[Sunniedew]

"oooooh... this would look perfect with my outfit..."

huge wip

[peachycupcake525]

username: Peachycupcake525
name:
gender:
prompt answer:

WIP

[chamomile.]

a dream bean oh my
res with when he accidentally became king of thieves

[evil.]

gosh im,, what a beauty res

[zakuro.]

username: zakuro.
name: wip
gender: nonbinary
☠

[lysander]

 



lysander  |  yves  |  male

human fullbody sketch by me



vignette;

they told him he'd do great things.
they never told him when or how — not even what — but that's what they told him, and every time they did he could almost feel the bile in his throat threaten to spill. he'd color his words with bitterness if he could, spitting fire and brimstone like the soul roaring wild in his chest. he likes his rock loud and hard — speakers blaring, windows down, red lights run through joyrides at 3am. the smell of gasoline mixing with the night air and the breeze lifting away the thousands of thoughts collecting in his mind.

his name is yves. son of a ceo and celebrity. if his father wasn't watching him, the paparazzi made up for it tenfold. during the day, he could feel eyes driving into him, picking apart every motion, tick, and word. his father always said heavy is the head that wears the crown — but he never said how heavy. he never said that the weight of expectations on his shoulders could crush souls. he was no son of a saint — he was just some ordinary guy who just so happened to be born into a family who paid people to park their limousines for them. a family in which a couple million dollars was chump change. a family known for their philanthropy and gracious generosity.

privileged two-faced pigs. tch. yves knew better.
they only did nice things to make themselves feel like good people.

maybe it was presumptuous to think of himself as a modern day atlas, with the whole world on his back and waiting for him to screw up. he didn't know, didn't care. he takes off the suit and tie when the sun goes down and puts on a leather jacket and jeans and eats grey poupon straight out of the jar with a sterling silver butter knife. he takes his black corvette out and does doughnuts five miles outside their two billion dollar estate, some late 90's punk rock band screaming from his car as his tires screech against the asphalt. the sound of it all takes him away from everything back at home— his education, business, the constant onslaught of interviews and phone calls soliciting him for a product endorsement.

the facade he wore in public was so well practiced he wondered if he'd ever forget how to be himself.



///


drabble (incomplete but www i'll leave it in);


the first time i met him, i was attending some kind of charity event hosted by his father. some dumb, boring shmoozefest thinly veiled under the guise of philanthropy. i guess "attending" wasn't really what i was doing — i was behind the buffet bar, refilling drinks and hors d'oeuvres while watching the minute hand on my watch inch ever slowly towards my break. in the background, i could make out snippets of conversation — fleeting words i could string together enough to get vague idea of what was going on. apparently, ben skandinsky, host of the event, just donated another five hundred mil to some non-profit organization. something about hospitals in africa? i mean, charity's charity, but the way everyone in the room spoke made skandinsky sound like he was some kind of living saint. as wine glasses emptied, i could tell what everyone was trying to do — get in a good word with the guy with the money. they'd spit praise every time skandinsky passed their table, talking louder in hopes that he'd hear them. pathetic.

in the corner of my eye, i noticed one young man shift uncomfortably in his seat. sitting at the front of the ball room was yves skandinsky, son of the host. a son of one of the most beloved philanthropists in the world today, and someone who had all the expectation in the world hoisted onto his shoulders. i'd read about him plenty of times before — he was intensely private, unlike his father, and the scowl on his face seemed to be permanently sealed on. at least, that's what i thought until i caught him with a smile donned as some old lady in gold earrings spoke to him. his entire demeanor seemed to change in a faction of a second, from some lone wolf to prince in the blink of an eye.

i know a good actor when i see one. you learn some things when you work in customer service.

i don't know what possessed me after that. i just remember this weird, intense urge to talk to him. to uncover what was hiding beneath the surface of his facade. i guess maybe i saw myself in him, in retrospect. someone running away from the reality presented before them. a future written in check signatures and expensive ties. my situation was, of course, a little different — i wasn't about to inherit billions of dollars in cash and premium real estate, but the way he looked as he was shoving salad around on his dinner plate made me realize that maybe rich kids had problems too.

i didn't know this at the time though. all i thought at that moment was, why the heck does he look so unhappy? i mean, i would've killed to not slave over a stove every day taking complaints from people so rich they could've hired people to spoonfeed them. but i couldn't get his eyes out of my head — distant, wistful, distracted. eyes that spoke more truth than his words ever did. as soon as my break came around, i took off, headed towards the VIP table without a second thought.

then, i was there. standing awkwardly in front of yves skandinsky, with not even a single clue as to what i was doing. he looked at me with some degree of surprise, but it soon faded away when he noticed my uniform.

"i don't want anything. thanks, though."

"oh, uh— sorry. i'm actually on break right now."

yves raised his brow at me.

"erm, well—" oh god. i stuttered. real smooth. "—uh, i was wondering, actually—"

"if it's an autograph, can it wait until the q&a after dinner?"

"er— no, i mean— no, i don't want anything like that. actually, i..."

"you...?"

"...was wondering if you'd like to grab a coffee with me. sometime. if you're. uh. free."

yves blinked at me incredulously. it occurred to me, then, that i accidentally asked him out on a date. before i could backtrack and rescind my offer, yves did something i would've never expected— he laughed. god. i remember blood rushing to my face like water down the niagara falls.

"oh man... you're the first waiter that's ever asked me out for coffee."

"uh... is that a bad thing?"

"no, no. i love coffee. i'll do it."

something about his demeanor immediately softened from before. i spent all night trying to figure out just exactly why he said yes, but in the end i guess the answer was simple: he wanted a change of pace.

[c.]


fast forward two weeks. now go back one. the week prior to our coffee date had me sweating bullets over text messages i wrote and never sent. draft after draft after draft. hey yves! i can't wait for our date — no, too eager. gotta play it cool — yo, sup yves, what's shakalakin' — no. just no — hey so i'm totally a nervous wreck right now and i've been wondering if — god. i wanted to sink into the floor at that very moment. or get zapped by lightning. i would've taken either or at that point.

while i was mulling over convenient ways to disappear, a notification lit up my phone. a text from yves himself. speak of the devil.


yves: question
yves: do you like rock
yves: specifically black metal

me: uh, i mean, i never really tried it before...

yves: but would you be opposed to it
yves: or are you more like
yves: okay with it

me: i guess i don't think i'd mind?

yves: ok
yves: noted

i should've realized by then that yves wasn't exactly what i previously expected. a week later, when he pulled up to my driveway in a black corvette, i could overhear him in a tense conversation with what was supposedly his mother. i climbed in, in my plain ol' sweater and jeans, trying not to eavesdrop— but yves didn't stop talking. just leave me alone for god's sake mom, i'm just going out for coffee. i'll make it in time for the interview, okay?

he hung up abruptly, tossing his phone into his drink compartment with a little tch. i sank into my seat, trying to make myself disappear until yves spoke.

"sorry about that. you didn't need to hear it."

"oh— uh, it's fine! i don't really mind."

"no, really. i bet you didn't expect me to have parent issues, huh?"

that blindsided me. yves wasted no time in breaking down barriers. at length, i replied.

"i mean... you must have a lot of pressure on you, yeah? being ben skandinsky's son and all."

something weird happened — the tension in the air immediately melted as soon as yves opened his mouth.

"oh my god, you have no friggin' idea dude. i can't even turn on some music without getting a lecture these days. speaking of which..."

yves motioned towards his glove compartment, urging me to open it. inside was a collection of cds, disheveled from driving. black sabbath. judas priest. megadeth. bands i remember my dad listening to in the car back in the day.

"i would've thought you'd be a spotify kind of guy."

yves shrugged. "i like cds. they're kind of old school, but it's nice having that physical copy, y'know?"


[res: robert and yves go out more— to the movies, to the mall, to things far more "normal" than robert expected, considering he's with a multi-millionaire. after a joyride down the pacific coast, yves confesses he feels out of place and under pressure with his family. mr. skandinsky is strict and unforgiving. his mother's no better, constantly guilt tripping him by using his privileges against him, i.e., "there's plenty of kids far worse off than you. why are you such a screw up still?" — robert offers condolences, awkward advice. yves is silent for a while, but at length admits he's had a wonderful time with robert these last few months. fastforward: yves hasn't replied to robert's texts for a few weeks. robert is concerned, until he receives a letter in the mail from yves, who is writing from thailand. says he's chosen to run away, so to say, to find a purpose of his own— not his parents. he doesn't know when he'll be back. he thanks robert for everything, and attached to the letter is a mixtape with all of yves' favorite punk rock songs. scene closes out with robert digging up his old cassette player and hitting play.]


///


ooc; MMM this isn't as complete as i'd like it but i'm too tired to work on it more pfhahaha;;; i intended to write like some dumb 3k fic but i hated how it was going so,,, i wrote a shorter vignette instead to capture yves' personality and character ;;;; good luck everyone!!

[Grian]

username:
.ss.
name:
Damien Uwam
gender:
demiboy
prompt answer:
res with bein forced to wear a flower crown because lmao gotta ruin that tough guy' act

[tragedy,]

wonderland, | oliver | he/him

he who once wore a crown
hide through most of his life
wishing not to be on this world
before he knew his destiny

years later his heart yearn for more
a bigger more filling life
a more dangerous life

leaving his huddle of a home
he walked the world leading marches and protests
knowing he was doing good

getting older
losing strength
not working
money loss

he had no choice
a new world awaited him
in his dreams
in his death

[Birdy]

[Ember!]

username: Emberwisp
name: Magnar
gender: Male
prompt answer: he was a king of vicious warriors. he was strong and powerful, but he had locked his kingdom in a cruel tyranny. he never saw his fall coming. a group of rebels overthrew him from his throne, banishing him so he could never return. he niw lives as a wildman in the mountains, too bitter and proud to admit his faults and make peace.