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ab4eva · 1 year

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‘Tomorrow Will Be Too Late’

Part 1

Summary: Elvis Presley x Reader / For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved two things - Elvis Presley and time travel. After seeing the 1968 Comeback Special for the first time, you decide to try and get back to him for one incredible night, by any means necessary.

Warnings: Will eventually be NSFW so 18+ only

Word count: 3,358

TWBTL Masterlist

Author’s note: I realize not everyone is into time travel - but I promise this is very light on the sci-fi and very heavy on Elvis! This was born out of my love for time travel, and a very specific fantasy/desire to go back in time to 1968 Comeback Special Elvis. Truly, whenever I watch it, I point out a scream that can be heard and say “that was me!” or “did you see that flash of a hand right there? Mine.” This first chapter has a bit of explanation that is necessary so hopefully you’ll stick with it through the non-Elvis content while that happens. It’s also my first time delving into writing Elvis and that makes me nervous. I hope I can do him justice! Thanks to Marina (@aconflagrationofmyown) for asking about my idea, encouraging me to actually write it and just generally being supportive. She said “writing can be a lonely business but there’s no need for it to be.” And thanks to Mel (@burninlovebutler) for being a sounding board as well and giving me some good advice for chapter writing strategies.

You were cold. So cold. It felt like a thousand icicles were piercing your skin as you shivered against the concrete floor. You opened your eyes, but it was so dark you couldn’t even see your hand in front of your face. You couldn’t remember where the hell you were or how exactly you got there and that absolutely terrified you, your heart beating double-time in your chest. You seemed relatively ok though, if a little scared and disoriented, and that was reassuring.

A sliver of light was seeping through a small crack in a door directly in front of you and you willed yourself to sit up. It took all of your strength to make it happen and when you were finally propped up against the wall, a wave of nausea hit and your head felt as light as feather.

Breathe, in through your nose, out through your mouth, your brain commanded. You press your palms to your eyes until you see stars, and take deep, gulping breaths. The nausea starts to subside a little, and some of your strength starts to come back.

Eat the piece of chocolate in your pocket. The thought floats through your brain, unbidden. Chocolate? You press your hands to your body, feeling in the darkness. What were you wearing? No wonder you were freezing, you barely had any clothes on. You arms are bare and you feel a dress so short it barely covers your bum. Your legs are like ice as they press against the cold floor. But you feel something small and hard in the square pocket of your dress and pull it out. You can’t see what it is but you can feel the bell shape - a Hershey’s kiss. You unwrap it hastily and pop it into your mouth, savoring the sweet taste. Instantly you begin to feel a bit better.

You finally feel strong enough to try and stand up. The tall, knee high boots you're wearing make it a bit difficult but you manage eventually, using the wall for support. You’re unsteady on your feet as you slowly walk towards the light through the door. Feeling for a handle, you find one and turn the knob. Surprisingly, it opens. Your senses are immediately assaulted from all angles. Light so bright it blinds you, pain shooting through your eyes as you race to cover them. Voices echo loudly around you, almost deafening after the quiet darkness. You’re so discombobulated, your head is foggy and buzzing like a bee trapped in a windowpane. You stumble out of the room off balance, hands still covering your eyes, and run smack dab into a solid form, tall and sturdy.

A cry escapes your lips as you begin to tumble backwards but strong hands grab you by the arms and haul you back up, setting you firmly on your feet again.

“Careful there, honey. You could get hurt runnin’ around like that,” a voice drawls, deep and amused. So familiar, but you can’t place where you’ve heard it before. Your eyes travel upwards, from the chest smattered generously with hair under an open leather jacket, up a strong jawline and deep cheekbones, pouty pink lips quirked into a half smile with teeth so white they’re almost blinding and finally, to impossibly long and dark lashes framing eyes so blue they’re like the ocean on a stormy day. Jet-black hair and delicious sideburns frame this angel face that takes your breath away.

You stare up at him as your breathing returns to normal and your heartbeat slows, searching his eyes for…for what? He’s so familiar. Why can’t you place him? You know this man, of course you do. But from where? It’s on the tip of your tongue, hovering just outside of your reach. You’re grasping at the edges of something, something important, your brain screams. But it slips through your mind like sand through your fingers. What is it? If only the buzzing in your head would subside and just let you think a minute.

He’s looking at you with a bemused expression, his hands still grasping your bare skin lightly, just below your shoulders. You tremble slightly as the heat of his touch flushes your icy skin, thawing some of the coldness you felt a moment ago. The contact sends a shiver up your spine for some reason and a warm feeling spreads slowly through your belly. His eyes are running over your face as if to place you from somewhere. You think you see a hint of recognition flash in his eyes but then he blinks and it’s gone. He squeezes your arms softly and releases you with a crooked smile and a wink.

“Be more careful, darlin’. We can’t have a pretty little thing like you gettin’ busted up on our first day of filming,” he says over his shoulder as he walks away.

You turn your head and watch as he moves away from you, down the hall - this tall, mysterious figure clad in black leather and boots. Your mind is whirling, trying to puzzle it all out. Who was that? Why does your heart suddenly feel ecstatic and fearful and so incredibly full? You feel bereft in his absence, adrift on an empty sea. That voice, those eyes. They had anchored you for a moment when everything else felt so inexplicably…wrong.

“Elvis!” you hear someone call out and in an instant your breath is gone, the wind knocked out of you. The room tilts and starts to spin, blackness closes in on your vision. You reach a hand out to the wall for support but it’s not there anymore. You feel yourself start to stumble and fall. People are suddenly shouting, you can hear them running towards you and everything is loud, so loud. Just before you lose consciousness you have one thought, and one thought only.

I made it.

—

You can’t remember when you first became obsessed with time travel. Maybe when you saw Back To The Future for the first time as a child. Or maybe it was all those books you read in grade school, devouring one after another. As you grew up, your fascination with the concept morphed and changed. You began to read not only fiction about it but studies and supposed attempts, too. Research and theories and whack jobs on the internet who said they’d been to Victorian England and even as far back as the dinosaurs.

You didn’t really think anyone had been as far back as that but you did think time travel was possible, in some small way. Maybe you could only go back in time, not forward. Maybe you could only travel back to your own timeline. Or maybe only as far back as the century you lived in. You didn’t really know exactly how it worked but you set your mind to trying, actually trying it, one day.

At first it was something you joked about with your sister when you were both high, just a silly concept. She knew you’d start in on your time travel theories, talking about where you’d go and what you’d do. Back to see the Beatles play the Cavern Club in Liverpool in 1962. Greenwich Village in 1963 to see Simon & Garfunkel. The possibilities were endless, and almost always based on the musicians you loved and wished you could see live, so long ago.

And then you saw Elvis’s 1968 Comeback Special and you knew. That’s where you were going back to. You had to get back to that man in 1968. You had always loved Elvis, for as long as you could remember. Had grown up listening to his music, watching his movies. He was one of your first loves as a young girl. But until you saw the ‘68 Special, you hadn’t really felt like you had known Elvis the man. He was a goddamn revelation. And once you had a taste of that, it was all you longed for.

You became obsessed with him, his life. Falling in love like a school girl, losing your mind when you watched one of his films, like you had stepped right out of the 1950s. You were in love with a man who had been dead for nearly 50 years. But that didn’t bother you, not one bit. You knew he was still alive out there, somewhere in the ether - a fragile line tethered to your reality, all you had to do was grasp it and pull.

Your mind was made up - you would go back 1968, to that week in June in Burbank, California. You just wanted one night with him, one incredible night. It would take careful preparation, meticulous planning, more research and time. Something you had plenty of. But once you set your mind to attempting it, every day you spent apart from Elvis felt like one too many. Wait for me, Elvis, I’m coming for you. It was mantra you said to yourself when everything seemed so far away, so completely impossible.

You devised a plan by the simplest means necessary to try your theory out. It involved self-hypnosis, dressing the part (vintage clothes from that era if they could be found), getting rid of all modern objects on and around you and finding a location virtually unchanged (or as close to it as possible) from the time you wanted to go back to. It’s what the protagonist had done in one of your favorite novels, Time and Again, by Jack Finney. It seemed actually plausible, and low risk.

Well, as low risk as time travel could be. According to your research, it would leave the traveler in a weakened state - disoriented, nauseous and cold. A small price to pay, you thought. You would pay a higher price even, if it was required of you. Anything to be with Elvis.

You bought a ticket to Los Angeles one month from the day you made your mind up. You visited every vintage store you could find, looking for the perfect outfit. You finally found it - a sleeveless, mod 60s mini-dress in black and white and white go-go boots. Go big or go home. You didn’t worry about finding anything else - you’d either be successful and stay the night or it wouldn’t work and you’d try again, wearing something different, just in case that was the cause of failure.

As the day of your departure grew closer, you began to feel an almost unbearable excitement. You couldn’t concentrate on anything fully, your thoughts scattered into a million pieces. You were half agony, half hope. The logical part of your brain told you what you were attempting was impossible, completely nuts. But the other half, the half that was completely convinced it was doable, won out most of the time. Hope is the bravest thing of all.

You boarded your flight to Los Angeles, a bundle of nerves and feeling sick to your stomach. As soon as you touched down an almost imperceptible force took hold, like someone else was controlling your movements. It carried you through the airport and into your rental car. Down the freeway and over the hill into the valley. To your hotel, where you barely remember checking in.

You had booked a tour of the Burbank Studios, where the special had been filmed, for that afternoon. Would people be staring at you in the getup you would be wearing? Absolutely. Did you care? Not at all. Elvis was waiting for you, that’s all that mattered.

You styled your hair, curled it and teased it up as high as it would go, adding a thin ribbon headband. Next came the dress you had chosen and the go-go boots. You popped a couple of Hershey’s kisses in your pocket for later, knowing you would need a little sugar rush if you made it through.

You steadily applied your makeup, using the tutorial you had watched on YouTube as a guide, carefully winging out your eyeliner and swiping on nude lipstick to pull it all together. You stepped back to look at your handiwork and had to admit that you looked good. As a finishing touch, you placed the vintage, heart locket necklace around your neck and snapped it open to see the picture you had hidden inside - Elvis, in his army uniform, stared back at you.

You were ready.

You don’t even remember the drive to the studio, or checking in with the group. Your mind was on finding the perfect place to sneak away and make the the journey. Ideally, you wanted a closet of some kind, an empty room. Somewhere that didn’t have any modern elements, and preferably dark. Halfway through the tour, you glimpsed a janitors closet down a hallway. You stopped to look at a photo on the wall while the rest of the group rounded a corner.

As soon as they were out of sight, you gripped the handle of the door and tried to turn it. Locked. Not to worry, you were prepared for this. You pulled a lock picking set from your small purse and went to work, the old lock popping open easily with hardly any effort.

You held your breath as you opened the door, praying it was what you needed. You looked around the tiny room and breathed a sigh of relief. It was empty except for an old mop, seemingly forgotten in the rush of modern life. It was perfect.

You quickly stepped inside and closed the door. Darkness enveloped you. You sat down on the cold, concrete floor and waited for your heart to stop pounding. You needed to be calm for this part. To concentrate and believe, really believe, that you were in Burbank, California, at NBC Studios, on June 27, 1968.

You closed your eyes and breathed deeply, meditating on the feeling of your body pressed to the floor, the breath flowing in and out of your lungs. Imagining you could feel the vibrations coming from the studio around the corner as Elvis played his guitar. You focused and willed yourself to hear the hustle and bustle of activity as production ramped up for the first day of filming, of extras and musicians and dancers flooding the hallway with excitement.

But most of all, you focused on that beautiful face, those playful eyes and the mouth that smirked with amusement when he said something naughty or funny. The hearty laugh and southern drawl that you longed to hear in person. You could almost feel him, almost feel his arms around you. If he would only wait for you, you would be there soon. So very soon.

—

You could feel hands holding your head and voices speaking in hurried tones. Someone gently tapped your face and your eyes fluttered open, slowly blinking, trying to focus on something. You stared up into the face of a kindly woman who was smiling down at you.

“There she is. You ok, sweetie? You gave us all quite a fright.” She turned her head to someone and said, “She’s ok Mr. Presley, just had a fainting spell.”

“Didn’t I tell ya to be careful, honey? You alright?” Elvis came into view, looming over you with a concerned expression.

You took one look at his face and burst into tears.

Elvis, for his part, looked shocked at the sudden outburst. He was used to women crying over him, sure, but this was different. You seemed…overwhelmed in another manner entirely. Something about you was fragile and lost and afraid and he couldn’t help but want to take you in his arms and comfort you.

Instead, he knelt beside you and helped you sit up, his hand resting reassuringly on your back, as the woman on your other side did the same. You felt silly, really, and still more than a little jumbled. Your thoughts were racing and you felt like you might faint again, but you closed your eyes and focused on breathing. Elvis was patting your back gently, but that just drove you further over the edge. He was touching you. Elvis Presley was touching you. You could feel his warm breath on your cheek as he knelt next to you, murmuring almost inaudibly, “Just breathe, baby. Good girl.”

You started to hiccup and giggle through your tears, unable to keep the laughter at bay. The whole thing was preposterous. Elvis was still looking at you anxiously, brows furrowed. But he relaxed a little and started to laugh with you, relief flooding through him.

“Let’s get you up. Jerry, can you help me here?” Jerry Schilling appeared on your other side and he and Elvis hauled you to your feet. You were wobbly as you leaned on Elvis’s arm for support.

“Jerry, take her to my dressing room, set her up on the couch and send Dr. Nick to take a look at her,” Elvis commanded. You flinched at the sound of Nick’s name.

“Oh no, no, I’m fine, really. I just need a minute to recover and I’ll be ok,” you said hurriedly.

“Elvis, we need you on set,” a stage manager appeared out of nowhere, looking frazzled.

“Just give me a goddamn minute, Lou!” he barked out, frightening you with his sudden change in demeanor. He felt you jump and laid a big, warm hand over yours and smiled. “Sorry, honey, didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“Jerry, take her to my dressing room anyway, so she can rest up. And keep an eye on her,” Elvis said pointedly.

“You got it, EP,” said Jerry as he took your arm and led you down the hallway. You couldn’t resist looking back, watching as Elvis walked away from you for the second time that day. You stopped in your tracks, unwilling to go any further. You had come this far, you wouldn’t be parted from Elvis now.

Jerry looked at you questioningly. You opened your mouth to say something to him but felt as if you might burst into tears again. Jerry must have sensed this, or seen the forlorn look on your face, as he understood what you needed without any words.

“Alright, alright, no more tears. You can come to the control room with me, is that ok?” Jerry was looking at you expectantly. You nodded your head, grateful for his intuition and understanding.

The next few hours passed in a blur, everything seemed like a dream as you watched Elvis perform. His magnetism and humor hitting you like a freight train all over again. His raw sexuality ignited something in you, being that close to the real thing set you ablaze in a way you didn’t know was possible. You stuck close to Jerry, who would lean over and explain things to you or make little jokes. You were thankful for his company as the night wore on and your nerves kicked up a notch, your entire being once again buzzing uncontrollably at the possibility of what might come next.

As the show was wrapping up filming for the night, Jerry was called down to set, with assurances that he would be right back. When he did return, he took your arm gently and guided you down the long hallway, out into the balmy summer air and into a waiting car.

“EP wants you to go to his hotel room and wait there for him, he’ll be along in a little while. He’s got some things he needs to do first.”

You swallow thickly and nod as you lean back into the seat and rest your head. You look out the window as the palm trees whiz by and your heart feels like it might beat out of your chest. Was this really happening? Could it have all been so simple? You knew Elvis had his Memphis Mafia secure certain girls for him but this had been too easy.

It was fate, you decided. Fate that had seen you safely through to 1968. Fate that had run you smack dab into Elvis Presley’s arms. And fate that you were about to spend one night with the King.

#elvis #elvis presley #time travel #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis 2022 #elvis presley x reader #elvis smut #austin butler elvis #austin elvis x reader #austin elvis imagine #austin elvis smut #written by ab4eva #tomorrow will be too late #68 comeback special

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ilyasorokinn · 1 year

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(day eleven) under the mistletoe , tyson jost

note, this fic is part of my christmas series called taylor's very merry christmas series. check out this masterlist for the rest of the series. pair, tyson jost x reader summary, for years, people have watched y/n and tyson dance around their feelings until they finally have enough. at the annual avs christmas party, the guys put a plan in motion to finally get them to finally admit their feelings for each other. and of course, mistletoe is involved. warnings, this takes place while he's still in colorado. i know, I'm sad too, but i don't know buffalo well enough yet also this is a little cheesy, so if you don't like that, don't read this word count, 1181 words

(gif not mine)

You and Tyson had met through mutual friends, that mutual friend being JT Compher. You were good friends with his girlfriend and Tyson was JT's best friend.

So, you were invited to Avs games here and there, and the Christmas party because they always had more food and drinks than they knew what to do with.

You liked him, and he liked you, but you could never admit it because what if the other person didn't feel the same way?

So you buried it down and chose to forget about it.

But every year, at that Christmas party, like clockwork, everything you tried too hard to suppress for 364 days came rushing back like a wave.

This year was no different. You hadn't seen Tyson in a few months. You had gone to the home opener with Sydney, but that was it. You hadn't really seen him in months, so seeing him tonight, would be a waterfall.

"You looking forward to seeing Josty tonight?" Sydney asked, wiggling her brows at you.

You shook your head, looking out the window to hide the smile on your face, "Shush."

"You aren't denying it!" She squealed.

"Be quiet." You tried and failed, to hide your smile.

Once you arrived, you quickly made your way to the kitchen to make yourself a drink, "You get here and make a bee-line for the drinks? Typical Y/N." You heard a familiar voice.

You turned to the doorway and saw Tyson leaning against the doorframe, a smirk on his face, "Sorry I'm so predictable." You shrugged.

"No, it's cool. Means I get to talk to you before you're bombarded by everyone else." He pushed himself off the doorframe, made his way over to you, and watched you pour different liquids into your cup, "Wow, predictable even down to the drink." He joked.

"Oh, shut up." You smiled, shoving him softly.

"It's good to see you. Haven't seen you in a while." He offered a kind smile.

"Yeah, been a little busy." You shrugged.

Before he could say anything else, you were quickly pulled away by Mel, "You're here!" She exclaimed happily, pulling you into a hug. You were quickly whisked off in a different direction. You managed to look back at Tyson, flashing him a smile and a wave.

As the night went on, you and Tyson would often meet each other's gaze and flash each other a smile but other than that, nothing else happened.

"So, you and Josty?"

"Not you too." You groaned, rolling your eyes and sliding further down your chair. A few of the other girls laughed at your reaction.

"'Not us' what?"

"You all think I'm secretly in love with Tyson." You stated.

"Do we?" They all raised a brow but were all smirking.

"Yes."

"Are you?" You took too long to answer, which they all took as a yes.

"I didn't say yes." You butted in as they all squealed.

"But you also didn't say no," Sydney added. You huffed with a roll of your eyes.

Across the house, the guys were having the same discussion you were having but with Tyson. Their conversation was pretty similar to yours, only Tyson was a little more open.

"So, Tyson, you still haven't made your move?" Gabe asked innocently.

Tyson rolled his eyes, "No." He admitted.

"I know what you can get me for Christmas," JT spoke up and Tyson glanced at him confused, "You can finally admit your feelings for Y/N."

"I'd like that for Christmas, too." Erik nodded in agreement.

As the night progressed, you were getting more and more tired. and more ready to go home, but Sydney was the very opposite. She was your ride home so you were stuck at the party.

The girls and boys had put together a plan to try and get Tyson to admit your feelings for each other. What was their plan? Get you both in the Landeskog entryway were a piece of mistletoe hung over the door frame and get you to kiss.

Was this a good plan? No. Was this a pretty good plan for all of them being drunk? Yes.

Sydney found you sitting in the living room, your eyes closed as you waited for her to be done, "I'm ready to go, but I have to grab something so can you wait?"

"Yeah, I'll get my shoes." You nodded, pushing yourself off the couch.

In another room, JT was doing the same thing, "I'm ready to go." He announced. Tyson's original ride had already left so he was now getting a ride with JT.

"All right, I'll get my shoes." Tyson got up and headed for the entryway.

When he turned the corner, he saw you sitting on the little bench as you waited for Sydney, "You leaving too?" He chuckled.

"Yep." You nodded watching him trying to find his shoes in the big piles of shoes.

"It was good to see you tonight."

"Yeah, it was." You smiled.

"Hope it won't take a year for me to see you again." He spoke nervously.

You laughed, "I'll try to make it out to a game."

You both waited in silence. In his head, he kept hearing JT's voice. He really did like you, but the fear of you not feeling the same way kept him from saying anything.

Today was different. He had some liquid courage in his bloodstream and he was feeling more brave than usual. He knew if he wanted to say something, now would be the time, "Y/N?" You looked up at him.

"Tyson?" You repeated his name so softly he nearly melted.

"I really like you..." Your breath hitched, "And I don't know. if you feel the same way, but I..." The words were coming out of his mouth so fast he had to stop to breathe.

"I feel like I've had a speech prepared in my head for a while now but now that it's really time, I can't think of it." He laughed.

You smiled, "It's okay."

"No, it's not." That caught you off guard, "I had this whole speech, proclaiming how much I really liked you and I can't remember it."

"It's okay, Tyson." You approached him, "If you ever remember the speech, you can tell me it, but until then, I'll just let you know that I really like you, too."

He froze, "You do?"

"Yeah." You laughed at the frozen look on his face, "I do."

"Awesome." Was all he managed to say.

"Yeah, it's pretty cool." You nodded, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Look up!" Someone in the background shouted, which was a telltale sign that everyone in the house was watching and listening to you both.

You and Tyson both looked up and saw the piece of mistletoe hanging above your heads. You both looked back at each other and smiled, "It would be rude to break tradition."

"So rude." He nodded in agreement.

Flashforward to a couple years later, at your wedding, Tyson finally remembered that speech of his, and decided, for his vows, to recite them.

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randomfoggytiger · 7 months

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"Time Passing in Moments"

(Fictober, Day 4)

Courtesy of my first ever prompt: "Oooh, if you are taking requests: couples costume for fictober! or one dragging the other to a horror movie and needing snuggles to feel better!"

Thank you, anon!

*****

Scully knew that Mulder was on tenterhooks-- hopeful ones (with their corroborating eyewitness accounts and the bee as proof), yes; but tenterhooks, nonetheless. The wait was excruciating as top-down procedures dragged out endlessly despite the strings Skinner had been pulling.

In short, Mulder needed a break but refused to take one.

So, she decided to make him.

*****

It took an hour to gather her meager supplies and arrive, unexpected, at Mulder's Arlington building; and by then the street doors were already spilling out whooping little cowboys, ballerinas, and equal opportunity vampires. Scully let a hoard of chocolate-dirtied fingers rip open her mixed bag of candies and pass it around so everyone could get a piece. A few shy thank yous, one bold “I want another one!”, and a parental apology rippled through the group before they all parted ways, the children wobbling off to further plunder and Scully tapping, tapping her way, staccato, to her partner's door.

*****

Mulder answered after her first set of knocks, teeth glazed with a sticky Sugar Daddy. “Mm, Scuuhly, whah are you dooingh here?”

She held up her ravaged candy bag and another bag of Halloween odds and ends. “Trick or treat?”

He grinned-- got-- and let her in. “Treeht sounths….” Wiping at his teeth, he scowled.

Not a person in Arlington was as endearingly smug as Scully that night. “Well, since you’ve already been tricked, you might as well enjoy your treats.”

Mulder smiled-- got her this time-- and accepted her bag left-handed while pick-axing his molars with the right.

*****

“You got any 1-900-Spooky calls tonight?”

Scully reveled in peeking at Mulder as his head swiveled and eyes widened in the glow of cartoon reruns.

“Not that I know,” he bantered, game on, “I’ve been too busy wondering where my partner went. She's been missing since pilfering three candies from the pail in Kim's office--”

“Mulder, I did not take three--”

“--and didn't call until she showed up at my door, candy indulgent with half an assorted bag gone, a street urchin cover story, and party favors she bought but decided were less interesting than a rerun of Looney Tunes.”

The aforementioned ‘she’ would not be ruffled in her victory. “If I recall, Mulder-- and you’ll have to forgive me because my memory is a bit fuzzy about our recovery in McMurdo Station--”

Mulder’s face blanked, dread spilling from his eyes and collecting in the tight corners of his half-opened mouth.

“--but you said, and I quote: ‘There’s no other frosty I’d want to come down from a sugar high with’.”

“And as I recall,” his mood recovering with a quiet intake, outtake of air, “you said: ‘Tapering off of intravenous dextrose does not count as a sugar high, Mulder’.”

Scully popped another (the last) chocolate piece into her mouth. “It doesn’t. But I figured this does.”

Facing him fully, she watched Mulder’s expression softly undergo a few layered revolutions before he hemmed out a tender, “Like I said, there’s no other frosty--”

“No, Mulder. ‘Frosty’ died when you said the definition of solid stool would never be the same.”

"I still stand by my theory, Scully. It isn't the same."

Neither of them needed to say that Antarctica changed more than that. Sitting on Mulder’s body-warmed couch as their blood jumped in chaotic glucose spikes, they felt life and hope thrum between them.

"No, it isn't."

******

"Who knew that Looney Tunes could be so..." Mulder shook his head.

"Dark?"

"Yeah."

Scully stared, baffled. "Mulder, are you telling me you've never seen this episode?"

"You enjoyed this?"

"...Yes."

They both sat in silence while Mel Blanc belted out a chorus of tormented screams.

"...Well, it's not The Exorcist, but I can see the similarities."

"Mulder, they're nothing alike. ...Mulder. Go back, it's just getting good."

******

Scully knew Mulder spent his life counting the costs of his work: the X-Files weren’t theirs yet, his partner was robbed of a chance to stroll the streets with her own tiny ghost or goblin, and he would inevitably wake the next day and writhe some more on the tenterhook until, until, until. But every time her partner fiddled with his sproinging party headband (a twin to the outlandish one he'd found in the loot bag and good-heartedly smashed on her head-- “Matchy, matchy”) and flashed her his gleaming pearly-white-and-caramel teeth, Scully knew that he knew that she was still on the journey with him.

If I quit now, they win. And she wouldn’t quit, not on him.

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2023 and @fictober-event

#txf #fic #Time Passing in Moments #Fictober #2023 #Day 4 #mine #Looney Tunes (it could count as scary movie right?)#thank you to my first prompt anon!#I wrote fluff! I WROTE FLUFF #which is ironic because I read mostly (only) fluff and avoid angst unless in a one-week-a-month mood #but yay! Fluff!#Mulder #Scully #FTF #Halloween #Looney Tunes

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melodythebunny · 2 years

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⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆WELCOME to my dreamscape!⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

(also known as my blog)

｡ﾟ..｡(っ ᐛ )っ 𝖍𝖎

i'm Melody! You can call me Mel if you want. o₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

-Please read through this before interacting!-

I draw....like...ALOT. No seriously! I can fill up an entire notebook in a short time period. both traditional and digital art...though I tend to have my time to post my digital works.

I also write and love LOVE LOVE! To read. Pretty much a book worm also.

I have a sweet tooth and occasionally I love eating savoury foods.

𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼 𓋼 𖤣𖥧 𓋼𓍊

My hyperfixtations can be and not limit to:

Wordgirl, Eddsworld, Adventure Time, BATIM, Cuphead, DHMIS, bee and puppycat, and undertale/deltarune

I like to make ocs. Be for a fandom or original work! („• ֊ •„)੭

Speaking of original works...

Im hoping to turn one of my ideas into an animated series someday!

i really post most of my original content on my side blog @the-mis-adventurers (it means alot to me if you do look at my original work) ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ

𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

(ˊ•͈ ◡ •͈ˋ) is okay to ask/do

-art commissions! Only if you want and have the money. Message me about commissions.

-art trades (depends on how busy I am tho)

-collabs/crossovers yes plz!

-rp (also long as it isn't that creepy stuff or adult rps like NSFW, that stuff makes me uncomfortable)

-Art requests are for FRIENDS only. Bc I trust that they will repsect my limits u-u (don't friend me just so you can Free art. (•ˋ _ ˊ•) I AM A PERSON WITH FEELINGS TOO!)

-share headcanons, rant about each others ocs

-tone tags helps with jokes so no one gets confused on anything

❌❌❌ Things I DONT LIKE/accept or have limits with

-venting (venting is OK as long as we KNOW eachother. And we both feel comfortable venting to each it other, keeping in mind that neither of us are professionals/therapist and everyone's experiences are different)

-NSFW, fetishes (this include jokes, asking for me to talk and draw it, rping that, showing any of that to me. ILL BLOCK YOU WITHOUT SECOND THOUGHTS)

-hate talk/speech

-please don't harrass me for art

-trying to bring drama. (I got enough drama to deal with irl )

-Pro shipping and incest (EDIT: including selfcest. Its confusing to me and I don't get it)

keep in mind that if I feel uncomfortable its in my right to block you.

shipsss. Yeah I have ships... (No hate. I understand some of these are considered mid by the vast majority but idc/pos) and I'll update the list over time bc I'm always joining new fandoms.

Experimental cheese (two brains x oc)

star crossed cheese (two brains/Steven x oc)

Bigslie ( Mr. Big x Leslie)

Quesibrent

Plasmarope

whatever the ship between the butcher and dupey is called

tobecky

Whatever the ship between violet and scoops is called

Starco (yeah ik it's mid but I could have written them better)

Jantom (aka the ship between Janna and Tom.)

cherry oreos (if you know you know)

Cherry soda (same with this one)

Dancing portraits

Randy x Theresa (Rc9gn)

edd x coco

Edd x honey(the ship has grown on me)

Eduardo x laurel (depends on the fanon version of they're exes or not)

Eduardo x Claire

(Ik almost nothing about My hero academia but I have two ships) dabi x miruko and izuocha

fluttercord. (I may have fallen out of mlp but this is my forever otp for that fandom)

Sonamy

Silvaze

Tailsmo

Knuckles x Rouge

cherry pie (bob x oc)

Sugar crash (Kevin x oc)

pastel gothic (streber x oc)

deadly love (patty x friend's oc)

inner reflections (Dexter x friend's oc)

Some cool friends/mutuals to check out!

@crazywolf85 @wordgirl-reboot-eva @nyxcharliechaos @animation-is-my-jam @ninjastormhawkkat @drtwobrains @drtwobrainsstuff @professor-boxleitner @oddedd @kagurafernandes @lartmacabre

@earth-420-69. @liloskull343 @pantakichi @bloodthirstypigeon @kadiwright @notsosw3et @peanutbutter-doodles @fluffytimearts @hibiscus-candy @soupsy-daisy @misscreativity94

@luckykaix @spaaceeboyy @lauritanaomystery @sfcabanasstarcgs

Andd A BUNCH of other cool peeps too! 😊

#Mod speaks #mod posts #Introduction post #pinned post #my art #Art #artists on tumblr #Ships #6/13/23: I've updated it to include ships I like :333

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gardenerian · 1 year

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well hi there ✨ tagged by @celestialmickey @mishervellous and @energievie for a sweet macy tag game! i am bored in the airport and so i appreciate this one a lil bit extra! ✈️

name: mel

age: old enough 😇

what country do you live in? ugh. USA.

how many blogs do you have? that are my own? three! that i participate in.... three more! i am a busy tumblin bee 🐝

how many blogs do you follow? 136, and i am down for more! hit me upppppp

are you a hugger? come into my arms

summer or winter? i love them both, but i tire of the extremes pretty quickly. i am always SO happy to see summer coming though. springtime is where it's attttt for me though 🌸

coffee, tea, soda, or something else? my snapple addiction remains out of control

something about you that might surprise people: i think i have said this before but i used to win chess tournaments lmao i intellectually peaked at age 10

if you had to get a tattoo tomorrow, what would it be? hmmmm. i am ready! i have a few things in mind! something for my dad, something irish, eventually perhaps a lil tomato?

would you consider yourself a private person or an open book? i am a private person when it comes to certain things, but otherwise i will not shut up. i think yall know this aksjdfh

do you believe in soulmates? hmmm. yes? i think. but like, it's more that i think the choices we make lead us to the right people. we'll find them ✨ (i found them)

would you consider yourself an introvert or an extrovert? extrovert on the internet alone lmao

tell me something good that happened to you recently: i got a cute pair of socks and a sweet tea at the airport 🍅🧦🍋

and finally, say something nice to yourself: this too shall pass, little mel ☀️ you can do it

tagging @iansfreckles @greggster @heymrspatel @metalheadmickey @whatwouldmickeydo @gallawitchxx @whatthebodygraspsnot @thisdivorce @squidyyy23 @ian-galagher @harrowhark-a-vagrant @lalazeewrites @mmmichyyy @deedala @michellemisfit and literally all of you let me perceive you asdlkjfh

#ily ily ilyyyy #tagged

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manonamora-if · 3 months

Text

And another week down!

Earlier this month I wrote my monthly check-in with what's been done and the plan for the whole month. Busy bee ahead. Distraction needed.

The Trials and Tribulations of Edward Harcourt

It's going on well, really well. MelS is drafting the last bit of the last path of Chapter 6 and I'm just a couple of rooms away from clearing the base code of Chapter 5! I kept the most annoying for last... A bunch of rounds of edits will be required for Chapter 6, as always, and heavy testing for Chapter 5, because it's a huge maze and there's so much variation... I also have a puzzle to make (dunno how to visualise it just yet, so the code is just sitting there doing nothing) and a map to make pretty too.

[Tentative Queer Vampire + Smoochie Jam entry]

I started a few days ago... and I'm already over 4k words. It's going to be a bit depressing (huh, is it becoming a theme?), a bit strange, a maybe a bit horror-y surreal? I have a tentative title :P

Other

Made some little edits on DOL-OS, essentially making it possible to mute the sound at the start, fix a little issue, and block the game if the screen is not wide/large enough.

~ ~

In the IF world we have:

the IFDB Awards that just started. Come vote for games published in 2023! There are dozens of categories, from coding program to genre, to overall amazingness! You will need to be logged-in on the IFDB to vote. The IFDB Awards is a yearly event...

The Smoochie Jam also just started! Come spread the love (or kisses)! Check @neointeractives for more information

The Queer Vampire Game Jam is ending in about 2 weeks!

And there's also the @seedcomp-if and the French IF Comp ending at the end of the month~

~ ~

The plan next week is to finish the last rooms of the maze, finish writing my QV/SJ entry, and potentially start the editing process for Chapter 6 of Harcourt.

OH ALSO: I'll be doing the AMA on the 17th of February (Saturday). Over the whole day.

#dev log #progress #dolos #ttateh

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bear-cubs-art-things · 6 months

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PART ONE LETS GOOOOOOO

Super nervous very nervous hngjbghngbg

I have no idea how England works so just. Bear with me as an American. Fhshshsusudhfjdndg (it's not like this takes place in any place in particular, and I'll do my best to make it as reminiscent to England/Britain as possible, but if there are any discrepancies please let me know :)) )

Okay!:

○°-_-*×-_-○°♡°○-_-×*-_-°○

It was very early on a Monday morning. The sun was barely up, merely a bold orange-pink stripe across a dark blue grey horizon. Birds softly chirped their morning song, speaking of (that is, if they COULD speak) endless blue skies and soft yet cold bread crumbs.

Houses could be seen. Nice, orderly houses, all identical as houses go. The only way one could be distinguished from the other were porch decorations on what could be called the porch. Then, of course, the house numbers.

In house 236, off the corner of Orchid Street and Daragon Fly Avenue, a slumbering teen stirs in his bed.

Downstairs, a quiet sizzling of bacon in a pan cooks on the stove, eggs in a carton sitting politely beside the stove a few inches away. A toaster spits out two slices of white bread, toasted of course. A man wearing a white apron and business work clothes hums a tune on the radio. This man is Mel A. Traunn.

Mel Traunn is an officer worker at a financial firm, with highly regarded banks across the country. He works with the big heads, the head men, the CEOs. He may be rather small on the business food chain, and probably not as high as he wants to be, but at least he can feed him and his son.

Upstairs, in a dark, tidy bedroom, slept Azira Fell, 15 year old boy and currently attending Eldritch High. He's short, with a wide, somewhat thick build, and soft. Currently, short, white (in all technicality, it was a very pale shade of blonde) was a mess atop his head. He was sleeping soundly.

Bee-ba-ba-beep! Bee-ba-ba-beep! Bee-ba-ba-beep!

"Hrrng..."

Azira turned over, and felt around his nightstand for his alarm clock, turning it off once he did. Then he felt around for his glasses.

His glasses were small framed and circular, the kind of old frames those in the later 1800s would wear.

He liked the 1800s, actually. Their clothing was quite nice.

With some early morning bitterness (the kind when you have to get out of bed on an early Monday morning), and grogginess, Azira got out of bed.

It was the first day of school. You know how it is. Same routine of waking up at what felt like dawn, dressing in your most impressive outfits, and going to school only to neglect your studies.

Azira had a... put it this way, it wasn't exactly a stylish fashion sense by today's standards. He wore button up dress shirts underneath plaid sweater vests, slacks and shoes (may I add, his shoes were more in today's fashion than the rest of his wardrobe, though still worn out and one may say outdated). He owned a wristwatch as well, which fitted everything together. It was his father's, which is not to be confused with Mr. Traunn. (Traunn was actually his uncle, but since Azira had been living with him since early childhood, with no real recollection of his birth parents, it was easier and much simpler to call Traunn his father.)

Today, he wore a light blue shirt, with a plaid sweater vest of various shades of brown. He wore khaki slacks, and his slightly worn out black Converses (like I said, the only modern fashion item in his closet). He brushed his hair out, styling it up with some hair gel. It looked no more than a weightless tuft atop his head.

Traunn heard Azira's footsteps from downstairs- light, but still audible- and decided to make him a plate. Breakfast was still hot.

Azira went through his typical morning routine... brushing hair and teeth, deodorant, finding that one book to read at school (today it was A Tale of Two Cities), you know the drill.

The smell of bacon wafted upstairs, and Aziras stomach rumbled with hunger.

Azira grabbed his bag (a single strap satchel that gave off the vibe of some high end scholar) and went downstairs.

The kitchen was a homey one; kept clean and organized, and photos of Azira and Traunn were hung up on the wall. The counter was a polished white and grey marble, the cabinets a matching white. The appliances were a stainless steel silver, the floor a walnut wood.

The whole house, in fact, was a clean, white one. It wasn't exactly all white, but most of its furnishing and detail were on the lighter side. The walls were a light grey-blue, the trimming white, most of the furniture was white or pale cream. The only dark accent was the floor; it was the same walnut wood throughout. The carpet was a color between grey and beige, which could be either considered on the lighter side or the dark accents.

Azira took a seat at the island on one of the beige barstools, greeted by a plate of continental breakfast.

"Gooood morning," Traunn said.

"Good morning," Azira replied.

"Excited?"

Traunn was referring to the first day back at school.

Azira shrugged. "Not really."

"Aw, you gotta be at least a little excited!"

At this point, they were both eating at the island. The stove was off, and Traunn had taken off his apron. Not a single food stain.

"Ehh..." Azira trailed off, shrugging a little more.

"Not one to get excited over school?" Traunn teased.

"I like school," Azira started, "it's just gotten to the point where I don't get excited over it anymore."

"Mm," Traunn nodded in acknowledgement.

The two ate I silence briefly.

"Know who your teachers are?" Traunn asked.

"Erm..." Azira set down his fork and fumbled through his bag for his schedule. "Not really."

Azira found his schedule, and read through it once more. He nearly had it committed to memory.

First period, history. Second period, English. Third period, PE. Fourth period, chemistry. Lunch. Fifth period, art. Sixth period, study hall. Seventh period, algebra 2.

Not very spectacular or special.

The teachers' names and rooms were written on the schedule, under their respective subjects. So yes, Azira knew their names and where to find them, but aside that he didn't know them.

He slid his schedule over to his dad, and he took a look at it.

"Huh," Traunn said, sliding Azira's schedule back to him.

Azira put away his schedule, and caught a glimpse of the time on his wristwatch.

"Oh!" He got up with a start. He could still catch the bus, if he hurried.

He gathered all his stuff (his bag and phone) and hurried out the door. He was two steps out the door when he felt something was off

Wait a minute. He felt his upper chest, where a ring should be.

Oh how could forget!

He ran back inside and dashed up to his room to grab the ring.

The ring was his late mother's ring, made of gold and with beautiful craftsmanship. It had ornate details of flowers and butterflies. It was her most prized possession. Now it was Azira's. He never wore it on his finger, but instead kept it on a necklace chain and wore it as such.

He once more left the house, barely hearing Traunn's "Have a good day!" on his way out.

He knew that if he ran, he would make it to the bus stop on time. He still had 15 minutes.

He could make it. So he ran.

And just as his calculations predicted, he caught the public transit bus loading its last passengers for that stop.

he got on the bus, winded and slightly sore from running. He found an empty seat and sat down.

He was at least awake. And on a more negative note, slightly sweaty.

Definitely need to get in shape, he thought retrospectively.

The bus engine shivered and went along its way. The next stop was, more or less, 20 minutes away. The stop that Azira needed to get off of anyway. Then it was roughly a 15 minute walk from there to the school.

Azira decided to read.

~~~

The school was a nice one. The exterior of the building itself was red brick, each one nearly fitted into its space. Cobblestone steps led up to the main entry doors. There was brilliant green grass, neatly trimmed and maintained. A raised garden bed were on either side of the steps, with flourishing flowers of many colors. The school was a university campus at one point, but then it was remodeled as a high school. It even had a library on campus that was it's own separate facility. The campus was expansive (more so, expensive).

Azira felt slightly overwhelmed every time he saw it. It wasn't the first time he saw it, but you can't help but feel as though the schools too big.

He walked through the hallway leading to his history class. They were wide and spacious by nature, but with all the students in the halls, it sure damn didn't feel like it.

Azira made himself small and unnoticeable. No one will remember you if you didn't stand out and make a presence. Life was easier that way.

He swerved and dodged his way through the hall, and eventually Azira found the history classroom. It was mostly empty, aside from a few desks with students in them. All of which were busy with their own entertainment... mostly playing their phones.

Azira found a seat close in the back.

He put down his stuff, and continued reading his book.

It felt like a second until the bell rang for school to start. It may have been about 5 minutes, and it had been, but time flies when you're occupied.

Nonetheless, the hallways got even busier as students scrambled to find their classes. Footsteps echoed a cacophony, and chatter was no more than useless noise. The world seemed to rush by in the doorway, between the students filing in the classroom and the students walking outside.

Azira paid no mind to anyone or anything. He simply kept reading.

The warning bell rang once, then again as classes began. The room, at this point, was quite full, both with students and with chatter.

"Okay!"

The teacher rose from his desk in the corner of the room, and the class hushed.

"Good morning, everyone," he walked over to the center of the room, in front of his whiteboard. A few "good mornings" echoed quietly in response.

Azira bookmarked the page he was reading and put it away.

"I'm Professor Wensleydale, and welcome to history class!"

Professor Wensleydale had light, nearly golden brown hair and dark brown eyes. He wore an outfit that screamed his profession - a white dress shirt, buttoned up to the throat, and khaki pants. He had dress shoes that were a common shade of mid-range brown, the kind you see oh so often in the men's formal wear section of a department store. The only splash of color was his tie, a subdued reddish-pink. Thick, round, black glasses sat on the nose of his pale, freckled face. He looks like the type of person who'd read thick books of law for leisure. Bookish, you'd say.

The whole class period was spent on a "get-to-know-you" activity, where you would research your name and write the origins of your name on a piece of printer paper. Azira was a little enthusiastic about this, since he was artistic by nature. He could draw very well, and kept a sketchbook (he has a collection of all his sketchbooks, in fact). Other than that, the class was mostly uneventful.

The bell for second period rang.

"Be sure to bring your posters tomorrow!" Professor Wensleydale called out to the quickly exiting students. "Make them colorful and pretty! We will present them!"

On to second period then, Azira thought.

The school floor plan, it should be noted, was a two story building, plus a library (also two floors) and a separate performing arts wing (technically it was a one story building, but there is an upstairs overheard light control for the theater spotlights). The science and history classrooms were, for the most part, on the bottom floor, plus the cafeteria (foods class is also here). Upstairs were the language arts, math, and non-performing arts electives classes (such as art, pottery, speech and debate, etc).

This is to say that Azira was going from the downstairs history class to an upstairs English class.

The class was half full, most of the desks in the back corner of the room were filled. A few in the front were also filled, but not as such.

Azira found another desk in the back. It was closer to the center of the classroom, but still. The room was filling up rather quickly

Azira didn't particularly notice, because he was reading. Again.

"Excuse me," a voice asked.

It seemed directed to him. Azira looked up.

A tall, thin figure stood over him. Well, over the desk in front of him anyway.

The figure had long crimson hair, wavy and pulled back in a loose pony tail. He wore dark, dark sunglasses, so dark Azira could barely make out his golden-yellow eyes. He wore a leather jacket, a grey tank-top, and baggy jeans with one of those black belts all the queer kids seem to wear. You know the ones. He also wore black boots with a slight heel.

He was good-looking, charming even. There was this energy around him that made him seem more intimidating than he let on, and he definitely looked like he didn't care about anyone's opinion about him.

Azira went warm in the ears.

"'S anyone sittin' here?" He nodded to the desk he was hovering over.

"N-no..." Azira answered quickly, and lowered his eyes back to his book.

"Hm."

The boy sat down at the desk, lazily draping himself over the seat.

Azira glanced back up at the boy. He could only see the back of his red head. He swallowed.

Warmth crept from his ears to his cheeks.

Oh dear...

Azira looked down at his book again, trying to shake off his blush.

The bell rang.

The teacher, Miss Device, stood up and took attendance. Each student said (or at least, something along the lines of) "here" as their names were called.

"Next..." Miss Device thumbed the next name on her roster. "Anthony Crowley?"

She looked up and scanned the room for Anthony Crowley.

The boy in front of Azira rose a nonchalant hand, silent.

"Right," Device thumbed the next name.

So that's his name, Azira thought. It suit him, if he was being honest. He definitely looked like an Anthony...

"Azira Fell?"

Azira looked up with a start, caught off guard.

"Here." Azira raised a hand to make his location within the class known.

He glanced back at Anthony. Then back down at his book. He thought it was best if he continued reading.

"So," Miss Device set down her roster, "We're going to a little activity in pairs, and I'm going to assign partners for you to work with."

She started assigning partners, which was simple and straightforward. The desks were organized in rows of five, and she assigned them within those rows. The first and second desks in that row were partners, the third and fourth desks were partners, and the back two desks were partners. The next row, the fourth and third desks were partners, so on and so forth.

There was one desk left empty, so everyone got a partner, with no odd groups of three.

As it turns out, Azira was paired up with Anthony. Wa-hoo.

The activity was another get-to-know-you activity, but it was the slightly cheesy questionnaire type. It was fun enough, one would think.

Miss Device passed out the papers with the questions on it, and everyone had started once they got their papers.

"So, who's gonna go first?" Anthony asked, turned the wrong way in his chair (sitting chest to the back of the chair).

Azira straightened up a little bit. "I suppose I will."

"Mmkay," Anthony looked down at his paper. "Question one; what's y'name?"

"Azira," He responded. "I can spell it if you want."

"'S all good," Anthony wrote down "Azira" under question one on Azira's desk. "Favorite color."

"I do like yellow quite a bit."

Anthony raised his eyebrows in interest. Or acknowledgement, either one. He continued.

"Favorite school subject?"

"Art, I suppose."

Anthony looked up. "You're an artist, I take?"

Azira nodded.

"Hm," Anthony nodded. "Favorite food."

"I don't really have a favorite."

"Well ya gotta have a favorite," Anthony looked up again, grinning. "Everyone has a favorite food."

"Well..." Azira trailed off, thinking of a meal he enjoyed most.

"Eh, don't matter," Anthony continued on. "How 'bout favorite hobby?"

"Reading," Azira said, before quickly adding, "And drawing too, if you'd like to write that down."

"Hmm," Anthony wrote down both.

There were more questions, about 10 in all, and Azira answered all of them. The rest of the questions included favorite movie/tv show, place, celebrity, book, and animal. They were, as aforementioned, cheesy, but who's one to judge.

It was Azira's turn to ask questions.

"Your name?"

"Y'can put down Crowley."

So he did.

Why his last name? Azira decided not to ask.

"Favorite color?"

"Eh..." Anthony thought some. "I think red. Red."

"Favorite subject?"

"Band, prolly."

Azira looked up with mild surprise. "You're in band?"

"Yeah."

"You don't strike me as the type."

Anthony smiled. "I tend to defy expectations."

"I suppose..."

The two went back and forth, answering the questions for Anthony.

Curiousity got the best of Azira.

"Erm, Anthony-" Azira asked.

"You can just call me Crowley."

"Yes- uh, Crowley," Azira folded his hands together somewhat nervously, afraid he was going to over boundaries with his next question. "Why do you prefer to be called by your last name?"

Crowley gave an amused snort.

"Funny story. Basically, when people want t' really vocalize their hatred or disgust f'r me, they resort to sayin' my last name. Like, oozing with vile hatred sayin' it. It kinda stuck. I like the ring t' it."

"Hmm..." Azira nodded in acknowledgement.

"Okay," Miss Device stood up from her desk. "We're now going to share our answers."

She looked at the class. "Does anyone want to go first?"

~~~

The day went by fairly quickly. Each class was relatively easy to find, and come to find out, Crowley was in most of Azira's classes.

Azira was at home sitting at his desk, drawing. He enjoyed drawing, quite a lot, actually. He felt as though drawing was more of a way to explain many feelings at once in an abstract form, rather than writing paragraphs of diary entries. He did have a journal, but more or less to keep important notes.

He was drawing a portrait of a fictional character. Not any particular character, just one that came to his mind as he went along.

"Azira! Dinner!"

"One moment!"

He closed his sketchbook and put it away in a drawer. He would come back to it, for sure, to finish his drawing. He always does.

He thought about the day at school.

And with that, he thought of crimson hair and yellow eyes, and their unintentional beauty. The image of a what Azira thought was a handsome face came to his mind; the edges of his jawline, the large, slightly pointed nose.

He shoved those thoughts away. He didn't think like that, right? How embarrassing.

Azira went downstairs and sat at the table, where dinner lay waiting and hot.

A steak dinner with potatoes and green beans.

"How was school?"

"Good, I suppose."

Traunn had changed from a full suit to just his shirt and pants. He had already started working on his plate.

"Anything interesting?"

"Not really."

"Oh."

The two mostly ate in silence for the rest of the meal.

~~~

Azira lay in bed, awake even after he was supposed to be asleep. He was just staring at the ceiling. Crowley's face flickered in and out his thoughts.

Wavy locks framing the face. Dark sunglasses hiding barely visible yellow eyes; you really had to look to see em. A grin that radiated smug energy. Surprisingly enough, a band kid. I wonder what instrument he plays...

He really did try not to think about it. But, God damn it, what was the point in trying.

He was thinking on how he would see him again tomorrow. Admittingly, he was looking forward to it. Even just a glance at him, he was looking forward to it.

Well... this certainly isn't unfamiliar territory.

Bugger, Azira thought as he turned over to try and get some sleep. Here we go again.

He closed his eyes, and sleep came to him.

#fhshdjdjsjdjsjdjfhdhdhdhdhg #I'm not much of a writer but I try XDD #good omens #good omens au #hs!au #high school au #ain't no way I'm gonna tag characters 💀#hs!go #high school!good omens #God I'm so cringe 🤣🤣#also if the endings a bit wonky it's because I couldn't just ramble on and on its long enough already.#fuck I'm horrible at this (I'm getting better every time I wrote hush)#RHDHDHSJDJDJFJDJFIFJFUFJ

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purplemagpie · 2 years

Photo

Bound & Free by Ravenheart [2/12]

Rating: Explicit (eventually)

No Archive Warnings Apply

Chapter Word Count: 4.8K

Total Word Count: 11.9K

Inspiration Playlist

Ian’s hours at the station get chopped in half after a bad episode, and he’s days away from having to either move back home or ask his family for rent money. In a merciful twist of fate, he discovers a binding service that might just spare him the shame; all he needs to do is pretend to wanna get married to some stranger for a couple of months and then pull the plug once he’s back on steady footing. Simple enough, right? Too bad keeping things strictly fuckin business with Mickey turns out to be anything but simple.

written for @iansfreckles (cat, forever grateful to share this space with you). endless thank yous to my amazing beta, @gardenerian (working with you fills me with joy, mel), and a shoutout to my witchy beeloved, @gallawitchxx (because you’re the bee’s knees)

#gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless fic #ian x mickey #gallavich fanfiction #shameless #vicky writes

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ask-the-entomologist · 2 years

Photo

|| Sorry for the lack of content lately! I’m a bit of a busy bee right now, but I’m hoping to get back to drawing and answering asks soon- for now, have a very small n sleepy Mel <3

#busy bee: modspeak

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brazilian-organichoney-seleuss · 10 months

Text

SELEUSS - MELINA - BRAZILIAN ORGANIC HONEY TRUFFLES

BATCH 1345B - ON A BED OF BEE POLLEN AND PAILLETES FINS

{ DAT FLOS MEL APIBUS } This truly unique USDA Organic wildflower honey comes from the Brazilian Amazon, it is combined with fresh local organic cream and our specially formulated 55%+ REGINA™ Dark Milk Chocolate to complement its exotic floral notes. Hand-enrobed in a 77%+ MORETTA™ Dark Chocolate, and sprinkled with either safflowers or Bee Pollen from PNW Honey Co. or rests on a bed of chocolate Pailletés fins with Bee Pollen. (B1345, 1346, 1347) Pairing: Glenmorangie: Nector d’Or, Tawnys, and Espresso drinks. INTERNATIONAL TASTE INSTITUTE (Brussels) Superior Taste Award 2022 & 2023: 3-STARS. BEST BEFORE: 04-06-2024

INGREDIENTS: Chocolate (Cacao Beans, Sugar, FULL CREAM MILK, LACTOSE, Cacao Butter, Sunflower & soy Lecithin, Vanilla), Brazilian organic honey, organic cream, glucose, safflower, bee pollen, DARK PAILETTES FINS (SUGAR, UNSWEETENED CHOCOLATE, COCOA BUTTER, WHOLE MILK POWDER, MILKFAT, NATURAL VANILLA FLAVOR). CONTAINS: SOY, MILK, LACTOSE, honey. THIS PRODUCT IS PROCESSED IN A FACILITY THAT CONTAINS MILK, EGGS, WHEAT, HAZELNUTS, ALMONDS, PEANUTS AND OTHER NUTS. WARNING: Do not feed honey or honey related products like bee pollen to infants under 1 year of age. Ingredients From: Brazil, Ecuador, Colombia, Ivory Coast, Vietnam, France, and United States.

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djmordecai · 11 months

Video

youtube

Rare Formz - Brand New Funk (official music video)

beats & cuts by @DJMordecai

lyrics & vocals by Chris Miller

engineered by James Swisher

Rare Formz lettering by Brad Bacon

from 2015's @rareformz6905 Rare Formz - The Album https://rareformz.bandcamp.com/album/...

a tribute to @djjazzyjeff & The Fresh Prince ( @WillSmith ) - Brand New Funk

as well as an homage to our hip-hop heroes.

shoutout to @TheFoundationhiphop

LYRICS:

Brand New Funk (Get Down!) (Get Down!) Brand New Funk (funky) (Hit It!) Brand New Funk (Get Down!) (Get Down!) Brand New Funk (funky) (Hit It!) Brand New Funk (Get Down!) (Get Down!) Brand New Funk (funky) (Hit It!) Brand New Funk (Get Down!) (Get Down!) Brand New Funk (funky) (Hit It!)

[Chris Miller - Verse 1] They want that old school rap back and cats want it ASAP so I'mma flip it on niggas, the track be the gym mat I’m at a high demand for rap fans I'm Outstanding like the Gap Band, check soundscans, More money than ever so ain't no margin for error and I've been eatin’ on MC’s since Tougher Than Leather and my peoples got my back, like Africans with Mandela. So you better put them glocks down like you were Heather ‘cause I get high like Dominique smokin’ the chronic leaf and I'm in and out the future like Quantum Leap Come follow me. I flow off old school beats just like Mahogany I'm so ‘90s with the gold chain and rockin’ wallabees I still gangsta boogie Kool G Rap my ass off get stomped out for pressin’ that fast forward Sucka MCs ain’t ready for fastball ‘cause my style intense like you takin’ that crash course

[Chorus] my DJ [rock the beat] shout out to Marley Marl big ups to Chubb Rock Special Ed and Ice-T Monie Love and Geto Boys Schoolly D and Run-DMC Spoonie Gee and Rob Base Nice & Smooth all day man.

[Verse 2] I stayed criminal minded BDP first album, that was ‘87.I was up in project housin’ D.O.C. came with No One Could Do It Better. Then that Paid In Full album had a nigga wantin’ chedda. I freestyle in project hallways all day. Then Sir-Mix-A-Lot had that Posse On Broadway Flow like the incredible letter man. Red said, whateva, man. Big drove the caravan in Maryland. I was a student of the game when I learned from Kane before Meth I was bringin’ the pain like Memphis Bleek, I was comin’ of age I wanted to be Cool J when he walked on stage. He was King Hercules. He walked like a panther. Sun Rise In The East that Jeru Tha Damaja I reminisce like Pete Rock and CL peace to Melle Mel. Shante the illest female

[Chorus] my DJ: (rock the beat) Shout out to De La Soul Craig G and Pete Nice Whodini, MC Shan Juice Crew, Ice Cube Shock G, Jungle Brothers Black Sheep and Latifah Peace shout to Nicki D

[Verse 3] Whatchu know ‘bout Milk and Giz? And ain't nobody rock a party like Biz I want to dance like The Kangol Kid Scoob and Scrap Lover, Trouble T-Roy, even DJ Kool Herc even invented the b-boy. Take a look around like Master Ace, Public Enemy got me hype when they said they wanted “BASS!” Flavor Flav was the first hype man, I love British Knights, but really I was a Fila fan. Just somethin’ you wanna hear like Gang Starr and Premier with that flava in your ear. That Craig Mack that’s real Love MC Ren, but when Lyte dropped Paper Thin, cats like Drake wouldn'ta made it back then we had Prince Paul, Large Professor, big Daddy-O can't forget Kurtis Blow them word and real rap shows Parrish and Erick Sermon, Heavy D from Mount Vernon Joeski Love he even did the Pee-Wee Herman

[Chorus] to my DJ: (rock the beat) shout out to Doug E. Fresh Dana Dane and Slick Rick the whole Get Fresh Crew Steady B, Kool Moe Dee Cold Crush Brothers and Busy Bee Prince Rakeem and UTFO Fat Boys and Chill Rob G. And we out. Yeah, can't forget my DJs, shout out to: DJ Kool Herc DJ Red Alert Paul C Jazzy Jeff Cash Money Grandmaster Flash Mr. Magic DJ Hollywood Jazzy Jay Eddie Cheeba DJ Charlie Chase DJ Chuck Chillout The Masterdon and DJ Davy DMX

fresh to death, man.

#youtube #rareformz #chrismiller #brandnewfunk #djjazzyjeff #freshprince #tribute #throwbacks #oldschool #homage #thefoundation #classic #hiphop #oldschoolhiphop #pioneers #rap #heroes

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