#also I love how Hoven's POV allows me to be Literary about it

[void-botanist]

♾️ ♾️ ♾️ lets GO

From this ask game.

YEAH BOY

27. Small Memory by Jon Hopkins

Hoven sat on the moss-edged bench, rubbing at the bridge of his snout like it would make the tears stop prickling at his eyes. When he turned back, Syndy wasn’t there. She was still forty feet away, standing stiffly over the half ledger stone he’d just been standing at. Her head was tilted to stare down at it, but nothing below her neck had shifted in turn. Her hands still clutched the label-ridden silver tin that held Gweltsen. Behind her, the clouds had fully gathered in preparation for an early-autumn storm, the breeze sending a handful of fallen leaves skittering across the sea of flat gravestones, ruffling the skirts of her deep blue dress around her knees. It felt like she would never move from that half-silhouetted spot, as though she too was part of the grave marker, but then she was stepping with haste down the row, her head still bowed, her face haloed by windblown locks of grey. When she reached him, she stood over him, casting him in vague shadow. Slowly, the angle of her neck eased, and she met his eyes with a look he could only describe as haunted. “I can’t do it.”

64. bad idea by Ariana Grande

It really was a lavish affair, this wedding. Fabian doubted his family could have done any better. In fact, their version would have been worse—more straight-laced, less free-flowing with the brandy. Accepting his sidecar from the bartender, he turned to get a visual on the foreigner who’d been half-orbiting Isabel since the ceremony. They were tall, and loud, and beautiful in their oddly cut suit, so it shouldn’t be this hard to find them—ah. They were sitting at the other end of the bar, with an empty seat on either side of them, like an open invitation. He tried not to think about what it would mean if it wasn’t an invitation as he moved over to one of those seats. They glanced up as he put a hand on a seat beside them. “This seat taken?” he asked. “It is now,” they said with a smile that definitely was inviting. He set his drink on the bar and took his place. “I’m Fabian. He-him.” “Oh, so you’re Fabian. I’ve been wondering.” “Have you heard about me?” If they heard it from Isabel who knew what had been said. “Oh, sure,” they said with a grin. “Good things, though. Very good things.” “Really? Well, if a gentleman such as yourself would like to do more than hear, I think I could arrange that. What’s your name?” They waved a hand as though they were trying to erase something. “Look at me, being rude. I’m Tatiana, she-her or whatever you feel like.” Shit. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.” “I didn’t say you assumed wrong,” they said, running their tongue along their back teeth in a way that was probably not meant to be seductive but worked on him anyway. “I’ll be anyone’s gentleman for a good arrangement.”

40. Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic by The Police

This one is probably on here because it's on a Spinder/Isabel playlist but I decided to go Wylie/Vy instead:

She always leaves me with the umbrella, says I need it more, because if I get wet then I’ll get cold. Law of evaporation. Unfortunately she’s right, but she never stays under the umbrella either. She’s always two stalls ahead of me in the market while I’m a one-swl procession, making my way down the middle with all the shopping bags on my arms. I guess I should be flattered in a nebulous kind of way. She’s rarely excited enough to go flitting around like this, but then she’s never been to an open market in fourth. Never been home with me in this home that isn’t home. And to watch her, it’s…I wonder if I have that same soft look on my face that my parents always have for each other. I wonder if she can tell.

Nicea taglist: @kahvilahuhut @kk7-rbs @outpost51 @writernopal @athenswrites