nice to meet you, Marcus. Enjoy your vacation.”

You turned to leave without giving him a chance to respond. It was better to walk away now, before you did something you’d regret later.

Marcus watched you walk away, rubbing his chin as he huffed softly. He certainly hadn’t expected to meet anyone on this trip, but maybe it was fate.

You told yourself that you’d never see Marcus again, that it was just a fluke meeting, a fleeting moment in time that was never meant to be anything. You didn’t believe in fate or destiny. That was for other people.

It seemed that fate was trying to prove its very existence to you, because the very next morning at breakfast you ran into Marcus once again.

“How was the beach?” Marcus asked with that heart stopping smile. “You didn’t get sunburned, did you?”

Your cheeks felt warm as he looked you over. How could such a simple question get you flustered?

“Nope. I got the perfect amount of sun.”

The two of you chatted for a few minutes before your phone buzzed in your pocket.

“Sorry, but I gotta go or I’ll be late for my massage.”

His hand jutted out to stop you as you turned to leave.

“This is going to sound crazy, but would you have dinner with me tonight? There’s this amazing restaurant overlooking Biscayne Bay.”

You bit your bottom lip as you considered his proposal. What would be the harm in having dinner with him? Why shouldn’t you have fun while you’re here? You needed a distraction and Marcus certainly fit the bill.

“Dinner sounds nice.”

His body visibly relaxed when you agreed, and you could have sworn you heard him sigh.

“Great. I’ll meet you in the lobby at seven?”

“Seven it is.” You responded and headed off to your massage.

That was the moment that everything changed, although you didn’t know it at the time. You’d spent every night with Marcus since then and the more you learned about him, the harder you fell for him. The two of you lived closer than you thought, he was in DC and you were in Baltimore. You scoffed when he told you that he was an FBI agent with the art theft division, but he showed you his badge and swore you to secrecy under penalty of death. He winked and laughed, and you were sure he’d stolen your heart then and there.

He was here on a case and decided to stay an extra week to use up his vacation time. He was a total foodie, he talked at length about the amazing restaurants in DC. Every detail you learned about each other just made the attraction grow.

The week practically flew by as your time was occupied by Marcus. He took you to the institute of Contemporary Art and Pérez Art Museum and watched you with a smile as you marveled at the art, and he explained the finer details. The way he spoke about the art had you completely captivated.

On your second to last night in Miami, he took you to a bar with a live band. You couldn’t believe your eyes when he jumped up on stage with the band and they played one of your favorite songs.

You couldn’t stop smiling as you watched him on stage. The image before you didn’t jive with the mild-mannered, soft-spoken man you’d spent the last few days with, but it intrigued you all the more.

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

The smile was still plastered to your face. He looked so carefree up there on the stage.

“It was definitely worth it to see you smile like that, Sunny.”

He wasn’t going to tell you that he’d cashed in a favor from the lead singer. He wanted you to think it was totally random.

After leaving the club, he took you for a moonlight walk on the beach. The night sky was crystal clear. A thousand stars dotted the sky, like a painting created for just the two of you.

During a brief moment of silence between you, he took your hand and laced your fingers together. It all felt so perfect, too good to be true. You never thought that you would meet someone like him.

He suddenly stopped walking and tugged your hand. His heart hammered in his chest as he looked down at you. After everything that happened with Teresa, he wasn’t looking for anyone. She had broken his heart, and he wasn’t sure if he was even ready to try again. Looking at you now, with the ocean breeze in your hair and the moonlight illuminating your skin, he knew he couldn’t walk away.

“Everything okay?” You asked

He smiled at you and looked down at the sand before looking back up.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do all week.”

Before you could say anything, he closed the distance between you and gently cupped your cheek. He gazed into your eyes, almost hesitant before he leaned in and softly pressed his lips to yours.

You tensed for the briefest of moments, you didn’t expect him to kiss you, but you were glad he did. You kissed him back, slightly parting your lips to let his tongue in your mouth. It couldn’t have been any more romantic: the moonlight, the soft swish of the waves upon the shore, and the most perfect man you’d ever met holding you in his arms.

As you packed your suitcase to head to the airport, you couldn’t help but think about the last few nights. You got lost in the memories of the way he made you come on his fingers before he made you come on his cock, how he intertwined his fingers with yours as he pinned your hands to the mattress, the way he talked you through your second orgasm: That’s it, sweet girl…just like that…so beautiful. He even held you afterwards, something Justin never did.

It really was like a dream come true. This vacation was wonderfully unexpected, and you didn’t want it to end. You didn’t want to go back to the real world, back to your job and your old life….not when you’ve had a taste of what could be.

Marcus paced the hotel lobby waiting for you to check out. After Theresa, he’d almost sworn off love completely, then he’d met you and he was smitten. He knew that this could work, he would be kicking himself later if he didn’t try.

You smiled as his sweet face came into view. Your heart clenched in your chest. Was this this last time you would see him? You couldn’t let that happen. This couldn’t be the end.

“This week turned out better than I expected.” you said with a soft laugh.

You wanted to say more. You wanted to tell him that this had probably been the best week of your life, but you held your tongue. You didn’t want to ruin the moment.

He took your hands in his, smiling as caressed the back your hand with his thumb. His mocha eyes took in every inch of you, committing it to memory until he saw you again. It was now or never. He was going to tell you that he didn’t want this to be the end, the two of you could make this work. A short train ride was no big deal, and you could see each other often. All he knew was that he couldn’t just let you go.

The way he said your name made your heart stop. It sounded so beautiful rolling off his tongue, just like when he had you in bed.

Your lips pressed softly against his, swallowing his next words. You didn’t need anymore words. You just wanted to keep the magic alive for a few more moments before reality came crashing down.

The hum of the car engine behind you broke the spell. It was over, your Uber was waiting to take you to the airport and back to your life. You shoved a piece of paper into his hand and smiled as your eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

“If you’re ever in Baltimore, give me a call.”

He chuckled softly as he watched you walk away and get into your ride. As you drove away, he looked down at the small piece of paper in his palm. There was no way in hell he was going to let you get away. He’d be calling you sooner than you thought.

[only-lonely-star]

⁠♡ Brown Eyed Girl ⁠♡

~ Sodapop Curtis ~

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Warnings - None! Just cute and sappy moments!

Summary - Based off of ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ by Van Morrison !! 💌

Author’s Note - This song reminds me of Soda soooo much so I just HAD TO WRITE A FIC!! I used the song for this fic for inspiration and vibes, not so much the lyrics. I’m a little iffy about the ending so I might edit it a bit. ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU LIKE IT LOVELIES !! 🫶🏼

Word Count - 1.2k.

˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙

To some, you may have seemed utterly insane. The two of you looked like you had been pulled straight out of some romance flick which was far too sappy for anyone to ever finish. Nobody could quite blame you, though. The love you were given time and time again was something people killed for. Your love was rare, it was a one-in-a-million kind of love. Who else would feel crazy enough about you to dream of taking you on so many fun adventures, wishing to explore the world with you?

Sodapop Curtis, of course.

The sunlight had just begun to disperse amongst each grassy hill. The world seemed alive yet again, the moon now a sight that could only be viewed through a squint. The distant fog was lifted and replaced with clouds that looked almost cotton-like. A quiet morning, but a beautiful one. Your bare feet sank into the plush dirt below, the damp grass acting as a carpet for you to run across. You’d lost both heels along the way on account of Sodapop’s fast-paced sprint. Hand in hand with your boyfriend, he guided you up and down the hills of the secluded valley. “Wait, Soda - !” you called out to him, laughing along the way.

“Can’t! We’re almost there!” he replied, his grin wider than you could’ve ever imagined.

Stumbling along behind him, you couldn’t help but crack a smile. Your dress had been absolutely soiled from the various dirt stains splattered across it, and your shoes were long gone, but none of it mattered at this moment.

Sodapop hiked along to the top of the hill with a pep in his step, panting, as you followed. He came to a stop, helping you up along with him. Your knee was on the verge of giving out entirely as you planted your foot onto the peak of the dewy hill beneath you.

“Baby, wait - c’mere,” Soda smiled endearingly. His hands pulled your body closer to him, kissing you before you could even catch your breath. That was the fun of it, of course - gasping for air yet craving nothing more than his touch. Your arms found their way around his neck, encircling him in a tight squeeze. “Ain’t it pretty?” he asked, momentarily breaking the kiss.

Your eyes drifted towards the scenery behind Sodapop, attention focused on how breathtakingly gorgeous of a spot he’d found. No sign of civilization could be found. The valley extended for miles farther than the naked eye could see. Flower fields scattered around the vibrant green grass. It somehow felt prehistoric - as if no human had ever come across the pasture and colonized the territory. There was a picture-perfect view of the sunrise from where you were standing atop the hill. Smaller hills spread all over, and tall grasses billowed in the wind. It was more than perfect, actually.

“Sure is,” you could no longer contain your smile as you attempted to catch your breath, “How’d you ever find such a beautiful place?” your voice was filled with awe as the wonder in your eyes only seemed to grow.

“Used to come down here with Pony all the time, he loves this lil spot,” he motioned to the hill just a little ways down. “I bet he’ll spend every second he gets down here once school lets out.”

“It’s gorgeous,” you emphasized, stepping even closer for another tight hug. Sodapop snaked his arms around your waist with a charmed smile. As you pecked his cheek, your body could sense his sly grin reappear.

“See that flower field over there?” he asked, his voice soft against your neck. You hesitated before nodding, only because you hadn’t a clue what he was planning. You could tell he was about to say something just to rile you up. “We’re gettin’ married there. Oh yeah - definitely. Have a little get-together with Darry��Pony…everyone.”

You kissed his lower lip, removing your arms from around his neck. “Shut up, Soda - it ain’t happening anytime soon if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.” Your eyes instinctively rolled in response to him, yet your smile was unwavering. He could pry all he wanted, but you were sure you’d never commit to marriage at the ripe age of sixteen. “God, you’re such an idiot.”

His chest jerked backwards from the force of your hand which was intended to be nothing but a small nudge. Your eyes went wide, grabbing a hold of his arm in a lousy attempt to pull him back up. “SHIT - ! Soda!”

Sodapop could only holler, the immediate fear now turned to nothing but a laugh. He stumbled back, losing his balance. No matter the situation, he would always drag you along - this was no different. Your own feet weren’t enough to keep your entire body planted into the warm grass. Tumbling down the hill you went, screaming the entire way down. Your arms extended out as if they could do something to help balance yourself. Within seconds, Sodapop crashed into the flowerbed of pink cosmos, yanking your arm downwards before you stumbled right over him. He quickly shifted to lay on his back, his knees in the air.

A low groan fell from his lips as you fell flat against his chest. Sodapop’s hands steadied you, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he burst into pure laughter and joy. Bringing your arms up so that your elbows could prop yourself up in the grass was nearly the only thing you could do. On top of the now crushed flowers, Sodapop held your body down, the sunlight casting a warm hue on his golden hair. “That was insane!” he cried out, his cheeks now reddened from smiling so hard.

“I didn’t mean to. Honestly, baby, I didn’t,” you tried to reassure him as you sat up on his lower stomach. A faint giggle, partially of embarrassment, the other half of amusement, escaped your lips. The back of your hand was raised to wipe off the small shreds of grass off of your forehead.

“Turns out I ain’t the idiot,” he mumbled as his cheeky grin took over once more. His hands gently ran up and down your sides, feeling the soft fabric of your dress graze against his skin. Your waist was by far his favorite place to let his hands rest.

You picked the grass out of his hair gently and cupped his jawline. Forcing a sarcastic sigh, you leaned your face closer to his. “Okay…wedding when?” you were acting as nothing but a tease to him.

“Whenever ya want. Pick a day, I’m there.” Sodapop replied confidently. His hand pressed down on yours as his thumb stroked your soft skin subconsciously.

Your gaze never left his, and a few unspoken words were exchanged through the intimate eye contact. You were well aware not a hint of sarcasm was found in Sodapop’s words. He was as loyal as a dog and didn’t have eyes for anyone else. His heart thumping against yours was all you needed at this moment. Maybe not sometime soon, but one day. One day you will settle down with him. You’ll spend every day with him, living a life never knowing what heartbreak truly meant.

Your lips became latched onto his yet again. His eyes fixated on yours, and you spoke with a soft smile. “I love you, Soda… but gosh you’re such an idiot!”

He couldn’t even be mad. Sodapop was willing to wait as long as you needed as long as he had you by his side. He kissed you with just as much passion as he proudly wore your lipstick on the outer corners of his lips. He’d love you forever.

[billboard-hotties-tourney]

*REMINDER: Vote for the song you think is hotter, not the song you prefer or the artist you think is hotter.

Propaganda for "Moondance": "My university roommate thought this was the sexiest song ever." Defeated Opponents: "Mein Herr;" "Isn't She Lovely"

Propaganda for "Let's Get It On": "Such a beautiful [and] troubled soul with the voice of an angel" Defeated Opponents: "Mas, Que Nada!;" "You're Getting to Be a Habit With Me"

[icemankazansky]

For a Top 5, if you want, and because I’m curious: Top 5 Val Kilmer roles, in your opinion.

Thanks for playing! @hughlauriebf also asked this question. I have answered this question before re: what my favorite Val roles are, so this list is based on the roles that I think are the most impressive acting-wise.

#1. Has to be Doc Holliday in Tombstone. He was literally perfect and should have at least been nominated for an Oscar.

The rest aren't really in any specific order...

#2. Danny Parker / Tom van Allen in The Salton Sea. This role has everything. The depths of grief. Playing multiple characters (sorta). That thing he does with mirrors. Both sides of violence, love, heartbreak, moments of comedy. He plays the trumpet. And it's all just ... quiet and understated and so well-balanced.

#3. Ray Levoi in Thunderheart. Speaking of understated: I think this is Val's most understated role, and one of his most underrated. I will remind you that Roger Ebert didn't recognize Val in this role for 20 minutes, and he was actively looking for him. He just ... hides inside Ray Levoi. And Ray is so tightly contained, and hiding so much (from others and even from himself), that so much of the acting is in these brief expressions, in the way he's holding himself. Ray is a deep cover agent, and you can tell even though you don't see a second of him undercover on the screen. There's a scene at the end where Ray is struggling to keep all these emotions at bay while speaking, and Val is just shaking. His hands, his legs, his chest when he draws breath. You don't notice it at first. It's not meant to be showy, because Ray Levoi isn't showy. He hides until he can't hide anymore. That mastery over his body, the tone of his voice, his facial expressions, all the things he says without speaking ... it's a gorgeous, minimalist, and highly skilled performance.

#4. Jim Morrison in The Doors. I think it's common knowledge that I personally dislike this movie, but for the things he did with his voice alone--this man sang every song in that movie LIVE, and with such precision that Morrison's band members couldn't tell the difference between Morrison's recordings and Val's--and the fact that he really did put his whole pussy into it, I will concede.

#5. Gay Perry van Shrike in Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. We don't recognize superb acting in comedy enough, and Val absolutely shredded this. He's the straight man--heh--in this film, technically, but still so funny and so sharp and the competence of the physical stuff ... ugh. WHERE IS VAL'S OSCAR

[thegrungyhippie]

albums I'm obsessing over now that it's crunchy leaf season

My autumn has not begun until I'm driving through my little rural town, watching the leaves whizzing past my car, listening to Between the Lines of Age. Also, the title track off of this album?! Hello?!

Simon and motherfucking Garfunkel. I refuse to elaborate.

Another obvious choice, in my humble opinion. As a native New Englander, I too feel that Vermont is depressing as hell.

Girl from the North Country? Don't Think Twice, It's All Right? Oxford Town? Screaming, crying, throwing up. Every time it gets a little chilly outside, I retreat deeper into my coat and pretend I'm Bob Dylan.

I found her recently through the duet she did with Hozier, and absolutely fell in love with her voice. Sonnet 104 is pure sonic perfection. I was so floored by her Songbird cover as a Fleetwood Mac fan -- she sounds so similar to Christine here.

He's got some questionable politics, but by God that boy can play some jazz.

I adore the Beatles, and this is probably my all-time favorite album of theirs. Although, Run For Your Life is just a little terrifying. We'll just pretend it's a Halloween song.

George is definitely my favorite Beatle, sorry not sorry.

Joni, my love, my queen.

Yes, more Bob Dylan. BUT there's also The Band!!! You best believe I watch The Last Waltz every Thanksgiving.

I have reached my audio limit for this post, so a part 2 may be in order.

[self-shipping-doll13]

#4 - Bookshelf

A Peak At What’s Inside Their… Prompts

Wc: 793

“Grab that book for me while you’re on your feet, would you?” Liam’s voice came lazily from the armchair, where he was sprawled with one leg hooked over the armrest, a whiskey glass balanced on his knee as he absentmindedly traced the rim. 

I obediently meandered over by the bookshelf.

Tall, dark wood, and slightly overcrowded, like everything else in his flat that seemed to be more lived-in than fully organised. It was an eclectic collection: battered paperbacks were shoved against scratched up hardcovers, titles in gold-embossed lettering beside others so faded you had to tilt them to the light to make them out. Some had the look of old friends, their covers yellowed with age, while others were newer and white as rice grains, pristine even, like they hadn’t earned their place yet.

“Which one?” I asked, stepping closer and letting my fingers skim along the worn edges.

“Middle shelf, left corner,” he said. “That slim one, tea-coloured.”

I hesitated, my fingers hovering over the worn black wood as I took it all in.

This wasn’t just a regular hoard of literature. A brass compass sat snugly between an old volume of Dubliners and a tattered collection of Oscar Wilde’s poems. Its glass surface was tarnished, but the needle still shivered dutifully when I poked it, having never forgotten how to find North.

Beside it, a small bottle of sea salt caught the light. It was stoppered with a cork, the grains inside as fine as sand. Snatching it up, I rolled it between my fingers, imagining him scooping it up from some windswept shore, the cold air brackish and the suds of waves teasing at his boots.

Further down was a taxidermy beetle, pinned in a shadowbox frame no bigger than my palm. Its elytra shimmered green, like a glimmer of flowing Irish rivers. Again, I wondered if he’d captured these oddities himself, or if he’d stumbled across them in one of his wanderings through a secondhand shop or flea market. 

Then there were the books themselves: Ulysses, its sapphire-blue jacket frayed at the edges. The Wind Among The Reeds, its beloved pages foxed and soft. North, a volume of Seamus Heaney’s, thumbed so often it was on the verge of collapse.

“Does it ever bother you that they’re not in any kind of order?” I asked, glancing back at him.

“Nah,” he said, having been mid-sip. “I know where everything is. That’s all that matters.”

I finally found Padraic Fiacc’s The Selected, its spine cracked but sturdy, and pulled it free. A musty scent drifted up from its paper, and it was indeed beige like spilled milky tea. 

Beside the bookcase was a stack of vinyl records, leaning precariously as if one wrong move might send them sliding to the floor.

Unable to resist more nosing, I crouched to examine them, running my hand over the topmost sleeve. Leonard Cohen’s Songs of Love and Hate, a few records by The Smiths, a band I didn’t know called ‘Them,’ Van Morrison’s Moondance and a compilation of Thin Lizzy’s. Something classical beneath those dusty jackets—Vivaldi, perhaps? It was a strange mix, curated with care. Hours spent turning each record over in his hands before choosing the next.

“You’ve got good taste,” I said over my shoulder.

“Always have,” he replied patiently, a good-natured chuckle in his words. “D’you find it, love?”

“Yeah.” I straightened up with the book in hand and crossed back to him, holding it up like a prize. 

“Good woman.” He didn’t bother shifting, staying sprawled like a king in his chair, but his arm reached out, catching me at the waist as I handed him the book. “Sit,” he said simply, tugging me gently down onto his lap. 

Liam’s arm curled around me, keeping me steady as I settled sideways, my head resting against his shoulder. He was all wiry limbs and strong, beating heart thumping from sternum to my ear. 

“You’re a nosy wee bird today,” he teased, flipping open the book but not reading it yet. 

“Just curious,” I said, tracing the script lightly. First Movement. “You’ve a lot of really interesting things stashed away in here, I can tell.”

A little jolt of happiness sparked through me as I recognised my hometown, but then Liam’s thumb scraped to turn it away. 

Those murky green eyes were beckoning, like a shiny glint at the bottom of a lake. “Maybe,” he said, his lips quirking into an easy half-smile. “You’re welcome to dig around all you like. But don’t go judging the state of my records.”

I laughed softly, sinking further into his warmth as he finally opened to a favourite page and began reading, the lilting cadence of his voice like music in the quiet flat.

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[guerrilla-operator]

Once more, my blog has been updated. Catch up on what I’ve been listening to and tell me how great of a writer I am. Fuel my ego baby.

[amplifyme]

Tag Game

I was tagged by @randomfoggytiger. Thanks for thinking about me!

Favourite painter: Oh, this is a tough one. I'm drawn to works from artists like Monet, Botticelli, Andrew Wyeth, Mucha, Van Gogh, Michelangelo. I'm all over the place. I'm not even going to try to list fandom artists. There are too many and I don't want to risk leaving anyone out.

Favourite writer: Again, more than one. Just off the top of my head: Stephen King, Justin Cronin, Chuck Windig, George R.R. Martin, Gillian Flynn. Generally writers who are really good at creating memorable characters who straddle the line dividing good and evil. As George put it so eloquently, stories that explore the human heart in conflict with itself. Bowing out on fanfic writers here, too. There are too many to list.

Favourite band: Now and for the last decade, Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit.

Favourite meal and drink: At this point in my life any food that anyone other than me cooks and sets in front of me. But I do enjoy farm to table that's not too fussy or complicated. Keep it simple and clean and flavorful. Add a glass of semi-dry wine and I'm good to go.

Favourite outfit aesthetic: I don't know that I have one. If I must be pinned down I'll go with boho/hippie. There's nothing I love more than simple blue jeans or leggings with a t-shirt or flowy blouse. But I refuse to wear dresses unless it's a wedding or a funeral. I don't have legs one would want to show off. Genetics gifted me with, as my mom once put it, "peasant legs". Also the 14 inch scar on my left leg from numerous surgeries isn't very aesthetically pleasing. I prefer to keep it covered.

Favourite singer: Another one I can't cull to just one. Jason Isbell, Van Morrison, Bob Seger, Beth Hart, Amos Lee, Ray LaMontagne, John Mayer, Stevie Nicks, Joy Oladakun. That's just a start. Unique voices, I guess.

Favourite item I own: Well, those of us who have pets are often referred to as pet *owners*, right? So I'll go with Levon the Cat, though I'm pretty sure he owns me and not the other way around.

Favourite possession: My carefully curated fandom items. Mostly my collection of BATB fanzines and TXF memorabilia. All of those, as well as the things I've been bequeathed or were given to me by family members/friends who are no longer with us. Knick-knacks, art and pieces of antique furniture from my mom and oldest brother; an unreleased album of songs written and performed by my bestest friend in the world - all of which were written with me serving as muse. Other things that I don't like to think about too much because it's painful. But all of them cherished.

Favourite perfume: Black Opium. It smells like all my favorite scents combined.

Tagging anyone who'd like to play!

[60scig]

7/31/24

Chipping the wine red color from my fingernails, I sprinkle the polish onto the seats of his truck. I sigh, kicking off my boots–the summer heat seeping into the car was making my legs sweat against the leather. When my right thumb is chipped clean, I shuffle in my seat to peek my head out the open window.

“Are we stranded?” I ask, crossing my arms over the window sill, resting my chin on top of my hands. My little cowboy friend slams the truck hood shut, lifting his hat from his head to wipe the sweat from his forehead; wavy strands of dark hair sticking to his skin. I grin.

“Nothin’ to worry about.” He tells me in an almost inaudible mumble, walking around to return to the driver’s seat. Upon entering, he immediately notices the red sprinkles dusting the terracotta colored seats. Pulling away from the window, grin still plastered on my lips, I splay out my fingers for him to see my messy nails, only my thumb completely clean. He shakes his head, then begins to explain what was wrong with the truck.

I don’t understand a single word. Nodding my head along, I lean forward to reach into the glove compartment, pulling out our crumpled and worn map, unfolding it in front of my face. At some point, he stopped talking and started the truck. It rumbled violently for a brief second, but calmed down to a point where he pulled us back on the road.

“Where we going?” I ask. When he tells me, I place my finger against the location on the map, trailing it down until I meet our current location.

I keep my window down, letting the hot air blow through my hair, tussling the strands and ruining my neat braid. He’s too silent, so I rummage for a tape, making snide comments about his music taste until I stumble across The Doors.

“You look like Jim Morrison.” I observe, pushing the tape into the cassette player.

“Do I?” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

I nod. “More handsome, I think.”

A beat of silence. Do I look like Pamela? I don’t ask. I simply admire the toothy chuckle he replies with, watching his fingers readjust on the steering wheel before turning up the music’s volume as loud as I could without it becoming migraine inducing. I let Morrisson’s poetic lyrics drill into my head, pulling down the visor to examine myself in the mirror. Fiery ginger hair now ratted by the wind, milky white skin dusted in freckles–I think I looked like Pamela Courson. Maybe he and I were reincarnated cosmic lovers.

After running my fingers over the texture of my skin, picking at any impurities I felt, I turned back to him. He mouths along to the lyrics of Blue Sunday; maybe he was singing, but I couldn’t hear it over the music’s volume. If it weren’t so loud, you would think that it was his true voice.

I imagine him as my famous rockstar boyfriend for the rest of the ride. Instruments in the trunk, a large van with the rest of the band trailing behind us as we make way to the location of their next show. Maybe one day we too would flee to Paris; I was beginning to grow tired of driving around the Southwest, anyways. So was the truck as it rumbled once more while it rolled into the gas station parking lot, feeling as if it were going to collapse underneath us.

As I stroll through the gas station, basking in the air conditioning, I side eye out the large windows to watch him speaking to an old man with a long greying beard and shiny bald head as they examine the truck once again. The owner, I suppose. While I flip through magazines, trying to decide which one to shove into my bag, I imagine what he’s telling the old man; maybe we’re lovers on our way to Las Vegas, looking to get hitched. Maybe I’m a hitchhiker being escorted to San Francisco. Or, my true hope: he’s the frontman of a band on his way to Los Angeles. There were many excuses to choose from, I thought as I rolled up the latest edition of Vogue and buried it in my bag, but maybe the old man wouldn’t be phased by the truth.

In an area like this, deserted and surrounded by miles of dead shrubbery and exhausting heat, I believed it to be possible that he had come across two suspected killers before.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Every Time I See A River :: Van Morrison

Haven't heard your voice in quite a while Haven't seen you dance or seen you smile I can go days where nothing is wrong But it just doesn't last very long

Every time I see a river Every time I hear a train Every time I hear a sad song It reminds me of what we had then Every time I see a river Feels like I'm back in love again

My life seems together and I'm doing just fine But I remember when I was yours and you were mine I don't need your picture on the wall I don't need anything at all

But every time I see a river Every time I hear a train Every time I hear a sad song It reminds me of what we had then Every time I see a river Feels like I'm back in love again I just can't stand the pain

Haven't heard your voice in quite a while Haven't seen you dance or seen you smile I can go days where nothing is wrong It just don't last for very long

Every time I see a river Every time I hear a train Every time I hear a sad song I remember what we had then We had then Every time I see a river Feels like I'm back in love again

I just can't stand it no more Can't stand it no more Every time I see a river Running, running, running Running, running, running, running Running and running and running And running and running and running Running away every time I see a river Can't stand the pain Feels like I'm back there again Running and running and running