#I don’t know much about poetry I just picked a random one from a list | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

desperatecheesecubes · 1 year ago

Text

Anyway since June is done and we’re officially halfway through the year let’s do a mid year reading review. This won’t include the single issue comics or the TPBs I’ve read but it will include any graphic novels I’ve read just FYI. It also doesn’t have the manga I read on here because I’m lazy.

There’s supposed to be a readmore cut here but tumblr keeps deleting them from my posts

Blink-Malcom Gladwell: 0.5 stars. What a load of shit. Love to read about someone completely unqualified make random connections between different studies he clearly does not understand. Do not waste your time reading this.

Wolf by Wolf-Ryan Graudin: *Reread* 5 stars. If you haven’t read this series yet and you love/can handle heavy topics in literature do yourself a favor and pick it up.

View With a Grain of Sand: Selected Poems- Wistawa Szymborska: 3 stars I don’t read poetry very often but a few in this collection were phenomenal. There was one about school girls becoming monsters, I believe, and I remember it really struck me.

The Only Woman in the Room-Marie Benedict: 2 stars I don’t know how to describe it really but if you look at the authors picture she writes EXACTLY the way you would think she would. Absolutely no nuance. It’s a compelling narrative but someone else would have written it better.

Untamed-Glennon Doyle: 3 stars I really liked the part where she said ‘I don’t remember things. I write them.’ Because there were multiple times reading this that I went ‘oh fuck off your child did NOT say that’

Blood for Blood-Ryan Graudin: *reread* 5 stars See review for Wolf by Wolf

Courage to soar: A body in motion, a life in balance-Simone Biles: 3 stars Simone should have hired a better ghost writer. Also, holy crap her family is rich. I struggle with Amy ‘underdog’ narrative where literally all troubles are completely resolved before the person is in double digits. Not to knock on Simone’s childhood by any means, but I simply would not call it an underdog story.

Hench-Natalie Zina Walschots: *reread* 5 stars Everything I want from a superhero novel and more. God it’s so good. We love to see a woman succeed. I am SO excited that a sequel was announced you have no idea. One of these days I want to take this, How to Date a Superhero and Not Die Trying and Dr Horrible and write an essay about superhero’s and what they do to people but I will probably never get around to it.

Lost in the Moment and Founs-Seanan McGuire: 5 stars The Wayward Children series is so good man, it’s so good. Grief and loss and moving on and acceptance and living with what has happened to you and surviving and all handled so so brilliantly.

The Nightingale-Kristin Hannah: 5 stars I took my time getting to this one but I’m glad I did. It is as heavy and sad as people say but it is very very good. Much like Wolf by Wolf (and for the same reasons) this book is not for everyone but if you can handle the material I do recommend it.

Crying in H Mart-Michelle Zauner: 4 stars A very honest narrative of grief and loss. If you’ve lost a loved one recently I recommend this for some good ole cathartic crying.

To Kill a Mockinbird-Harper Lee: *reread* 5 stars It’s a classic for a reason, what more can I say? When I read this in high school I hadn’t yet had to live in Missippi though so it was really interesting to revisit it with that knowledge. I also deeply enjoyed the book club Gi, Mike and I formed for this book haha.

The Woman at the Front-Lecia Cornwall: 2.5 stars This was the authors first non romance book and you could tell. Why was it necessary for all the men to fall into love with the protagonist???? On the war front????? Who has time for that!

Me Malcom’s List-Suzanne Allain: 3 stars This was a really funny read. If you want to just kick back and read a Regency romp this is a perfect book for it. Nothing deep, no smut, just a fun time.

Chivalry of a Failed Knight vol 4- Riku Misora: 3 stars Every day I wake up and wish Alice was in a better series. It’s not BAD it’s just very average.

Even Though I Knew the End- C.L. Polk: 4 stars I really would have enjoyed this as a novella series or a full length novel. Who doesn’t love crime solving historical lesbians??

Teen Titans: Robin-Kami Garcia & Gabriel Picolo- 3 stars The fact that they had Dick and Damian have an age gap of only like 3 years was so jarring to me haha. The pacing in this one wasn’t the best that the series has had either but I’m excited for the next installment, they’re pretty fun for what they are.

Mysteries of Thorn Manor-Margaret Rogerson: 3 stars This was so fun, I love these guys so much and I was DELIGHTED that we’d get more in their world. If it was a little longer I’m sure it would have wheedled 4 stars out of me. Elisabeth stomping around in the full body armor all day had me laughing out loud. I should reread Sorcery of Thorns.

Miss Latimore’s Letter-Suzanne Allain: 3.5 stars This one thought a little bit more about what it wanted to say which lead to a bit of a deeper story but also a slower pace. Still fun but less gut busting than Allain’s first novel.

The Rebel Mages-Laurie Forest: *reread* 5 stars Embarking upon my yearly reread of the Black Witch Chronicles. I need everyone to read these books I am OBSESSED with them. I’ll spare you a paragraph after each entry but just now I am, at all times, screaming about Lukas Gray. I love that boy beyond all reason.

The Black Witch-Laurie Forest: *reread* 5 stars

The Iron Flower-Laurie Forest: *reread* 5 stars

Castle in the Air-Diana Wynne Jones: 4 stars Solidly the second best entry in the Howls Moving Caslte trilogy, the audible narrator for this one was brilliant, I loved listening to it. Abdullah is so fucking funny, why is he like this all the time????

The Poet X-Elizabeth Acevedo: 4 stars The main characters struggle with her relationship with her mother was one I relate to very much. The struggle to exist in the body of a woman and to suddenly be responsible for other people’s reactions to it?? Yeah that hit close to home too.

The Shadow Wand-Laurie Forest: *reread* 4 stars Listen I am Lukas Grays biggest fan but I can also admit that this one struggled with pacing a little bit. Like it’s still phenomenal but I’m also HONEST.

An Enchantment of Ravens- Margaret Rogerson: 3 stars There were significantly less ravens than I expected. Sorcery of Thorns is undeniably the better book.

The Demon Tide-Laurie Forest: *reread* 4 stars It’s at this point in the series where you lament the fact that Forest wasn’t able to publish the side novellas she wanted to. This is somehow a 700 page Valentine’s Day novella and then about 100 pages of extreme action at the end. You might say to yourself, Cheese your not selling this very well. I do not need to. The first book will sell it all for me.

Raybearer-Jordan Ifueko: *reread* 4 stars The world building of this is so brilliant.

The Ones We Burn-Rebecca Mix: 3 stars First of all the fact that Mix managed to finish and publish this after a TBI deserves to be commended. HEAVILY inspired by ATLA haha. As for the accusations that this book is a reverse racism fantasy…. 1.) the ‘oppressors’ we’re children who were actively working to change the corrupt system they’d inherited 2.) it is stated multiple times that the ‘oppressed’ were very diverse. Yeah the main character was white but not all of the witches were. But everyone is allowed to come to their own conclusions. All in all I think it had some good things to say but suffered from repetition and first-publication sloppiness. I’d be interested to see what else Mix puts out.

Unbreakable-Mira Grant: 5 stars Seanan McGuire does magical girls? There was never a possibility this wouldn’t get 5 stars from me. Would love more entires in this world. A prequel???? Please???

Slaughter House Five-Kurt Vonnegut: 4 stars It’s a classic. So it goes.

Redemptor-Jordan Ifueko: 3 stars No one was more devastated that this book fell victim to second-published-Book-syndrome than me. I do hope Ifueko continues to write novels but this one was a let down.

& This is How to Stay Alive-Shingai Njeri Kagunda: 4 stars Magical surrealism doesn’t always work for me but I do love me some explorations of grief

House of Many Ways-Diana Wynne Jones: 3 stars Definitely the weakest in the trilogy. I loved seeing Howl and Sophie again and am forever grieved that this is all we’ll ever have of them.

Bitter Medicine-Mia Tsai: 4 stars All in all a brilliant debut. I really enjoyed how mature the characters were, misunderstandings were clarified as soon as they were discovered, they both let the other explain themselves even when they were emotional. This is how you write adult romance YALL. Can’t wait for Tsai’s next publication.

Blade of Secrets-Tricia Levenseller: 3 stars Levenseller books are so easy to read. Just quick and simple light reading. I’ll have to pick up the sequel at some point.

The Secret Service of Tea and Treason-India Holton: 4 stars I don’t remember if the characters are explicitly stated to be autistic or if they’re just canonically neurodivergent with a general hand wavy diagnoses but it was nice to see some representation in romance all the same. This trilogy is so funny, but I think this one is probably the weakest link.

To Have and to Hoax-Martha Waters: 2 stars Take a shot every time James says some variation of ‘he WAS a man after all’ and you’ll die of alcohol poisoning. Why did Violet get pardoned of all guilt while James was treated as having been completely in the wrong the entire time???? There’s one VERY shoehorned conversation amongst the supporting cast that was clearly included just to set up the next book in the series and it was very jarring. That being said the writing itself is good.

The Hunger Games-Suzanne Collins: *reread* 5 stars: Yes haha we all know I reread this series and lost my mind

Catching Fire-Suzanne Collins: *reread* 5 stars

Mockingjay-Suzanne Collins: *reread* 5 stars

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes-Suzanne Collins: 5 stars I was hesitant to pick this up but it turns out that was foolish because whoops it’s a banger. Big hype for the movie. I don’t care if I’m falling for the capitalization of the anti capitalism series.

The Kiss of Deception- Mary E. Pearson: *reread* 4 stars I think this was the first time I’ve read this trilogy since high school and I wasn’t really expecting it to hold up, but it has aged very well. I love the concept of having a prince and an assassin after the main character with not even the reader knowing who’s who. After the halfway mark it really diverges from your typed YA affair into deeper territory and I appreciate that a lot.

The Hunger Games-Suzanne Collins: *reread* 5 stars Yes yes I was crazy to reread this series twice in a month I KNOW

Catching Fire-Suzanne Collins: *reread* 5 stars

Mockingjay-Suzanne Collins: *reread* 5 stars

The heart of Betrayal-Mary E. Pearson: *reread* 4 stars high school me enjoyed this one the least but honestly it does so much heavy world building and fleshes out the different cultures so we’ll.

The Beauty of Darkness-Mary E. Pearson: *reread* 5 stars I love Rafe he’s such a good love interest. It would be easier to recommend these books if they didn’t have the most unfortunate YA titles ever.

Daughter of the Moon Goddess- Sue Lynn Tan: *reread* 4 stars The writing for this duology is so fascinating to me. It’s very similar to how many Japanese light novels read once translated. Anyway Liwei must be protected at all costs. A very comforting read.

The Remarkable Retirement of Edna Fisher- E.M. Anderson: 5 stars Holy shit was an awesome debut!!! I was really surprised by how quickly I fell in love with the found family in this. Just brilliant. Can’t wait for Andersons next work I will definitely be picking it up.

The Princess and the Grilled Cheese-Deya Muniz: 3 stars This was very cute. I enjoyed that the author didn’t care about historical accuracy with clothing and decided to really play around with it by including obviously out of place things like refrigerators and Switches. As anyone who knows me knows I am crazy about historical fashion but as long as the material knows it’s not being serious I won’t take it serious either.

Rosemary and Rue-Seanan McGuire: 3 stars At this point I should just admit that I will read pretty much whatever McGuire puts out. Her writing is extremely suited to my tastes.

Strangers In Court-Seanan McGuire: 3 stars Turns out I love Tybalt. Who would have guessed?

Legendborn-Tracy Deonn: *reread* 5 stars Yeah no this series in brilliant and if you haven’t read it you absolutely should. Love me some good Arthurian stories

Bloodmarked-Tracy Deonn: 5 stars Surprising no one I love Sel

#mine #literature #this took forever to write up hahahaha #tumblr stop getting rid of my readmore cuts challenge #guess who got the cut to work again!!!

0 notes

likeshipsonthesea · 4 years ago

Note

I don’t know if you take requests for nurseydex fics... but if you do the song “omg did she call him baby” by Beth McCarthy screams a heartbroken Nursey when Dex has a girlfriend

i like really can’t do genuine heartbreak but i CAN do angst that ends happy, so here’s my best shot :)

Nursey’s got a red Solo cup in one hand and a plastic champagne flute in the other and it’s sometime after three but before five and he is definitely not thinking about her or him or them together when he looks up between one sip and another to see the telltale blue hair reflecting the murky spotlights of the basement.

Nursey squints. He could be making things up--his brain is nice like that-- but he doesn’t think he’s imagining things. She’s got very distinctive hair, Dex’s--girlfriend. It’d been rather disappointing, actually, the blue hair. The whole thing had been easier to deal with when he’d been picturing some light-haired brunette going for an economics degree who smiled like a mom at soccer practice. Someone who Nursey could reasonably dislike on grounds of, like, predictability.

But no, Dex had to bring home a blue-haired physics major with a nose ring and good taste in music and the ability to out-argue Shitty while polishing off Bitty’s pie, i.e. perfect. Even Lardo couldn’t pretend like she wasn’t awesome for Nursey’s sake. Even Nursey can’t pretend like Amanda isn’t awesome for his own sake. She’s just so--so--

Nursey squints.

So-- making out with some random girl in a blouse at a frat party.

What the fuck.

Nursey is about two margaritas and three years too deep to be dealing with the emotional ramifications of catching the girlfriend of his best friend (who he’s also kind of sort of possibly maybe totally in love with) macking on some consultant for Goldman Sachs or some shit in the basement of arguably one of the worst frats at Samwell. This one doesn’t even have good music, Nursey’s only here to get drunk without the possibility of Dex calling Nursey Patrol and helping Nursey up the stairs and saying nothing about the poetry Nursey spills or the way his hands linger.

(Fuck does Nursey hate Nursey Patrol, fuck does he hate how much he loves it.)

Nursey downs the rest of the champagne flute--which was probably mostly orange juice at this point anyway-- and hands the red Solo cup to a freshman gearing himself up to talk to a cute boy a few feet away and then Nursey gets the fuck out of dodge. He manages to get a better look at the corporate recruiter Amanda is cheating on Dex with (and really, if you’re going to cheat on Dex, you’re really going to pick a chick in a blouse that probably has opinions on the stock market???) and if he hadn’t been sure before, the distinctive tattoo on Amanda’s shoulder proves that it’s really her.

(“Tattoos? Tattoos? I have tattoos.” “I know you do, Nurse.” “They’re really nice tattoos.” “I know they are, Nurse.”)

Emerging from the basement and then the frat house itself is instantly sobering. The chill from winter hasn’t quite left the air at night and Nursey wraps his arms around himself and doesn’t think about how Dex chirped him about not wearing a coat before he’d left. The frat isn’t far away from the Haus, thank god, but it is slightly farther when he turns left instead of right and then has to a backtrack a bit, but he still gets back in under ten minutes and he can still feel his hands, so overall, a win.

Attempting to get into the Haus quietly is a lost cause, given its one thousand year old floor and the fact that a ladybug could fart in the kitchen and wake up the guys in the attic. Still, Nursey gives it the good college try, which is why he’s creeping ridiculously through the living room when the light turns on suddenly and he screams, much to the amusement of Dex, standing in the kitchen doorway.

“Fuck, dude, what the fuck.”

Dex just smirks in that horribly attractive way of his. “How was the Psi-U basement?”

Nursey thinks of blue hair, washed out in the lights, Amanda’s hand on that girl’s cheek, the way Dex smiles when he’s around her. “Fine,” Nursey says, swaying.

The amusement falters and Nursey wishes he could figure out a way to keep the smile on Dex’s face the way Amanda does. Dex takes a step closer. “Are you alright?”

Nursey shakes his head violently and takes a step back, a step farther away. This is the part where he says yes, yes of course Dexy-darling, I’m right as rain, what about you? This is the part where Dex rolls his eyes and loops his arm around Nursey’s waist, his warm side pressed into Nursey’s. The part where they go upstairs, where Nursey writes his best poetry that he’s too embarrassed to write down when he’s sober, where Dex tells him to sleep well and lingers outside the doorway long enough for Nursey’s breathing to slow and then the floor creaks and Nursey knows he’s gone and wishes he’d held on just a little bit longer--

“Nursey, what’s wrong?”

Nursey shakes his head again. He means to say nothing, he means to say, I’m going to bed, he means to-- “Amanda, she--”

The concern turns to alarm. Why can’t Nursey ever make it better? “Is she alright? Did you see her? Is she okay?”

Nursey shakes his head again. He can’t seem to stop doing that. “She’s fine, she--she--” He swallows, and it’s sticky, cloying, citrusy and sweet on the back of his tongue. “She--there was this girl, she-- Amanda, she--”

Dex won’t stop frowning, concern knitting his eyebrows together with three short wrinkles, and Nursey has wanted to smooth them out with his fingertips every time he sees them since sophomore year, and he shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be telling Dex this while he’s drunk, shouldn’t be telling Dex this at all, but he’s Nursey’s friend first and Nursey has to believe he’d tell Dex regardless of the love thing, he must--

“She was kissing some girl. In the Psi-U basement.”

The wrinkles smooth out. The amusement returns. Nursey--he can’t make sense of it over the ringing in his ears. Why is Dex smiling? Did--did Nursey do that?

“Did she look like a lawyer?” he asks, and at Nursey’s confusion clarifies, “The girl Amanda was kissing. Did she look like a lawyer?” Nursey nods dumbly. Dex’s smile only grows. Nursey is so, so confused and also more in love than he’s ever been. “Finally. I just won fifty bucks.”

What the fuck. “What the fuck.”

Dex laughs--laughs. “The girl’s name is Tammy. She graduated last year and moved to Boston. Amanda’s been in love with her forever, and I bet her that she’d get with Tammy before I--” Flush appears high on Dex’s cheeks, the soft pink one that means embarrassment and Nursey imagines would taste like cherry pie against his lips.

Nursey is--still quite a bit drunk. He needs--clarification. “You--you bet your girlfriend that she would get with her friend at a frat party?”

Dex’s nose scrunches up in Nursey’s favorite way--the same way it does when he’s trying to write humanities essays, the reason Nursey always says yes when Dex asks for help. “Girlfriend? Did you think Amanda was my girlfriend?”

Nursey remembers the start, hearing about Amanda every other day, then every day, then it was, sorry I can’t come, I’m meeting Amanda at-- and then one day at Annie’s, a girl with blue hair and a sharp grin yelled Babe! from across the room and planted a kiss on Dex’s cheek, her hand lingering on his shoulder, sipping from his coffee cup, getting him to smile like that--

“Well, yeah.” Nursey’s head is spinning and, for the first time tonight, not from the gin. “Is she--is she not?”

“Oh God, no, she’s so fucking gay, dude.” Laughter twinkles in Dex’s eyes. Nursey is drunker than he’s been since freshmen year of high school when Shitty snuck in some of his dad’s hard liquor and the janitors found them on the roof singing Disney songs at the moon. Dex’s girlfriend is gay. Dex’s girlfriend isn’t his girlfriend. Dex is--is smiling at him like he smiles at his girlfriend who isn’t his girlfriend.

“Oh,” Nursey says, dazed, “chill.”

“Oh wow,” Dex grins, leaning into the doorframe, “I can’t believe you thought--and you thought telling me my girlfriend was cheating on me at 3am while shit-drunk was a good idea?”

Nursey says, “Hey, honesty is important, and I’m not--” He stops. He remembers something. He squints. “Wait. If you bet 50 bucks on Amanda getting with Tammy, who did Amanda bet you would get with?”

The cherry pie blush is back. Nursey takes an absent-minded step forward. The room feels so much lighter now that Dex’s girlfriend isn’t cheating on him. The distance between them feels so much sillier now that Dex doesn’t have a girlfriend.

“Ah, well.” Dex rubs at the back of his neck, all country bumpkin sheepish to ask his sweetheart to the dance, and--and--

“I’m the sweetheart,” Nursey realizes with the kind of crystal clarity only afforded by the most copious amounts of alcohol.

Dex’s eyebrows furrow, those sweet little wrinkles appearing between them, and Nursey takes two long strides forward and presses his thumb into them. Dex goes cross-eyed trying to watch, but moves his eyes to meet Nursey’s after a moment.

Nursey grins, likely a bit sloppy from the gin, but he can’t find it in himself to care at the moment. “I’m the sweetheart,” he repeats, beaming.

Dex tries to repress the smile at his lips. “You’re not a sweetheart.”

“Yes I am,” Nursey sings, listing forwards. “You like me.”

“You’re an asshole.” Dex’s smile grows. Nursey watches its progress and sways.

“They’re not mutually exclusive,” he says, tracking the pink lips as they spread, revealing teeth and--and tongue and--

“I hate that you can still say mutually exclusive when you’re this drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm. See, I’ll prove it.”

“How do you plan on--”

If Dex’s mouth weren’t so preoccupied, he might say that the taste on Nursey’s tongue is a good indication that he is in fact fairly tipsy, but as it is--well. He’s got other things to do.

(Amanda asserts that they tied since it happened on the same night and only pays $25. Tammy throws in five more and a condom and they call it even. Nursey kisses away Dex’s protest and pockets the condom, much to Amanda’s amusement. Turns out, she’s even cooler when she isn’t dating the love of Nursey’s life.)

226 notes · View notes

moonlit-han · 4 years ago

Text

bad squirrel ↠ han jisung

genre: bad boy!jisung au, enemies to lovers au, high school au; humor word count: 2.8k warnings: so fluffy, swearing, mildly suggestive | gender-neutral reader request: yes (thank you for such a clearly imagined and fun request, anon!)

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

You’d never understood why Han Jisung had to be so loud.

Wasn’t the “bad boy” of the school supposed to be the quiet, brooding type? Not that Jisung didn’t do his fair share of lurking in corners doing gods knew what, sneaking out of the school to mysteriously reappear hours later, and drinking from a flask in the middle of class…. But he was just so damn loud. All the time! And because Jisung was loud in class, you strongly disliked him. Sure, he did his work (sometimes, like when the sun rose in the west) and had friends—two, to be exact: Chan and Changbin—but other than that, he kept to himself, yet was somehow loud. Jisung also strutted around the school like he owned it, looking much like a disgruntled raven.

As you were in the same year, you were intimately familiar with all his less-than wonderful propensities, and had listened to more gossip about him than you’d care to admit. Granted, that was simply to hear anything about him. You had a strange fascination with Jisung that somehow existed in tandem with your dislike—you couldn’t understand it. And, you commonly thought about him at the most random times; this also meant that you ranted to your best friend, Seungmin, far too often.

Jisung sat in the corner of the cafeteria with Chan and Changbin, and scribbled. He was always scribbling in a notebook he kept in his back pocket, and you wanted to know what he was writing—probably something like emo poetry. And today was no different. Occasionally, he’d look up and stare into the middle distance.

“Do you ever wonder what goes on inside his head?” you asked as you chewed a mouthful of your lunch. Seungmin saw where your gaze rested and rolled his eyes.

“No. Definitely not.”

“But would it be cool to—”

“Again, no,” Seungmin interrupted before you could careen off onto one of your tangents about the merits of this person or that. Except, this person featured all too commonly in those tangents, and Seungmin was tired of hearing it. “I don’t want to hear about the exact wave pattern in Han Jisung’s hair or how long you think he’d had that leather jacket. And I definitely don’t want to hear your thoughts on his skinny jeans.”

You smirked, turning back to the table in front of you on which you’d neatly arranged your lunch: grapes, almonds, a container of rice, and a mix of vegetables and fish. You hadn’t necessarily been planning to rant about Jisung, but now that Seungmin mentioned it…

“What do you think he does when he’s not in school?” you mused, chasing a bit of cabbage around the bottom of your lunch container with your chopsticks. “I mean, he seems to just exist in his own little world—I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with anyone except Minho and Chan, and even then, not that often.”

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Seungmin yawned, resting his chin on his hand. “Probably goes off to some corner and broods. That’s what guys like him do: brood and very obviously not talk about how emotionally distraught they are or whatever. But in a Byronic way—I don’t think Jisung has a violent bone in his body.”

You wiggled your eyebrows at your best friend, who was steadily losing patience with the whole conversation. “I can think of one bone that might be quite . . . angry and maybe violent but probably just hard. Good with forceful th—”

“I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT HAN JISUNG’S DICK, Y/N!” Seungmgin burst out, drawing stares from the other students seated at neighboring tables, including Jisung himself. You made to bang your head on the table, more embarrassed than you’d been in a long time.

Seungmin, meanwhile, couldn’t stop laughing. “Y-Y/N, oh my god, I’m sorry. Hey, don’t hit me!” This was because you had started playfully but insistently punching his thigh. “It’s fine,” Seungmin continued, trying to reassure you. “It’s not like I said anything that would— Oh shit, he’s coming over here.”

You tried to slide under the table, but only succeeded in getting yourself stuck before shimmying back into your seat. You looked up just in time to see Jisung slide into the seat opposite you and lean meaningfully on the table.

“So, Y/N,” he drawled, flashing a feline grin at you. “What exactly did I just hear?”

“I didn’t say anything, Han,” you retorted, nose aloofly in the air.

Jisung sighed. “Okay, okay, maybe you didn’t say anything, but Seungmin definitely did.” Seungmin spluttered and shook his head violently, really not wanting to be drawn into your squabble.

“So?” you said casually, still picking at your lunch. Meanwhile, your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest. “So what if he said something?”

“Why would Seungmin say anything about me, though,” Jisung said. “It’s not like you two like me or anything.”

You just stared at Jisung. Why did he sound petulant? “No, we don’t. You didn’t hear anything, so go away!”

“Oh come on, Y/N,” Jisung wheedled. “I know you’re curious….”

“Han, what the hell?”

“Sorry, sorry!” Jisung protested, leaning back as his hands waved wildly.

“I—” you began, and gulped. “It’s just… You’re just this moody guy who walks around like he owns the place. And you wear tight skinny jeans that leave very little to the imagination. How could I not assume you at least think you have . . . um, yeah.”

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Seungmin moaned, and stuffed his fingers in his ears.

Jisung had leaned forward now and was staring at you intently. You looked away, even more embarrassed than before, and he sighed.

“Y/N, I’m not quite sure what to say, besides the fact that I like my tight pants.” He paused, then chuckled lightly and winked. “And that you clearly like my tight pants, too.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, and blurted. “Why are you even talking to us, Han?”

Jisung stopped as he rose from the table. “I was intrigued. Plus, you’re cute when you’re flustered.” Han winked, then turned and walked back to Chan and Changbin.

You just watched him go—casually appreciating the view—completely stunned. Had Han Jisung just said you were cute? Ugh?

“Y/N? Earth to Y/N!” Seungmin was shaking your shoulder. “Y/N, you might start drooling if you don’t watch out.”

Coming back to yourself, you hurriedly shut your mouth and demanded, “Did he just say I was cute?”

“How am I supposed to know? I had my fingers in my ears!” Seungmin exclaimed, throwing up his hands.

“Well, you are no help whatsoever,” you grumbled, and went back to eating your food.

Seungmin was silent for a moment, then said, “Do- Do you like him?”

You almost choked on your rice. “What?”

“Do you like him?” he repeated.

“The last time I checked, I definitely didn’t like Han Jisung. He annoys the hell out of me!”

Like the traitor he was, your best friend just made a ruminative noise and smiled down at his food.

↠↞

There was a park along the route you walked to and from school every day, and you liked to cut through to its other side as a short cut and to have some time in nature. Today, the leaves rustled loudly under your feet as you wove between the trees, distracting you sufficiently that you were completely wrapped up in your thoughts until your eye caught on a spot of black.

You stopped and squinted, brows furrowed ever so slightly. You couldn’t be sure, but that looked to be Han Jisung squatting under an oak at the edge of the park. Thinking the last thing you wanted was Jisung to see you spying—no, simply watching as you, too, strolled through the park—on him, you ducked behind a tree.

A few feet away from Jisung, assuming it was him, a squirrel sat on its haunches. It looked like he was talking to the squirrel, holding out his hand with a small pile of sunflower seeds resting in its center. As you watched, the squirrel, clearly used to this sort of thing, scurried forward and then away, its prize of seeds securely held in its mouth. This happened several times: the squirrel snatching a few seeds, stashing them around the other side of the tree, then coming back to retrieve more from Jisung’s hand. Strangest of all, you could have sworn you heard cooing along the lines of, “Aren’t you so good? Yes, you’re such a good little squirrel. Ooooh mhmm that tastes good, doesn’t it!”

Seeing the boy stand, you pulled your torso back behind the tree and peeked out as he walked away with a spring in his step. Yes, that was definitely Jisung.

Lost in your thoughts, you began to walk home. Feeding squirrels and talking to them was not “bad boy” behavior—of that much you were certain. So, did this mean that Jisung wasn’t as bad as you’d thought? Or was he slowly killing the squirrel by lacing the seeds with poison?

You shook your head, scolding yourself for such thoughts. But the fact remained: Han Jisung fed the squirrels and acted distinctly cute around them, and seemed to drop the persona he cultivated at school.

In a nutshell: you were confused.

The next day, you walked home the same way and at the same time, hoping you’d catch Jisung with the squirrel again. As you neared the edge of the park, sure enough, there was Jisung. You wrestled with your conscience for a moment, then walked the last meters to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“What?!” Jisung exclaimed, shooting to his feet and almost hitting you in the nose with the back of his head. “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

“I was walking home,” you said innocently, giving Jisung a bright smile.

The young man in front of you was shifting back and forth on his feet. “Did you see—“

“Did I see you talking to a squirrel?” You grinned now, crossing your arms. “Yes. Yes, I did, Han.” Jisung spluttered. “Not so bad a boy, are you?”

“Come on, Y/N, don’t be like that!” he begged. “Just because I wear all black, brood, and write emo poetry—“

“Hah! So you do write it!”

Jisung gave you a look. “Yes, I write poetry and song lyrics for my friends. What about it?”

“Oh, nothing,” you chirped.

“Can you-“ Jisung sighed. “Can you at least not tell anyone that I feed and talk to the squirrels? It’s, like, my own way of doing good, you know?”

“Sure, I won’t tell anybody. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

“Well, the more you know…” Jisung said and, yet again, winked at you before striding away. You admired the stark contrast between his black clothes and the oranges, yellows, and reds of the leaves on the ground.

↠↞

A couple of weeks later at the end of October, your English class was lucky enough to go on a weekend camping trip to experience the misty atmosphere in Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Part of you thought that your teacher was a bit odd for wanting them all to get spooked by mist, but you couldn’t argue with the fact that the foliage was beautiful. After a long day of traipsing through the forest to find the perfect lookout point for the next morning’s mist viewing, the class gathered around a fire to eat and talk.

The fire was warm in front of you where you sat on a conveniently placed log; if you'd been any closer, you would have definitely singed something. You'd been a bit stupid and hadn't brought a proper jacket, thinking the evenings would still be warm at the end of October, but oh how wrong you were. Your nose was cold and your hands were even colder, a fact you tried to hide by sitting on your hands. Soon, however, your shoulders and back felt the slight breeze the rustled the leaves surrounding the clearing.

Across the fire, Jisung tracked your every move with bright eyes. In truth, he’d been watching you all evening and noticed that you were now cold. He noticed a lot about you these days, really. You didn’t see him quietly staring, his black clothes turning him nearly invisible, but you knew he was there on the other side of the flames.

You jumped a little, shoulders shrugging as warmth settled around them, and looked around. On the log next to you sat Jisung, like the piece of the night sky come to earth.

“Better?” he asked casually.

“Y-yeah.”

The two of you sat there silently as your classmates gossiped and ate around you. Occasionally, you saw someone glance your way, then turn back to their friends as if Jisung’s stare repelled them. You’d expected to feel awkward around him, expected to feel some dark aura radiating off him, but it was easy to sit with Jisung. His leather jacket was wonderfully warm, it’s weight around your shoulders oddly comforting, and the faint smell of whatever soap Jisung used caught on the collar made you smile.

“Here,” Jisung said softly, holding out the flask that always hung at his hip. “Have a sip—it’ll warm you up.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m not going to drink, especially since we’re on a school trip,” you hissed.

“It’s just tea, Y/N,” Jisung said, tone affronted. “What did you think I had in here?”

“I- Tea is fine. Thanks.” You took the proffered flask and sipped what was perfectly brewed and sweetened black tea. The hot liquid sliding down your throat to your stomach was a delicious feeling. You returned the flask to Jisung, your fingers brushing as you did so.

The fire crackled, sparks flying up as sticks fell and broke apart. But these were not the only sparks that were flying around that fire. Between you and Jisung there seemed to be a thread of energy along which those other sparks danced, and, unexpectedly, you wanted to follow that thread to its end with the young man beside you.

Every now and then, you glanced at Jisung. And, every now and then, he glanced at you. After five tense minutes of this madness, you finally glanced at each other at the same time and smiled nervously.

“So,” Jisung began, “um…”

“Hmm?”

“May I say something?”

“I- Yeah, sure.”

Jisung took a deep breath, hands twisting in his lap. “Y/N, I have what’s got to be the biggest crush ever on you. And if you don’t return the feelings, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll never mention it again and I��ll make sure to leave you alone or whatever you want,” he said in a rush.

You wrapped Jisung’s jacket closer around yourself and turned slightly on the log to face him. The firelight danced in his eyes, the look in them soft and searching. His lips were parted slightly, as if to say something.

“It’s okay, Jisung,” you murmured, realizing that this was the first time you’d called him ‘Jisung’, at least to his face. “I think— I think I like you, too.”

Jisung’s face lit like the sun that would rise hours later with the dawn, his smile glorious. “Really?” he asked excitedly.

“Mhmm, I do.”

“That’s great,” Jisung breathed, and made to shift closer to you but stopped himself. “Um, so what now?”

“Want to cuddle?” You hardly believed that you’d just said that, but with Jisung’s jacket around you and him sitting so close, you couldn’t help it.

Jisung laughed and held out his arms to you, and you scooted closer to him so that you leaned against his as his arms went around you. After a couple minutes of shifting positions, the two of you settled. You could practically feel Jisung smiling behind you as you rested your head against his shoulder. Like your own, his heartbeat was faster than usual from nerves and excitement, which made you feel quite proud. You’d actually made the cool, seemingly confident bad boy of the school nervous.

Thinking you’d mess with him a little, you turned your face up to his and kissed his jaw. Jisung nearly jumped, which would have deposited both of you squarely on the cold ground, and then looked at you.

“Are you sure?” he murmured.

“Won’t know until we try, right?” you replied.

Jisung needed no further prompting and brought his lips to yours, sending a current of warmth along that thread between you. You had to smile because, completely unexpectedly, you liked kissing Jisung. You liked it a lot and would be perfectly happy to continue kissing him all night long, if given the chance.

Drawing back from Jisung, you noticed your classmates staring at you and Jisung, and smirked back at them. Unlike you, they didn’t have a cute boy to kiss and cuddle with. They weren’t the chosen person for the Han Jisung.

578 notes · View notes

kiingocreative · 3 years ago

Text

The Structure of Story is now available! Check it out on Amazon, via the link in our bio, or at https://kiingo.co/book

There are some buzz words everywhere and, in the writing world, and it feels to me like ‘journaling’ is one of them. It’s something everyone seems to be doing.

It took me a while to build a journaling habit, and I wouldn’t say I’m quite there yet with my Journaling discipline, but whatever experience I’ve had with it has been incredibly beneficial.

What’s Journaling?

Back to the old trusted dictionary! Journaling is defined as:

To write in a journal or diary.

Simple, right?

For those of you with a penchant for etymology and random fun facts, the word ‘journal’ comes from the Latin ‘diurnalis’, or ‘diurnus’, meaning ‘daily’. In late Middle English, a journal originally referred to a book containing the appointed times of daily prayers. (If you use this as an ice-breaker at your next dinner party, please let me know!)

Nowadays, journaling is a lot more about keeping track of one’s praying schedule, and much more about recording one’s thoughts in an informal, free-flowing, stream-of-consciousness manner.

It’ll take different forms for different people, and the great thing about it is that (in my view) there isn’t a right or wrong way to journal. The only right way to do it is the way that feels right to you. As with any form of writing, craft or art in general, it’s all about individual preference, and highly subjective. And because Journaling is generally something that remains personal and private, you can do whatever the heck you want with it.

Pretty great, isn’t it?

Why Journaling is Good For You.

Based on my own experience, I’ve found a few benefits to journaling:

Pressure-free writing.

I’ve found that Journaling, because it follows no set rule and isn’t meant to be shared, is a great chance to write without any pressure. To write just because you want to write, with no other agenda than indulging in your love of putting words together on a page.

To me, writing without an outcome in mind is always liberating. It’s a chance to reconnect with your craft in way you might not if there was a clear purpose to it, like writing a book due to be published or a blog article meant to be posted online.

Experiment with your writing.

Journaling is also the perfect format to experiment with your writing, and try your hand at something new. Maybe you normally write fiction, and Journaling is a chance to give poetry a go. Maybe you generally blog, and your journal can start hosting plots and ideas for a novel, regardless of what you make of it later. Maybe you’ll want to try writing exercises—like jotting down ideas from a prompt or in a specific style. Or you could start recording dreams and memories you can remember.

Discomfort is where we grow, so putting yourself in those situations regularly is a great opportunity to expand your writing abilities and hone your skills. Who knows, there may be writing gold in there somewhere!

Never forget an idea.

I don’t know about you, but I often get ideas for my writing and beyond at the most inconvenient moments—in the shower, whilst cooking, doing the dishes, or picking up dog poop (I know, oh the glamour of a writer’s life!). I always think that I’ll remember these, but the truth is, most of them get forgotten, never to be retrieved again from the confines of my mind.

Journaling is a great way never to lose sight of an idea. My Journaling involves a lot of notes about random ideas I have for a plot, a story, a post, or life activities in general. They serve as inspiration for the future. Writing them down helps me rest assured that I can go back to that list and explore it later, whenever convenient.

Free your mind &notice trends.

One of the most important things I’ve notice happen when I journal, is that it helps me empty my mind fro ma lot of the never-ending thinking loops I tend to fall victim to. By putting thoughts down on paper, I’m able to see them more clearly, and my brain finally feels like it no longer needs to hold onto them. Jotting things down is a great way to break your pattern of thinking (or, if you’re like me, obsessing) and to allow yourself time to take a step back and look at the big picture.

Whether it’s something you’re stuck on in your writing, or in your life in general, journaling on it is powerful, especially if you do it regularly. Not only will you create more space in your mind for better and brighter things—say, your next brilliant writing idea!—but it’ll also give you a chance to notice trends and recurring themes. And that’s a great way to build awareness about your own patterns of behaviour, and start eradicating your most negative or toxic thinking habits.

Keep a record.

Performance coach Tony Robbins (yes, him again! What can I say, I’m a huge fan) says that ‘if your life is worth living it’s worth recording’. I couldn’t agree more. Journaling gives you a chance to be your own life historian. To keep track of where you’ve been and how far you’ve gone. To look back on those day-to-day accomplishments that may look minute at the time but all add up to something big and wonderful in the end.

Looking at your own existence and experience as something that’s worth keeping a record of also sends your subconscious mind a clear message: that’s you’re worthy. You’re enough. Every moment of your life has an impact, the good and the bad, and helps mould who you become.

I’d say there are few more powerful truths to embrace in your lifetime!

Getting Started with Journaling.

That’s all well and good, you might say, but where do I start?

Fear not, my friend, here are some suggestions to get you started.

1. Set a schedule — If you don’t make time for it, chances are it won’t happen, because life has a habit of getting in the way. Identify a time that works best for you—whether that’s morning, midday, evening etc.—and schedule it in your calendar, setting a reminder so you don’t forget about it. If finding time daily feels daunting or unrealistic, why not start with once a week, or a couple of times a week?

2. Make it a habit — Stick to it! Whether it comes naturally or not, be disciplined about it. Embrace whatever comes, both the joys and the discomfort of it. Set yourself a goal—every day for a week, every other day for a month etc.—and sit with it for the entire duration you committed to.

3. Set a timer — Journaling doesn’t have to take a lot of time. I tend to journal for about ten minutes at a time on average, sometimes less and sometimes more. If you’re unsure what duration to start with, set a timer for ten minutes and see what comes up.

4. Let it flow — As I mentioned above, Journaling may or may not feel natural at first. It may feel great or it may feel uncomfortable. Whatever comes up for you, let it flow. Why not journal about the sensations and feelings the experience of journaling brings up? It may end up being one thing one day and something altogether different the next. Whatever it is for you at any given time is what’s right. Be open-minded, remember this is unique and personal, and no one—not even you—should ever judge it.

The Power of Rituals.

If you’re still unsure about the value of journaling, or about getting started with it, let me say this one final thing: the most important piece of the puzzle, as with anything else you do, is defining your ‘why’—i.e. the reasons behind your decision to start (or continue) journaling. Ask yourself:

Why do you want to start journaling?

Why is it important to you?

How do you think it’ll make you feel? How do you want it to make you feel?

What difference do you think it’ll make to you, to your life, to your writing?

Clearly defining your ‘why’ and your intentions will help you maintain the habit. More importantly, understanding the value this holds to you will take journaling from a mere habit—which can feel like a chore—to a ritual of self-care. That’s the difference between doing it because you think it’s cool, or because everyone is doing it, or because you think you should do it, and doing it because you know for a fact, in your core, that this will make you and your writing better and stronger.

This will go a long way in making it more enjoyable. It’ll help you build rituals around it that are nurturing and caring. Get yourself to acknowledge why it’s good for you and why it’s pleasurable, and then set up the environment to make your journaling time feel like an absolute treat. Maybe that’s setting the scene in the room where you journal with a candle or some background music. Maybe that’s selecting a nice notebook if you’re doing this by hand, or picking your favourite writing spot, at home or beyond.

Eventually, these will all act as triggers to get you into the right journaling mindset whenever you’re sitting down for it.

And if you’re not quite sure what that all looks like for you… Well. Isn’t that a great topic to start journaling about?

#writingtips #screenwriting #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writers #writing #writerblr #writing advice #writing community #writing resources

27 notes · View notes

carnationcreation · 4 years ago

Note

reggie x bandmember!rapper!reader

where the reggie has a crush on reader and tries to win them over.

just a suggestion

TITLE: Distractions (JATP Reggie x bandmember!reader)

✌🏻Masterlist

💕 Request an imagine here!

🥰 Join my tag list here!

Request: Yes!

Prompt/summary: Reggie has a crush on the lyricist behind the bands raps and verses and he’s trying desperately to win her over

Word Count: 1,614

Authors note: I don’t really know too much about rap so I decided to relate it more to music but she still basis her lyrics in rap so I hope this is okay!

Being the newest member to the band left me under a lot of pressure, I had to switch between different instruments and learn the parts in case something happened to one of the members so I could go on in their place. So I was like an understudy for the Phantoms as well as one of their lyricists. If Luke or Julie were having trouble getting inspiration they’d come to me and I’d help them work their way through their writers block by making them listen to famous rappers like Tupac and Eminem. After a while their minds would be focusing on the rhythms and the melodies instead of just words, because you can’t have a good song unless it flows like a stream.

The problem that seemed to keep arising was Reggie trying to get my attention.

“(Y/n) watch!” Reggie said before he swung his bass over his back making it loop around so he could catch it again.

“That’s cool Reg but we’re supposed to be working,” I responded before turning back to my notebook on top of the piano, missing Reggie’s pouting face.

He was so sweet to me, but sometimes his antics would interfere with my work. I knew he wasn’t trying to be annoying but after a long day of learning songs and writing with Julie it can feel like he’s just trying to distract me just because he can.

“Alright so then there’s a key change up to a D major,” Julie said as she played the chord effortlessly on the piano, “And then I’m thinking Luke will come in on the melody-”

“(Y/n) look what I made you!” Reggie said running up to the piano, he placed a piece of paper in my hand, looking at me expectantly. I smiled at the picture of a hand turkey colored in with different colored crayons.

“Wow, thank you Reggie,” I said and turned back to the piano with Julie.

“He really doesn’t stop does he?” she said quietly.

I nodded, “It’s endearing most of the time but right now I just really want to get this done.”

“I need a line right here, I just can’t get it right.”

Julie and I continued writing, even leaving me a space to do some free verse that acts as a counter melody as well as to pick up the tempo for the final chorus. It wasn’t too long after that when Reggie tapped me on the shoulder.

“What Reggie?” I said annoyed.

“Oh,” Reggie said, “I wanted to ask if you were ready for our bass lesson but I’ll wait.”

My face softened as I saw the time on my watch, “I’m sorry Reg I lost track of time.”

He nodded and led me over to the stools he had set up, I grabbed his bass out of the stand and plugged it up to the amp beside the piano.

“I’m sorry I annoy you all the time,” Reggie said quietly.

“What do you mean Reggie?”

He sighed, “I just want to talk to you all the time I just forget that you’re doing important stuff for the band.”

I smiled, “Reggie you could never annoy me, or at least not to the point where I wouldn’t like you.”

“So you really did like my hand turkey?”

I laughed, “Yes Reggie I promise I really did.”

Reggie grinned widely and pulled me into a tight hug making me giggle.

“Are you gonna keep it?”

I picked up the paper and walked over to the piano where my binder full of song lyrics and sheet music sat, I slid the paper into the front clear pouch on the binder so everyone could see the turkey right on the front of the binder.

Reggie threw his hands up in the air, “Yay!”

“Alright we seriously have to get to work now,” I laughed.

_________________________________

After a sold out concert at the Orpheum the night before Julie decided we should take the day off and have a movie marathon. Julie picked out the first 3 and chose all disney movies. We were watching the Little Mermaid when I started to feel myself getting mind numbingly bored from having to sit still on the couch next to Reggie and a sleeping Alex. I reached down to my feet and into my backpack to pull out my binder to scribble a few lyric ideas down before I forget them.

“What are you doing?” I heard Reggie whisper.

“Writing down some lyrics,” I said.

He scoffed, “Do you ever stop working?”

“Do you ever stop trying to get my attention?” I tease him with a smirk.

“Whatever, but you should take a break. It’s our day off you shouldn’t be working.”

“Depends on what you want to call working. Lyrics are just part of my thoughts for most of the day, I’m much more productive writing down wording and rhymes and beats from my head that can be molded into a new song otherwise I’d just forget them and be frustrated when I don’t have anything new.”

“Well, I guess I think about bass lines a lot so I see what you mean,” Reggie shrugged.

We sat quietly for a few minutes, as the credits started to roll I looked over to see Luke picking up Julie to take her to bed as she had fallen asleep. Alex stirred and stood up before walking outside to the studio. I’m assuming he went to sleep on the couch in there.

“Come on,” Reggie said, standing up.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

He smiled, “To get your thoughts on something else for a while.”

He grabbed my hand and led me out the front door, we walked out of Julie’s house and down the street. We finally hit main street and he pulled me over to a street vendor selling hotdogs and grabbed two for us before sitting down on a bench to eat.

“I’m surprised after how you died you still want to eat these,” I laughed.

“As long as it’s not from the back of a car I think I’ll be fine, they’re good!” he said before biting into his, “So what kind of lyrics were you writing down?”

I pulled my backpack off my shoulder and pulled out the binder, Reggie smiled and pointed at the hand turkey that was still on the front.

“Skies grew darker,

Current swept you out,

Inside this Eden,

No one hears us shout.”

“That’s kinda depressing,” Reggie said.

I laughed and tucked it back into my bag and put it at our feet.

“So those lyrics are just constantly in your head?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess where I’ve read and written so much poetry and listened to so much music all the time it’s just something that comes naturally to me,” I shrugged.

“Can I read through them?”

“You can read through it any time you want Reggie,” I said, I finished up my hotdog and crumpled up the wrapper.

“Really?” he asked.

I giggled, “Yes Reggie I trust you with my deepest, most depressing lyrics.”

He laughed and grabbed both of our wrappers and walked over to the trash can with me tagging closely behind him.

“I gotta head home, it’s starting to get late,” I said.

Looked at his watch, “Oh yeah, I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t have to.”

Reggie scoffed sarcastically, “Can’t let a pretty lady walk home in the dark.”

I took his arm in mine, “What a gentleman.”

We walked down main street and finally turned to the street that led into my neighborhood. Reggie stopped and pointed at random things he saw along the way, and when he wasn’t doing that he was singing songs and dancing to them while walking along beside me trying to get me to laugh.

“Reggie quiet down my parents are gonna hear and ask why I’m outside with a boy.”

“Not just any boy, a formerly dead boy,” Reggie smirked.

“Shhh!” I stepped up to the gate and unlatched it, letting him and I into the garden.

“Come on (y/n). What if we rewrite the stars!” Reggie sang.

I rolled my eyes, “I shouldn’t have shown you that movie.”

“It’s catchy!” he said.

“Reggie,” I said grabbing his arm lightly and making him face me, “please be quiet for a minute.”

Reggie nodded but still giggled as I pulled out my house key and he followed me on to the porch.

“I had fun Reggie, this gave me more song ideas.”

“Well that’s good at least,” Reggie smiled, “can I drag you out tomorrow to annoy you some more?”

“For the last time Reg, you’re not annoying,” I giggled.

“If you say so,” Reggie said as he turned to walk away.

“Reggie?” I said. He turned around and I placed a quick kiss on his cheek.

Reggie smiled widely and grabbed my waist, pulling me in and kissing me on the lips this time. After a second we pulled away, “So, tomorrow?”

I smiled and shook my head, “Pick me up in the morning, and bring your skateboard.”

He grinned and turned. He ran down the steps and out onto the street, eventually tripping over the shoelaces of his converse and falling to the ground, “I’m okay!”

I laughed and turned to unlock the door. When I got to my room and pulled out my binder to put on my bed I began to mumble to myself, what if we rewrite the stars.

The rest of the night was filled with the memories of the night replaying in my head and the lyrics that poured out of them and on to the paper.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @thebookwormlife @peachyxdream @catieiscute2001 @me-myself-and-my-oboe

🥰 Join my tag list here!

311 notes · View notes

jawnkeets · 4 years ago

Note

probably a strange question but: how did you develop your style when it comes to poetry? I really appreciate how you write and how it's vague and specific at the same time? don't know how to express what I mean exactly, but it's like phrases that you feel more than you really understand them sometimes, and that don't look like they should make sense at a glance but when you really read them they do. maybe you'll know what quality I mean 🙈 I feel like I'm way too literal when I write and I want to be a little more abstract in a say less, convey more kind of a way?

hey anon, thank you! not a strange question at all - it’s actually a very good question, and one that i was asking until recently as well (and to be honest am still asking!). i totally know what you mean.

i guess the shortest answer i can give you is that i think ‘poetic feeling’ is best felt full-on, but expressed to the side. it’s also something that genuinely does get easier the more you try to do it, i.e., is a skill that can be sharpened; to start with, everything feels like nonsense, or not quite right, and i felt like a bit of a fake initially, but as i did it more and more i had more and more tiny breakthroughs and gained confidence (which is a genuinely such a large part of any creative endeavour), and this can happen surprisingly fast and snowball; i switched up my style in maybe 1-3 months, just trying a little bit - maybe 15 lines - every couple of days or so. and i didn’t put pressure on myself, deciding if i hated it i’d delete it and reminding myself that no one had to see. i find writing short poems also really helps with practising: they can help you focus more intensely on each choice.

it’s also not a solo thing, or at least doesn’t have to be - i use random word generators, to different degrees depending on the poem, and also it’s surprising how much even just picking words off wikipedia can help, especially with themed poetry. recently i wrote a poem about the medieval period, and threw in words that came to me with terms from wiki pages about the medieval period (history, art, medicine, etc), to make noun phrases like ‘kaleidoscopic altar vision noise’, ‘law texture’, etc etc. the thing that’s helped me most, though, is reading other poems which i think have this quality, which tends especially to be image-heavy poetry: will stone’s translation of trakl completely changed the direction of my poetry, and lorca, rilke and seferis have also been invaluable. i also find authors that do weird things with syntax interesting, like e. e. cummings and j. h. prynne, but don’t go quite as far as them. i have a list of favourite poems which might help, and which i re-read regularly ❤️

something else i enjoy doing is practising reading and misremembering, which sounds like cheating but is actually an excellent way of generating new material. i remember reading (i think it’s this article) alexandra cook’s 'creative memory and visual image in chaucer’s house of fame' and it was a breakthrough for me. from memory (ironic - wish i still had access so i could properly quote from it/check stuff) it talked about how one dimension to medieval creativity was misremembering - that new ideas and originality came from the gap between what the work actually was and how another writer remembered it. trying to deliberately misremember is a lot of fun; a poem is then borne out of an interesting intersection of skill and contingency, which gives it an energy, i think.

on a kind of separate but related note, the classical ars memoriae, or ‘art of memory’, might be quite an interesting thing to play with in relation to writing poetry. what it is, for anyone that’s not familiar with it, is basically the notion that the way to remember things is by having some kind of system in your head - like spatialising the material (so you think about the room you first encountered it in and all the details to help you better remember it), imagining it in a sequence, breaking it up into sets - there are absolutely loads of ways. if this seems weird or alien, we still use mind maps all the time, which is a great example! to deliberately twist, literalise and tbh actually invert the art of memory stuff (i know this is a bit abstract eek), i’ve been thinking recently that it might be fun to distort ideas (themes, an image you like, a line you like) by running them through various ancient memory systems, because i think medieval thought had a point that these systems subtly distort things even as and precisely because their function is get us to remember them accurately (paradoxically, we bend them to our chosen way of thinking/remembering stuff, which alters the material). using ways of memorising we wouldn’t normally use, and forcing them to interact with material much more literally, can yield quite interesting results. in any case, it introduces different ‘head spaces’ which can be quite useful to take in a very loose way when trying to ‘think to the side’: here’s a starting list. to give quite a crude and simplified example, let’s say i’m obsessed with homer’s wine dark sea and want to write something based on it, but also different and original. what if i try to think of ‘wine dark sea’ as sequential (thinking of material in a sequence being one way of remembering things listed on the above wikipedia link)? i’m honestly not sure what that means, and i can’t envision that. it doesn’t even make sense, and is a deliberate perversion of what memorising things in a sequence would actually look like - ‘wine dark sea’ would be one chain in a sequence if the sequence was, e.g., ‘favourite quotes’. ‘wine dark sea’ itself can’t be a sequence; this would turn ‘wine dark sea’ into something logical, mathematical even. but then the phrase ‘mathematical wine dark sea’ is interesting and unexpected. and you can then play with that or variations of it - ‘wine sea: dark, mathematical’ would make a great opening line, and ‘wine sea mathematics’ and ‘wine dark mathematics’ are really interesting phrases (you know actually i quite like this - might go and write a poem about it now... lol).

that last bit is very speculative and i’m kind of thinking out loud, so feel free to ignore haha. i wrote a post on writing poetry a couple of years ago, too, which might have a couple of useful tidbits. i hope some of this is helpful!!

#asks #my guides

63 notes · View notes

ibijau · 4 years ago

Text

Price of Wishes / on AO3

Nie Huaisang tries to find a solution to his newest problem

The unexpected words ring loud into the room, shaking Nie Huaisang to his core. He gapes at Lan Xichen, eyes round and mouth open in shock, hardly able to breathe. The god looks down at the book, seeming mildly embarrassed, while Nie Huaisang manages to get himself under control.

"You can't read this particular style of characters?" he asks, all too hopeful. If that’s the problem, then with a little practice...

"I can't read at all," Lan Xichen announces, ruining Nie Huaisang’s fragile hope. "It didn't exist when I was alive. By the time it came up, I had started to decline as a god, and I was too busy surviving. Besides, I'd figured it was just a passing fad."

"You… just how old are you?" Nie Huaisang gasps, feeling nearly dizzy.

If Lan Xichen is so old that writing didn't exist when he'd been mortal… then he had to be born centuries ago, or even a dozen centuries, or more. His head spins trying to understand that length of time. Nie Huaisang’s own sect was founded only a few centuries ago, there are records of it. Even Gusu Lan and Qishan Wen, by far the oldest of the major sect, and older than most sects in general, are much younger than the invention of writing.

“I’m not quite sure my age,” Lan Xichen admits, frowning slightly as he tries to remember. “Keeping track of that hasn’t been a priority. I… I’m sorry. Is it really so inconvenient that I can’t read?”

Nie Huaisang wants to cry, and bursts out laughing instead, his voice high and hysterical. He brings his knees against his chest, trying to ground himself, while Lan Xichen watches him with ever growing concern.

“Inconvenient doesn’t even begin to cover it!” Nie Huaisang squeaks, desperately hugging his legs. “Gusu Lan is a sect of scholars! You’d be expected not just to know how to read, but to be exceptionally well-read, to know all the classics, to have a deep understanding of poetry…"

Nie Huaisang pauses, nearly breathless with horror. He didn't think to put these things on his list. His mind was so full of his stupid crush on Lan Wangji, it seemed so obvious it didn't need to be detailed, and now this is biting him in the ass.

Again.

"This is an absolute disaster," Nie Huaisang hisses. "We're going to be caught, and I’ll be in so much trouble, and then da-ge will hear about it and he’ll be furious, and he won’t keep your altar, and then what will happen to you? You’re nice, I don’t want you to die! But I also…" he gasps in horror. "Oh no, Lan Qiren is going to kill me if he figures out that I’ve…”

“I won’t let anyone harm you,” Lan Xichen earnestly interjects, setting aside the book to put his hands on Nie Huaisang’s shoulders, trying to comfort him. “I will protect you. What happened is my fault more than yours, I’m the one who misunderstood what you wanted.”

Nie Huaisang, whose laughter has turned into weak tears, pitiful nods. It says a lot about Lan Qiren and the terror he inspires that Nie Huaisang feels even a god might not be enough to protect him from the venerable teacher's wrath.

Then, realising something, he gasps.

“My list! How did you understand it if you can’t read?”

Lan Xichen’s hands move away. Instantly Nie Huaisang misses their weight on his shoulder, the slight warmth of them. It really had comforted him to be touched like that.

“I’m not sure how that was possible,” Lan Xichen says after taking a moment to consider this. “I don’t think I read it exactly. But you offered that list to me, and so I understood it, if that makes sense?”

Nie Huaisang’s tears stop, and he quickly wipes the lingering wetness from his face.

“Then maybe…”

Just as quickly as he fell into despair, Nie Huaisang's brain starts racing. There's got to be a solution. Already he can think of one… no, three things to test that could solve their problem. If this one doesn't work, then that one. Or maybe they could…

He stands up again, and goes through his qiankun pouch once more until he finds some blank paper and his ink. While a puzzled Lan Xichen watches, Nie Huaisang paints a quick portrait of the god, one that he would normally be ashamed to ever show anyone, but which is enough for his purpose. Then it’s just a matter of setting a piece of fabric on the nightstand, putting a candle there, installing this picture of the god, and making a first offering out of some candies Nie Huaisang has on him.

It’s not the best of altars, and any other god would surely be deeply offended by this, but surely Lan Xichen won’t mind.

“You really don’t need to pray to me right now,” Lan Xichen mumbles as he comes to stand besides him, sounding mortified.

“I do,” Nie Huaisang retorts, rushing to grab the discarded book of Lan rules and placing it on his improvised altar. “My lord, accept this humble offering,” he says in the most formal tone he’s capable of, putting the book on that improvised altar.

Nie Huaisang bows down before his little altar, then waits a moment before turning to look at Lan Xichen who appears more puzzled than ever.

“It didn’t work,” the god sighs. “Whatever you were trying to do, it didn’t work. I’m sorry.”

Nie Huaisang shrugs. “It’s fine, I didn’t really expect that to work,” he admits, going through his pouch again.

He's still panicking, but it's a productive sort of panic now so it's fine. Fear just makes him think faster, which is what they need right now. They only have three weeks to prepare, every instant counts.

“I’ll just try something else, until something does work. And I have a plan if nothing works, as well," Nie Huaisang explains with a grimace, "but it’ll involve more actual lying than I’d prefer, so it’s a last resort.”

Grabbing the book again, he opens it at random and copies the rule there onto a piece of paper. He tries to be more careful with this than he was with the portrait, trying to make the character nice and neat in spite of his trembling hands. Before the ink is even dry, he presents that new offering onto the altar, bowing before it and praying silently to Lan Xichen.

“Oh!” Lan Xichen gasps. “Have a strong will and anything can be achieved. Is that right?”

“It is!” Nie Huaisang exclaims with a grin. “And if you look at the paper, does it change something?”

Lan Xichen comes close to the altar, and picks the quickly scribbled piece of paper. There is a slight frown on his face as he inspects it, but he eventually nods.

“Now when I look at those characters, I can recognise them,” he admits, before sitting down to pick up the book and observe it as well. “Have a… strong… oh, the way you wrote that one is really different, so it’s harder to recognise. Then… anything… can be… yes, I think I can recognise them, once you’ve offered them to me. So I suppose if you were to offer me every character there is…”

“I’ll have to,” Nie Huaisang sighs, the initial joy of his discovery crushed as he realises the enormity of the task ahead of him.

That’s a few thousands characters to share, and Nie Huaisang knows he’s nowhere near as cultivated and well-read as a young master of Gusu Lan would be. He’ll have to do more tests, see how much his own understanding of characters is necessary if they are to be transmitted to Lan Xichen. And that won't solve the problem of all the books Lan Xichen should have read, books Nie Huaisang definitely doesn't have on hand right now.

“This is a nightmare. I don’t know if I can…” Nie Huaisang takes a deep breath, fighting a sob. “I don’t think I can. But we’re going to try anyway.”

He sighs again, and looks at Lan Xichen who seems so truly sorry that Nie Huaisang can’t even be angry at him. It's annoying, because it means he can only be angry at himself.

“And you’re also going to try to learn the normal way as well,” Nie Huaisang announces. “I’m going to find you a book to teach children, so you can study while we travel. It’s… we’re going to make this work." He hesitates, and looks up at the god. "We are, right?”

Lan Xichen doesn’t answer right away, as if seriously considering their chance of success. For some reason, and in spite of his anxiety, Nie Huaisang likes that better than if the god had immediately agreed. It makes it more meaningful when Lan Xichen finally nods.

“We will do our best,” Lan Xichen says. “I will learn all I can, and... If you believe in me, I know I can convince others that I am what you wish me to be. I will work hard to ensure I do not bring trouble for you.”

Nie Huaisang smiles weakly. He trusts Lan Xichen to try his best, which surprises him, considering they haven’t known each other very long. Nie Huaisang doesn’t think of himself as particularly trusting. Aside from his brother, his cousin Nie Zonghui, and Lan Wangji, he just can’t think of anyone in his life worth trusting. Those three, and now Lan Xichen too, never mind they have just now started being honest with each other.

Even though it is already late, Nie Huaisang decides to copy a few more rules for Lan Xichen to learn, this time starting from page one. No matter how many times he’s been forced to copy those stupid rules before, it’s the first time he’s paying so much attention to every word of them. He is careful to use his most legible style of writing, so Lan Xichen can learn the words properly, so he can recognise them more easily if he encounters them in another style. Lan Qiren would probably approve of his efforts, which would be funny if the situation weren’t so strange.

Nie Huaisang only manages to copy a dozen rules that night before he gets too tired to write properly. When he figures he won’t manage more than that, he places his sheets of paper in front of his improvised altar and offers them to Lan Xichen. The god recites the rules one by one, flawlessly, and even manages to read part of the next ones, since it touches on similar concepts. It is incredibly encouraging, Nie Huaisang decides, though with only three weeks ahead of them, they might still lack time to do everything.

It's fine. He has an idea for that, as long as they can get Lan Xichen to a certain level of familiarity with Gusu Lan's way. Nie Huaisang wants to start explaining that, but his god stops him.

“You must rest,” Lan Xichen advises, giving Nie Huaisang a critical look. “It has been a rather intense evening for you. Let’s go to bed, and see in the morning how to proceed next.”

Nie Huaisang nods sleepily. He should feel his modesty take offence at the idea of undressing in front of a near stranger, but he’s too exhausted to care. Anyway, Lan Xichen is so old he doesn’t really count, and also they might get married someday, and then it’ll be normal to undress like this, so Nie Huaisang doesn’t see why he should make a big deal of it.

That logic makes sense in his exhausted mind, but it can only go so far. Nie Huaisang, once in his under clothes, looks around to decide which bed to pick, only to realise with horror that there’s only a single bed in this room.

“I thought this was a room for two?” he gasps, feeling a little faint.

Lan Xichen, slowly divesting himself from the many, many layers he has to wear to pass as a Gusu Lan disciple, nods distractedly.

“It is a big bed, Nie gongzi,” Lan Xichen says. “we could fit three or four in there.”

It might be exhaustion, or it might be embarrassment, but Nie Huaisang feels a little faint. Sleeping in the same room as someone else was already big, but this is huge. The last time he’s slept in the same bed as someone else was…

It hasn’t happened since those first few months after his father’s death, when he had nightmares and couldn’t stand to be alone, terrified that his rageful father would return during the night and do something terrible. So it's been years, and at least Nie Huaisang was young back then, which excused the impropriety.

Maybe if Lan Xichen showed any trace of unease, Nie Huaisang would try to protest. But the god treats this situation as if it’s perfectly normal, and maybe it is for him. Maybe in the olden days, people just slept like that. Nie Huaisang thinks it’s something poor people do, but of course he wouldn’t really know. He is too tired to try to explain why it’s odd, anyway. If Lan Xichen thinks this is fine, then it’s probably fine. Gods are supposed to know what’s right and what’s wrong, don’t they?

If Lan Xichen doesn’t mind, Nie Huaisang will try not to mind either.

Before things can get a chance to get awkward, Nie Huaisang climbs in bed and curls up under the blanket, as close as possible to the edge of the mattress so there will be plenty of space between the two of them, for propriety. He then closes his eyes tightly, desperately trying not to notice when Lan Xichen comes to lay down next to him.

He fails in that endeavour.

Lan Xichen doesn’t lay particularly close to him, the way lovers do in certain books that Nie Huaisang isn’t supposed to own, but he isn’t particularly careful to keep distance between them either, as if this doesn’t mean anything to him.

Perhaps it doesn’t.

Nie Huaisang can’t help but curl a little tighter when he thinks just how much of a stranger the man in bed with him is. All Nie Huaisang knows for sure about Lan Xichen is the fact he had been lying to everybody, and would have lied to him as well if he could have gotten away with it.

Or would he? Lan Xichen said he wants them to be friends, that he doesn’t like feeling Nie Huaisang’s fear of him. Was that the truth, or another lie to fit with what the list demanded?

Maybe Nie Huaisang doesn't know anything at all about this god he’s going to help deceive everyone.

What he does know, then, is that he wants to trust Lan Xichen, even if it goes against all good sense. Lan Xichen hasn’t done anything to hurt him so far, has he? On the contrary, he has been kind, he allowed him to take refuge in his temple, granted him a wish so huge that Nie Huaisang hadn’t ever thought to actually ask for it, and now he’s trying his best to make Nie Huaisang comfortable and…

It’s not that Nie Huaisang has much to complain about. He knows he’s lucky, that he’s never lacked for anything, that his brother loves him, in his own manner. The Nie elders don’t like him too much, and he’s not close to any disciples, but he has a friend in Wangji, and he has his birds, so he’s not lonely, not really.

Not exactly.

He’s not lonely, but nobody has ever acted like being at his side was worth making an effort. Wangji just doesn't have anyone else, his brother can't go against blood, his birds are kept in cages. Nobody had much of a choice. Not until he met this odd god, who is ready to go to incredible extremes just to be around him.

A mean little voice in the back of Nie Huaisang’s head tells him that it’s just because Lan Xichen is so desperate for believers he’d latch onto anyone at all, that Lan Xichen is forced like all the others, but… but it’s still nice to have been the one who entered that temple, who made those offerings, who prayed to that abandoned altar, and thus became worthy of those efforts. At least, he hopes he’s worth it. He hopes Lan Xichen won’t regret choosing him. He hopes…

“You need to sleep,” Lan Xichen orders, shuffling closer, close enough to almost touch Nie Huaisang. “Is there a problem? Is the bed not comfortable? Are you cold?”

Nie Huaisang curls so tight on himself that his chin pokes the space between his knees. Briefly, a sill thought crosses his mind. If he says he’s cold, what will Lan Xichen do? Hug him for warmth like people do in stories? The idea makes him shivers, and he quickly shakes his head, because he’s terrified Lan Xichen would really do something like that, because it’s ridiculous how much he wants a hug right now. It’s been an awful, intense evening, and he’d give anything for a hug, but he’s sure he’d die of embarrassment if Lan Xichen were to hold him.

“If you’re nervous about this situation, we can always think of another way to deal with this,” Lan Xichen offers. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow if you like, but for now…”

Lan Xichen puts a hand on Nie Huaisang’s shoulder, seeking to offer comfort, or to calm him perhaps, but Nie Huaisang flinches so violently that he nearly falls off the bed.

The offending hand is immediately removed, and Nie Huaisang can feel the god’s eyes on him. He braces himself for questions, or accusations, or anything at all really. But Lan Xichen just sighs sadly, and moves away, closer to the other edge of the bed, and that’s the end of it.

Nie Huaisang curses himself. Of course even when something good happens, when someone tries to be nice to him, he has to ruin it.

Sighing as well, Nie Huaisang tries his best to fall asleep, while cursing himself for making things so awkward when clearly Lan Xichen is just being friendly. What else but friendly could he be, anyway? Even if he modelled himself after Nie Huaisang’s list, it’d be stupid to ever expect him to fall in love or anything. After all, Nie Huaisang knows he isn’t a very likeable person, or else his brother wouldn’t always be angry at him, and he wouldn’t have needed to invent a version of Lan Wangji that doesn't just tolerates him.

Likeable people don’t need a deal with a god to find someone to marry them.

And with that thought in mind, Nie Huaisang finally manages to drift to sleep.

When he wakes up in the morning, the other half of the bed is empty, and Nie Huaisang finds that he has been carefully tucked under the blanket. It must have happened recently, because he knows he moves a lot in his sleep, something his brother has complained about at length those few times they shared a bed.

Nie Huaisang knows he should get up, get dressed and grab some breakfast so they can continue their journey toward Gusu. He should do that, but instead he stays in bed as long as he can, enjoying the warmth of that blanket so meticulously wrapped around him, and pretends it means something even when he knows it doesn’t.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #xisang wishes au #I've had a rough week so nhs gets to have high anxiety and a small breakdown #as a treat

44 notes · View notes

earlgreytea68 · 3 years ago

Note

F, I & M for the fic ask list! <3

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Okay, so it's hard to pick just one only because it's not like there's one that lives in my head that I think about all the time, y'know? To me, my favorite bits of dialogue are ones that I write and totally forgot that I wrote, so that when I read the fic over again they take me by surprise and kind of startle a laugh out of me and I'm like, Ha! That's pretty good!

So, in the interest of trying to find one, I have opened a fic at random and found this:

“No, I think—No, it definitely has to be taller than you, Pete—”

“Fuck you,” Pete rejoins good-naturedly, “you’re no hulking giant over there, you know.”

“I’m not claiming to be, but I’m not the one picking out five-foot-tall Christmas trees.”

“They’re cute,” Pete says. “Like you. Cute little starburst packages. Emo ones.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Trees can’t be emo.”

“Short trees are emo because of their shortness. They’re emo about being short.”

“Okay,” Patrick drawls.

“Don’t even question me, I know everything about Christmas, I am the King of Christmas, I speak the language of pine trees and jingle bells.”

“Do you speak the language of my middle finger?” Patrick asks.

“Patrick,” Pete chides him playfully, “there are children around here.” Pete grins at him, then wanders over to look at taller trees. “How about this one? It’s taller than me.”

“By, like, two inches.”

“You requested a tree that’s taller than me, here we have one. Taller, still cute enough to be an emo starburst. Come and hold it so I can inspect how it looks from afar.”

Patrick obediently holds the tree for Pete. Patrick obediently turns it this way and that.

“It’s perfect,” Pete eventually declares. “And the tree’s not so bad, either.”

“Ha ha,” Patrick says, feeling the blush on his face, but he’s so pink from the cold by now that hopefully it’s not that obvious. “Let’s go buy it.”

“Do you like it?” Pete asks anxiously. “I don’t want to get it if you don’t like it. Do you want something taller?”

Patrick looks at Pete. Patrick says, “No, I don’t want something taller. Also, the tree is okay, too.”

This is long but I like this bit. I remember writing it, and I didn't actually know what was supposed to come next in this story, so I was like, What can they talk about with a Christmas tree, so the joke starts, about the tree having to be taller than Pete. Pete says dramatically that he speaks "the language of pine trees and jingle bells," I love this, it's the kind of super-dramatic little pronouncement you wish you would think to make in this kind of moment but it also is a silly joke wrapped around a truth of Pete's character in this fic because his Christmas-connection is so tortured for him, and Patrick's rejoinder about the language of his middle finger is so much better than just having Patrick give him the finger, because it takes Pete's phrasing and mocks it gently and is totally in character for Patrick, who seldom speaks in the poetry Pete uses. Then there's Pete's silly little flirt "And the tree's not so bad," that Patrick's like, "ha ha" about but then he turns it around gently at the end: "The tree is okay, too." And it's great to me, because this scene started off with silly little jokes, and then one of the jokes gets used at the end to make this really sweet, thoughtful point. And that's usually what I'm trying to do with dialogue. I want it to be funny, I want you to laugh, but at the end of the scene I generally want that joke to suddenly be profound somehow.

(This is from Hallmark Christmas Movie, btw.)

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

I feel like all of my writing is incredibly self-indulgent and just out there as self-indulgent, so I don't think it's a guilty pleasure, I don't feel guilty about it. Actually, I don't feel guilty about most of the stuff I read, either, because reading for fun is totally okay. I guess probably I feel most guilty about reading male slash because then I feel like am I being sexist.

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?

So I really want to write another Schrodingerverse story about Tennyson really struggling with going back to school, because my niblings have really struggled with that and I wanted to work through it.

Also I think I want to write a wedding for, well, me, because I'm not a huge fan of the way their wedding happened in that 'verse (although I know other people really love it and that's cool!).

I also kind of want to write a fic based on a premise I saw somewhere where Pete is a little prince who decides to marry the other little boy he meets on the playground, and he makes one of his retinue perform this whole elaborate ceremony, and eight-year-old Patrick is like, "Okay," and eight-year-old Pete is very solemn and everything but then goes on his way and then twenty years later -- surprise! -- the marriage ceremony was binding and now Pete has to track Patrick down to get a divorce of their eight-year-old union so he can marry the princess he's supposed to be marrying.

:-)

#meme #writing

7 notes · View notes

contrabandhothead · 5 years ago

Note

Hi! I saw your post about requests! :) could I get some BOB head cannons of what it’s like to date them while also being is easy company? :)

I’m so so SO sorry this took so long, and I hope you like it 🤞🏻also, I couldn’t do all of them because school has been keeping me very busy. If you want to send another request, and i’ll do more for you when I have time 💕 Enjoy!

Dick Winters

generally very private about his relationship

mom and dad™ of easy co.

i want to say that he puts you on his team during missions, but i feel like he thinks it’s unprofessional

so he probably puts you on a team with someone he trusts and that he knows won’t take unnecessary risks *cough cough* Speirs *cough cough*

doesn’t mean he doesn’t get worried though

give this man a massage please, he’s stressed af

you’d never want to jeopardize his position though, so you’re generally okay with it

however, sometimes you get a little lonely

Dick notices this and tries to clear out a slot in his schedule in order to spend some quality time with you

treats you like any of the other men, except when you’re alone

king of stolen kisses behind crumbling walls before a battle

very healthy relationship overall 12/10 would be an amazing father

secretly wants to get married when the war is over

i’m not saying he definitely proposed on V-E Day but he definitely did it

cries at the wedding, especially since it’s been so long since he’s seen you all dolled up because of the war

also cries because he’s finally getting to marry the love of his life

drunkenly told Nix at his bachelor party about how amazing you would look at your wedding and then went on and on about the specific shade of your eyes

S I M P

Nix never lets him forget it

Lewis Nixon

this man

let’s be for real here

he has NO idea how to display affection at all, especially because of his past

so he does what any rich boy would do

showers you in gifts that you don’t need

it’s not that you’re ungrateful for them, you just wish he would understand that you don’t love him for his money

i feel like everyone forgets that he’s lowkey rich

can’t relate Nix

he will buy you anything he sees you look at for more than a second

always has them delivered by some random Private

the men tease you RELENTLESSLY for it

“hey Y/N, what did that overflowing wallet buy you this week?”

“Shut up Tab”

is always worried about you

especially since he usually isn’t on the battlefield since he moved to staff

you’re fine

you can definitely handle yourself after Sobel’s training what a fucking dick

takes you out on small simple dates when you guys actually have weekend passes

the guys always help you get ready for your dates (they see you as a little sister it’s really cute)

Ron Speirs

this man

oh wow

the flavor

never really got to see you until Dog Co. was basically absorbed by Easy Co.

definitely thinks he’s not good enough for you

when you first introduced the Easy Co. men to him, they thought the exact same thing (they changed their minds after a while though)

REASSURE THIS MAN. EVERY. STINKIN. DAY. THAT HE IS GOOD ENOUGH.

P L E A S E

secretly is a cuddle monster

will 100% sneak into your foxhole to cuddle and will slit anyone’s throat that mentions it

this man has arms and legs like an octopus when it comes to cuddling

will pull you back into his arms even if you need to use the bathroom and will not be letting go

steals you pretty things for absolutely no reason (Ron, no)

the man is like a freakin magpie

the men of Easy Co. grow to like him more when they realize how happy he makes you and how he doesn’t hurt you

he actually values their opinion on your relationship a lot

he knows Easy is like family and you’re like the younger sister

doesn’t show it though

pushes you away when he feels insecure

jealous™

surprisingly domestic

Carwood Lipton

wholesome but to the max™

you’re both so in love i feel like i’m going to throw up rainbows

signed up for the paratroopers together

i feel like Carwood is the type of person to marry his high school sweetheart

so yeah, you guys are that™ couple

best aunt and uncle of easy co.

Lip worries about you just a littleee more than the other men

he’s just a worry wart in general

almost threw hands with Sobel once when Sobel insulted you

he will not stand for anyone insulting his gal

isn’t as private as Dick is with his relationship, but is known to hide it from superior officers other than Nix and Winters

aka Sobel

was 100% willing to get kicked out of the infantry to defend you from Sobel

thinks a lot about how good of a mom you’d be, especially when he sees you caring for the men

is also a cuddler, though not nearly as clingy as Ron

just a loose arm to tuck you into his side, especially during Bastogne

prefers having you on his team, not only because he cares about you, but also because he admires your skill and accuracy

you’re a damn good shot, and he’d scream it from a mountain for all to hear

so proud of his gal

George Luz

you’re either the jokester and the stoic couple, the shy kid and the jokester couple, or the jokester and the jokester couple

there’s no in between

cracks terrible jokes just to see you smile

still tries pick up lines even AFTER you two are dating (even the guys shake their heads)

you two are the entertainment for easy co. let me tell you

you’re also the only person that can get George to shut up

you must thank him in kisses he takes no other currency

clingy baby™

it’s like dating a 12 year old boy sometimes

he can be so immature but it’s kind of endearing at times

everyone is immediately accepting of your relationship because it just makes sense and you’re both good for each other

wants a hug and a kiss even if you’re just leaving the dining hall to go to the bathroom

just give the man what he wants or he’ll pout all day until you kiss his cheek

you guys once had a match of how long you could ignore each other once

he was surprisingly dedicated

but he broke

he snapped like a twig after everyone went to sleep

he dived into your foxhole and begged you to talk to him

he kept snuggling closer to you until you talked to him again

Joe Toye

rough on the outside, soft on the inside

brings you flowers when he asks you out (surprisingly very traditional and respectful when he asks you out)

everyone has a good time when Toye is with you, he loosens up a lot more

loves when you pet his hair and he can just stare up at the stars while laying in your lap

he’s just as bad as Speirs when it comes to cuddling

a cuddle bug but won’t admit it

actually might be worse than Speirs when it comes to cuddling because he can actually sneak into your bunk while you’re sleeping

also wants to fight Sobel when Sobel insults you and actually almost threw hands

he almost got court martialed and was 2 steps away from getting up in Sobel’s face before Guarnere and Luz stopped him

hands down the dumbest thing he has ever done

you were so mad at him for it

you didn’t talk to him for a week

you felt bad because he was always giving you those puppy dog eyes from across the dining hall

Joe gets teased by the guys for being sweet on you

“at least I got a broad! the rest of ya’ can’t really say that much.”

will not hesitate to let you win during arm wrestling

he’s not allowed to arm wrestle with you anymore because the guys know he’s just letting you win

you’re his #1 fan during arm wrestling

look at those arms tho

Joe Liebgott

y’all thought Toye was soft

OH BOY

the way Joe acts around you is definitely bullying material for the other guys

Lieb drinks respect women juice

thinks you’re so cool

would probably walk up to random people and be like “that’s her. she’s my girlfriend. can you believe how lucky i am?”

thinks it’s so cute when you show off your brand new jump wings to him

you just looked so excited

he wasn’t even staring at the wings when you started rambling about how happy you were, he was just making this stupid in love face

definitely grabbed your face and kissed you hard after that

he wants SO many kids????

ya know those lists that lots of girls have on their phones and it’s just a bunch of future baby names??? that’s Joe

this man has 8 names

4 girls names and 4 boy names

he plans to use every name

just wants to live the domestic life with you after the war

will freeze his ass off and take your watch just so you can get some extra sleep

another cuddle monster (they’re multiplying)

whispers really cute things in german to you until you fall asleep

has also almost fought Sobel for shit he said to you

David Webster

you help him fit in more with the other guys

please teach him the art of socializing

yes, the men have stolen his journal to read all his terrible poetry about you

still gets shit for it to this day

shares his chocolate bar with you

longing stares but from across the room

doesn’t actually take you out until the war is over because he wants to do it right dammit

has little to absolutely no relationship experience

please teach him

or better yet, struggle with him and get made fun of by all the guys

they actually accept Web more now that he’s with you

cuz Easy Co. loves you

sends letters all the time when he’s sent to the hospital

everyone teases him that he acts like he’s more likely married to Liebgott than to you

you’re the only reason the men will stop teasing him

definitely more badass then him

you radiate boss energy and that’s what easy co. likes about you

especially Web

everyone’s like “that’s my girl!”

and he just smiles in the corner with the rest of them

Bill Guarnere

DID I SAY SOFT???

S O F T

weak for his girl

arm wrestles just to get your attention (flexes all the time for pete’s sake)

also wants like a gazillion children and talks about it constantly with Liebgott

this man wants an army of little Italian kids

no one makes fun of you or Guarnere for his actions to get your attention because they don’t want his fist in their face

people who have almost punched Sobel for making fun of their girl: let’s add Guarnere to the list

you didn’t ignore him, you just told him off for being an idiot

if i could describe it, he sulked like a puppy that got told no more treats

so proud of you when you get your jump wings

probably makes a toast about it at the celebration

he was so drunk but it was so cute

literally will do anything for your attention

chugging three bottles of whiskey so Y/N will pay attention to me??? pass the bottle bitch

not a massive cuddle monster but enjoys PDA and the occassional ass slap

probably has slapped your ass in front of company before

this boy has no morals smh

don’t worry, you get him back though

Frank Perconte

worry wart but multiply it by 1000x

is always bothering you to brush your teeth

not because he’s scared your breath stinks, but because he cares about you and your oral hygiene

now gets bullied about oral hygiene and his relationship with you

ft Skip. “oh Y/N, take me away my princess. did you brush your little pearly teeth??? i would never want your perfect smile to be ruined.”

Skip has been chased multiple times around Toccoa for this behavior

will fight anyone that thinks you’re not a good shot

is amazed how good you are at darts (knows you’re better than Buck)

does share a foxhole with you

is NOT part of the monster cuddler club because he knows when to stop

has not arm wrestled for your attention but will if so needed

always needs attention

whiny 12 year old boy P.2

sometimes it’s like you’re dating Luz as well

Luz has purposefully third wheeled before

yes, you heard me

ON PURPOSE

likes spontaneous dates

would fight Sobel for you but isn’t stupid enough to almost do it

Buck Compton

realized he had heart eyes for you before his old girl broke it off with him

WAS RELIEVED WHEN SHE SAID SHE WAS DONE WITH HIM IN BASTOGNE

the other Easy men were like “dude, what the hell are you waiting for. GO GET YOUR GIRL!”

let’s you win at darts

is also stupid and needy enough to arm wrestle for your attention

actually wins though

wants you to kiss his guns (absolutely not sir)

jealous and protective

jealous af around Winters

gets teased a lot about it by the other men

but they can see why he’s insecure about it, Winter’s could sweep any girl he wanted to off her feet

indeed a cuddle monster

will only share a foxhole with you in Bastogne

no one else

radiator of heat and thus a good cuddler though

will only let you make fun of him without repercussions

wants you to move in as soon as the war is over

always demands to be in your unit during an attack

will keep you safe at all costs (and one of the reasons why he got shot in the ass again)

Floyd Talbert

THE ABSOLUTE SWEETEST BABY

people use to bully Tab for his condom shipments

now they bully him for the way he acts around you

tough guy??? no. absolute stick of melted butter when around you

thinks you’re a saint

so does the rest of Easy though, so I guess it doesn’t matter

they had everyone from Easy give him a pep talk just to ask you out (Trigger even barked at him)

he was actually worried you would reject him

no one will ever reject that man lol it doesn’t make sense

not necessarily a cuddle monster

DEFINITELY A PDA MONSTER THOUGH

likes when you sit on his lap

can’t explain it, it just makes sense

will also arm wrestle for your attention

will honestly do anything for you

you need me to bring you Jupiter in a jar???

sure babe I’ll be right back

has specific pet names for you

his favorites are buttercup, angel, and beautiful

Babe Heffron

P U R E

does not get bullied for being in a relationship with you because everyone loves him

not a single person in this company, including you, would hesitate to sacrifice their life for that replacement

whines a lot to you when you don’t give him attention

will arm wrestle for your attention and loses

has not had the chance to fight Sobel before but I feel like he could if he wanted to

will tear Dike to shreads if he even mutter one hateful word against you

cuddle monster #2323293

enjoys being the little spoon and the big spoon while in the foxhole

shares his food with you during meals

will not hesitate to get shot in the ass for you

also will not hesitate to get shot for you in general

is like an angry 6 year old baby when you don’t pay attention to him

is known to give the silent treatment when you’re too busy to talk to him for days

MAKE TIME FOR HIM DO IT NOW

wants you to meet his Ma in Philly after the war

has many hopeful dreams that include you after the war

will only share chocolate with you and Gene

give him a hug, even when he says he doesn’t need it

Eugene Roe

HOLY SWEET JESUS

FIRST OFF

NO ONE IN THEIR GODDAMN RIGHT MIND WOULD EVER MAKE FUN OF YOU, ESPECIALLY AROUND DOC

this man has so many pet names

he is not afraid to use them on the battlefield, especially if you’re bleeding out because he’ll know you’ll answer to them

“darlin’, mon amour, ma mie, ma belle, ma chérie”

please stop Gene, it’s embarassing but also like don’t stop

get us a defibrillator his heart stopped while he was looking at you and we need to do CPR NOW-

thinks you’re the most beautiful girl ever

is not dumb enough to arm wrestle for your attention

he just makes this grumpy or upset face and you catch on quickly

he’s also not dumb enough to fight Sobel

BUT HE WILL FIGHT ANY SOLDIER WITH THE AUDACITY TO INSULT YOU

is always worrying about you

especially in Bastogne

always jumping into your foxhole to check for any wounds

probably lost his sizzuhs that way

always has extra bandages just for you

treats you with tender care

Donald Malarkey

THE CUTEST COUPLE EVER

NOT EVEN SKIP HAS THE HEART TO MAKE FUN OF YOU

is not dumb enough to fight Sobel for you

doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to punch him though

is dumb enough to arm wrestle for your attention

it lowkey depends on the day though

i mean

he doesn’t need to arm wrestle for you to admire his arms

like, have you seen that gif of him taking of his shirt???

loves cuddles in your foxhole but is not a cuddle monster

he’s a big baby when he gets tired

loves it when you take care of him

has definitely fallen asleep once on your shoulder during watch

would run up Currahee with full gear 3 times just to see you smile

he needs a hug. give him one now.

likes to rest his chin on your head

also wants you to move in (and maybe get married) after the war

treats you kindly, but he’s still a sarcastic little shit

kiss his muscles

that was literally so long i can’t believe i finished

#dick winters #lewis nixon #ronald speirs #ron speirs #carwood lipton #george luz #frank perconte #joe toye #joe liebgott #david webster #bill guarnere #buck compton #floyd talbert #babe heffron #eugene roe #donald malarkey #band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers headcanon

486 notes · View notes

golden-barnes · 4 years ago

Text

Divinità

Prologue: Salvezza

Bucky Barnes X F! Reader

Description of the series: Au! Divinità. A deity. A goddess. One that Bucky has only seen 3 times before and now he can’t get Y/N out of his head. So he decided to put an idealized version of Y/N in his books. But what will happen when he gets to meet the real Y/N? Will you still be his deity?

Summary: (Salvation) The three times Bucky has seen Y/N and how his life changed because of that.

Warning: Curse words, grumpy Bucky, ptsd attacks and war mentions

Word count:1.5k words (I think that’s a lot for a prologue but I got carried away)

A/N: I (loosely) based this off the Dante Alighieri and Beatrice Portinari story but with a modern twist. This is my first series in years, so I am a little rusty but I am very excited about it.

Past:

The first time he saw her:

James Buchanan Barnes hated the center. And he made it goddamn clear that it was the worst and that he rather be anywhere else than there. After coming home from his last tour, with one less hand, Sam and Steve decided it would be for the best that he went to the Military Rehabilitation Center. He understood why they wanted him to get help and it wasn’t like they forced him, he truly wanted to get better. He was grateful that they cared about him so much to help him. And the center helped him a lot. He was getting fewer nightmares. The nurses were nice. He likes his physical therapist, even though he thinks that she underestimates him. But he is making some progress, more than anyone in the center. The food is decent, a lot better than what he ate when he was stationed. He liked going to the small library that they had in the center. There was a little park next to the center that he likes to go for a run in the mornings. He was finally starting to feel normal, or rather as normal as he could possibly get.

His psychologist, on the other hand, is a nuisance. It wasn’t that he is a bad guy, it’s just that Bucky hates talking about himself and he swears the psychologist is out to get him.Sam thinks that he is just being dramatic but he still claims that he hates him. He recommended (even though Bucky says that he ordered him) to keep a journal. To fuck with him, Bucky decided to write some random things. They were borderline poems but Bucky would never admit that. In one of his journal entries, he wrote about some french fries he ate in Belgium. One time he just rambled about a blue bird. Doc wasn’t pleased with that one in particular.

“You have to write about your feelings, Mr Barnes. That is what the journal is for.” He reprimanded him in one of his sessions. But Bucky wasn’t going to go down without a fight. That is until today.

His session with the irritating physiologist started normal. The whole "How do you feel Barnes?" and "did you have any nightmares last night or any anxiety attacks?" Which the answer was yes. He didn't particularly wake up on the right side of the bed. Meaning that this session was getting on his nerves more than usual.

Then there was a knock on a door before he could answer the doctor's questions.

"Excuse me, doctor. The director told me to come get you. Apparently there's a situation in the lunchroom." From the door emerged the most beautiful person he has ever laid eyes on. Her presence just filled the room, in a way he has never seen. It was as if she was radiating calmness. For a few minutes, all of his worries and his fears just vanished. His mind was only focused on her. On the way her eyes were warm and made him feel comfort. On the smile she was giving him. Oh that smile. He knew that he was now addicted to it and would do anything to see it again.

“Behold, a deity stronger than I; who coming, shall rule over me.”

Was the first thing that came into his mind when she left the room with the psychologist. That night when he wrote in his journal, he wrote about her.

A month later;

The second time he saw her

Veteran’s day in the center wasn’t as fun as a lot of people think it is. It would be crowded with family members. Kids would bring their toys to show them to their grandparents. There would be a cookout outside for all the vets and their families. Even fucking games, there were little challenges and shit for the families to have fun with. The ruckus was too much for Bucky. Bucky always made it a point not to celebrate this holiday.

“First of all, it’s dumb. If you wanted to do something for the veterans, maybe you should give the centers more money to operate. And, I don’t know, make more fucking centers. Second of fucking all, why make so much noise? Seriously, can’t we have ONE silent holiday?” He once told Sam and Steve. To which Sam replied with a “stop being such a grumpy motherfucker”.

This year, he decided to hide in the library instead of his room. He wanted to finish this new book Steve brought him in peace and quiet. And since the library was on the other side of the rehabilitation center, he knew it was gonna be his little safe haven. What he didn’t expect was to see her there.

He stopped at the entrance, astonished and amazed. With a flowy flower dress and peonies in her hand. She was looking at the books that they had. Running her fingers over the spines of the books. Why would she have flowers? Why was she here? Was she staying?

She turned around to see him and gave him the same addicting smile that she gave him the other day.

“I thought I was going to be the only one here. I was just looking at the books. Don’t worry I’m going to leave.” Bucky swears her voice is like honey to his ears. His senses were overpowered by the smell of her perfume. Was that vainilla? Or was it cinnamon? He couldn't guess. He was stuck there. He couldn’t talk or move. She gave him another warm smile, one that made her eyes crinkle a bit. Bucky would bet anything to have her permanently smile like that.

“Oh before I leave, here’s a flower. Happy veteran’s day. Thank you for everything” She gave him one of her peonies. Their fingers slightly touched and Bucky felt a small shock. He probably looked super dumb to her. With widened eyes and his mouth slightly opened, he probably looked like an idiot. Damn it Bucky, she might think that you are a creep.

She smiled again and pointed at the door. Fuck, I haven’t moved from the entrance. She can’t pass. Way to go Barnes!

“Thank you soldier.”She winked at him. But little did she know that he wouldn’t stop thinking of her wink.

Another one for the journal, I guess. He thought letting his mind run wild with the image of her.

Two months later;

The third time he saw her

James Buchanan Barnes was consumed by two thoughts. Number one, he had finished all his physical therapy and his nightmares and panic attacks were less, but he was much better at dealing with it. So that means that it was his last week at the center. He was so happy. He has already said goodbye to all the nurses, his doctors and he even said a nice goodbye to his insufferable psychologist, who he in the end grew to like. He was packing all his things and was waiting in the reception area for Steve to pick him up.

His second thought was her. He hadn’t seen her since that Veteran’s day where he acted like an idiot in front of her. Fucking damn it. But he couldn’t stop thinking of her. Almost every night since then, he kept writing about her. It was like his brain was trapped in a box, captured until he wrote out everything he could about her. He never even formed a formal conversation with her, but he still couldn’t help but think about her. About how her presence soothes him. How her smile filled him with joy. How the flower she gave him was the most important thing he has ever received. Hell, he learned how to press flowers and made it into his bookmark.

“These last entries were really good Mister Barnes. It is like something I would see in a poetry book.” His psychologist once noted. And he couldn't help to agree with him. She had become his muse. And I don’t even know her name.

His train of thoughts was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. As if Bucky called her with his mind, she appeared. With the same heart melting smile and the brightest aura. The receptionist even smiled when she saw her. She walked in, and the room got lighter. Can a human glow? Because Bucky thinks that she is glowing, as if small specks of glitter were emanating from her body and reflecting back at him. Did it make sense? Not one bit, but Bucky couldn’t describe it any other way.

“Good morning Y/N. I was beginning to wonder when you were going to show up again.” Y/N let out a soft chuckle at the receptionist’s words. She reached to sign in the sign in list.

“Buck! Hey buddy, ready to go?” Steve had walked in and Bucky hadn’t even noticed

“Ye-yeah. Let’s go” Grabbing his bags, he started to walk out the center. But not without giving Y/N one last look.

If salvation had another name, Bucky would bet his life that it was Y/N.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #wintersoldier x reader #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #bucky barnes imagine #marvel x reader #marvel x y/n #bucky barnes #winter soldier #bucky barnes fanfiction #winter soldier fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes au

78 notes · View notes

chainofclovers · 4 years ago

Text

It’s been awhile since my brain insisted on a Life In a Bulleted List post! (Please forgive any odd emotional leaps bullet to bullet.)

During the middle part of this week, my wife is going to travel for a work thing for the first time since February 2020. We’re both fully vaccinated, in a spot with low COVID numbers, and she’s going to a spot with low COVID numbers, and honestly, it feels weird to be the amount of worried I am, which is not very worried! Obviously COVID is still a massive problem worldwide, and of course we live in a country whose greed and foreign policies actively make things worse for other places, and of course it’s still very important to take every precaution here (we’re still wearing masks in stores/public places, for instance). But I’ve spent the last fifteen months with pretty painful anxiety, worry, and anger as my near-constant companions, and it is wild to think about my wife going off to a different area and to feel...pretty much OK with that.

This will, however, be my first (and second and third) night spent without her since, yes, February 2020. And honestly, while it might be kind of a novelty this week to, like, eat something I like that my wife doesn’t, or to stay up writing until a not-very-sensible hour...all this time together has been great. Didn’t get tired of her once. (At least not anything a solo walk around the neighborhood or a solo trip to pick up groceries couldn’t fix.) We are very lucky. Understatement.

I am becoming a person who doesn’t kill every plant. And our yard is closer to “done” which is very exciting. And I’m finally getting to the point with container gardening where our food is semi-regularly seasoned with things I’ve grown. I’ve got a lot to learn but for awhile I was worried I would never be even partially successful.

Last week we found two young opossums dead in the backyard, quite far apart from each other. We couldn’t figure out what happened, but it’s possible they got into some poison elsewhere and ventured into our yard? I said some words over them (it’s not like we knew them but I suppose everything deserves to hear “you are loved and will be remembered” even if the people promising to remember you are just two random women) and we buried them and it was really sad. I love opossums, and I wish I knew what happened so I could try to prevent it in the future.

My writing brain continues to be entirely focused on fiction (well, fiction and my professional genre). I’m almost certain I’m currently setting a record for Longest Time Without Poetry since my childhood, maybe. It’s weird. But fiction! I’m having so much fun and feel so connected to everything I’m writing and thinking about, both in terms of orignal stuff and fic. I love the feeling of being out in the world doing mundane little things but in a good mood because of fiction. :) :) :)

I haven’t watched all of this past Friday’s Fire Drill Friday yet, but I think Jane Fonda’s hair is getting more Grace Hanson-shaped as the G&F season 7 filming gets closer to resuming. I feel very convinced this is true, whether intentional or subconscious, and I hope it means they’re gonna let Grace’s hair go grey this season. I know there’s at least one interview in which she said that’s what she wanted to happen, plus the Grace wig visible in S7 BTS pics (since they started filming after she’d already changed her real hair) seems to have grey roots?!

Speaking of FDF, the guest was Demi Lovato and it is pretty wild how many people on the Instagram event announcement, people who claim to be a Jane Fonda fan or a fan of the environment or social justice or whatever could absolutely Not Handle It to see someone respectfully yet nonchalantly use the correct pronouns for a non-binary person? The sanctity of grammar argument is EMBARRASSING. The phrase “attention addict” is EMBARRASSING. Especially since judging someone for seeming like an attention addict seems like a slippery slope on Judgment Mountain to judging someone for their actual addictions, past or present. And since we as a society love to punish people for their addictions and weaknesses instead of celebrating the way that self-discovery and honesty and self-actualization give people the tools to be stronger and cope with their “weaknesses” more effectively. And I’m sorry, Gail, but if you aren’t thinking maybe it’s a little weird that an 83-year-old can use they/them pronouns in a sentence while you’re on her page performatively misgendering someone, then you aren’t embarrassed enough but I will feel embarrassed on your behalf.

On a much, much, much happier note, baking with weed for older relatives is a love language. <3

And finally, on a very related note, I leave you with One Weird Trick your doctor won’t tell you for how to make sure you don’t forget which brownies are the special ones:

(Image ID: a white saucer containing two brownies. One is plain on top and the other is covered with a variety of rainbow sprinkles and colorful sugar.)

#do not reblog there are so many things in here not to reblog #more emotions than livejournal dot com #jane fonda appreciation society #cw opossum death #food things #personal #about me #grace and frankie #gender things #cw misgendering

13 notes · View notes

etherrealoblivion · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter Four: Supper

Table Of Contents

Fic summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 1,748

MASTERLIST

A sudden loud beep had you shooting upright in bed. You leapt up and put your ear to the door. Rather than sinister noises, you heard the faint humming of a very familiar theme song.

You cracked open the bedroom door, peeking into the kitchen where Spencer was bustling around with a frying pan and a spatula with a focused expression on his face, humming the theme music to Doctor Who under his breath.

It was actually kind of adorable. You pushed open the bedroom door further to get a better look, but the door creaked and Spencer spun around, withdrawing his gun and pointing it square in your face.

“I’m sorry!” you squealed, throwing your hands up in surrender.

He quickly holstered his gun and ran over to you. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” you tried to laugh. “A little shaken but I’m okay. Really!” you added after a doubtful look from him.

His eyes were a deep hazel that seemed to peer into your soul. His hands felt good on your shoulders, clutching you tightly in comfort. It had been a while since you’d had, well, any physical contact. He was so tall he had to lean down to level his face with yours.

Suddenly, he seemed to realize how close the two of you were and stepped back, clearing his throat.

“I was, uh, trying to make dinner.”

“I can see that,” you said playfully, with a glance at the kitchen in disarray.

“Yeah. I’m not the best cook. I can memorize thousands of recipes in minutes but i’ve never seemed to master the execution.”

You hesitated.

“Thousands of recipes in minutes? What are you a genius?” you laughed.

“Scientifically, yes. An I.Q. score over 160 classifies someone as a genius.”

Your jaw dropped.

“You’re kidding?”

He shook his head, slipping his hands into his pockets and shrugging.

“Nope.”

“Wait so you can read like, a thousand words per minute?”

“Twenty-thousand,” he corrected, stepping back into the kitchen to continue cooking.

“Twenty-thousand!? That’s impossible!”

“Actually, the unconscious brain can process up to eleven million bits of information per second. It’s just a matter of being able to—“

“—to access the information from your subconscious,” you said, cutting him off. “Wow. That’s impressive.”

He looked at you in shock.

“What’s even more impressive is that you finished a sentence for me.”

“Sorry,” you blushed.

“No! No, I mean, not a lot of people can, erm, keep up. When you start college at fourteen, not many people expect you to be smarter than them. Then when they find out how smart you really are, it can be intimidating.”

Your mouth twitched up into a smile. Spencer was impressive, for sure, but he was also entertaining. Not in a make-fun-of kind of way, but he made you laugh. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Supper’s ready!”

You stifled a laugh.

“Supper?”

“What?” he looked over at you, reaching up to get two plates.

“Who says supper? Are you eighty?” you teased.

“I’m twenty-six!” he said indignantly.

You froze.

“Wait, really?” He nodded. “You’re only twenty-six and you’re a prominent FBI agent? How?”

“Genius I.Q, three Ph.D.’s, and my irresistible charm,” he said, giving a goofy smile.

“Three PhDs? How? I’m getting a PhD and I can barely keep up with the workload!”

“You‘re getting a Ph.D.? That wasn’t in your police report. What’s it in?” he asked as he filled your plates.

“Actually, I’m working on two.”

“Two!?”

You nodded, happy that you’d been able to shock him.

“Yep. Linguistics and Philosophy. I like Philosophy better but Linguistics is more challenging. The library won't let you into the section with the really good language books without a certain clearance. But I've actually nearly finished my thesis for it. What?” you added, noticing him staring at you.

“You’re working on two doctorates simultaneously?”

“Surprised you’re not the only genius?” you joked, taking your plate from him, then, upon seeing what he’d made, bursting out into laughter.

“What?” he looked genuinely confused, which only made you laugh harder.

“Bacon?” you said through gasps. “Bacon and pancakes? You are aware it’s—“ you glanced at the clock, “—nine forty at night?”

“Gimme a break!” he said defensively. “It’s the only thing I can cook. The word ‘cook‘ being a generous descriptor.”

It was better than Doritos and bourbon for dinner, your go to meal. You were just glad you’d had the stuff to make dinner. It would be very awkward trying to explain your unhealthy eating habits to Spencer.

You didn’t have a dining table. Anyway, you usually ate on the couch and watched something on TV. That was normal nowadays right? Whatever. Spencer didn’t seem to mind which was good enough for you.

“So, um,” he said nervously, pulling out a pad of paper and pencil. “There’s a few things I need to go over with you.”

You nodded, remembering the situation you were in.

“Is there anyone you can think of who might have shown a sort of stalking behavior before? They’d be unreliable, constantly late, not being able to stick to a schedule?”

“The only person I know like that is Claire, one of my co-workers, but she’s not a stalker, she's just always late to work. Honestly, the only people I really know are my co-workers, some people from school, and Steve, my friend.”

“The FBI is going to need a list of people you see frequently. If you could put that together as soon as you’re ready. Also, all your credit card information will have to be analyzed, everywhere it’s been used. Whoever accesses your card, even for something as small as a stick of gum, has the opportunity to use that information to find your name, your address, your workplace—”

“Ok. I get it. People I see frequently and my credit card info. Gotta warn you, there’s not much I buy with it other than books and coffee. Then again, there’s the occasional splurge at the mall.”

“Well, the FBI needs all of it.”

You nodded softly, staring at the bacon on your plate. He hadn’t said I need he’d said The FBI needs. You weren’t sure what that meant exactly.

“Do you want to watch something?” he said, gesturing toward the TV. “It might be a good distraction?”

“Yeah,” you put your plate on the coffee table, noticing that you’d barely eaten. “Yeah that sounds good. Could you just put something on? I don’t wanna choose.”

He nodded and picked up the remote.

The only thing he really knew you liked was Doctor Who so he put on a random episode. You let the TV become background noise to your thoughts as you stared off into space.

Spencer was comforting to be around. He helped take your mind off the situation you were in. You looked over at him on the couch, long legs crossed under him. He had taken off his tie and shoes and changed into more casual clothes: a jumper and some jeans. He was absentmindedly fiddling with the throw blanket between you on the couch.

His hands are so long, you thought. Wait, why were you thinking that? You shouldn’t be thinking about his hands. Or how long they were. Or what they could—

“Are you alright?”

You felt yourself twitch, startled by his sudden acknowledgment. Even more embarrassing, you were sure he’d seen you staring at his hands.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Hey,” he moved closer on the couch, “you don’t have to be sorry. It’s alright to not be okay.”

They were just words, they didn’t help. What did help was the care behind them. He wasn’t just saying it to comfort you, he actually meant it. To him, it really was ok to not be okay.

“Thank you Spencer, that actually helps.”

You glanced at the clock. It was 10:26.

“I should do some schoolwork,” you said, cringing afterward. You didn’t want him to think of you as some school kid.

“Okay!” he chirped happily, standing as you stood like a proper gentleman. “I’ll just be out here. Is it okay if I keep watching?” The episode played on, The Doctor dangling from a rope above London. “I really like this episode,” he said sheepishly.

“Sure,” you chuckled. “I’ll be in my room and please let me know if you need anything, seriously.”

He nodded assent, but you weren’t sure if he actually would. He seemed a little withdrawn, comforting you when you needed but keeping his distance when possible. It’s his job to keep you safe, you reminded yourself. Don’t get excited.

An hour later your eyes watered from the strain of keeping them open. But you were almost done with this paper. Sure, it was due next week but you were on a roll. Using an allusion to the Holocaust to support the point that Hollywood writing is riddled with antisemitism. In the morning, it might not sound as clever, but to your sleep-deprived brain, it was poetry.

A light knock on your door startled you.

“Come in,” you croaked.

Spencer peeked into your room, squinting.

“It’s pitch black in here,” he said, reaching for the light.

You shrieked as the light filled the room, blinding you.

“TOO BRIGHT!” you yelled, slamming your computer shut and throwing your arms over your eyes.

“Sorry! Sorry!” he fumbled with the switch and clicked it off. The room was now shrouded in darkness, neither of you able to see yet.

“Are you there, Spencer?”

“Yeah.”

You were both whispering. Why was it that people whispered in the dark?

“You should try and get some sleep,” Spencer said. He was becoming more visible as your eyes adjusted to the light. He had changed into a blue set of pajamas. The fabric looked so soft.

“Yeah,” you muttered, moving toward the bed, “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Your bed felt scratchy and cold. Just last night getting in bed had been such a relaxing experience. So much had changed in a day.

“I’ll be right in the next room if you need anything,”

“Hmm,” you hummed.

Spencer padded back out of your room.

The moment before the door closed you thought you heard a very faint, “Good night, Y/N.” But before you could wonder if it had happened or not, you were dropping off into a deep sleep. Knowing that you were safe with Spencer in the next room.

Taglist: @aperrywilliams @mjloveskids666 @dolanfivsosxox @criesinreid @fanficsrmylife @racerparker @sammypotato67 @lukeskisses @reidcrimes @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @l0ve-0f-my-life @thatsonezesty13

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid gifs #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert

242 notes · View notes

talkfastromance4 · 5 years ago

Text

The Click-- Calum Hood (soulmate!au)

It’s here! I’ve never written soulmate stuff before so this is probably really different from what you’ve normally read, and it’s different from what I normally write but this really has a part of my heart in it. Inspired by Lang Leav’s wonderful works (the poems up above) and some weird instances I’ve been having.

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: none, no smut whatsoever (I know who am I?)

Son inspiration: Then I saw You by Tatiana Manois and Surrender by Natalie Taylor

donate to my ko-fi here :)

Masterlist

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. *copyright is listed at bottom*

• • • •

Two strangers both alike in mind have a book propped open with words inked in of love and heartbreak and other musings. They are alike because they mark their favorite poems by dog ears and highlights with little scrawls of their own thoughts scratched into the margins.

Late night for her, early morning for him as they’re on two different sides of the country, it’s not just miles that separate them, but the day and night. The moon comforts her and is her light as she reads of a love shared between two poets. The sun is his friend and a warm embrace as he delves deeper and deeper into the pages of the same love but tinged with an air of sophisticated provocativeness.

While on their Spotify playlists, the same artists and songs are shared between the two. Music and lyrics, words, and prose, two hearts longing for the same thing.

A love to be written about, a love to be shared, an adventurous love that is unique because it is their own. In both their minds, that kind of love doesn’t seem tangible. To be added to their likeness, they’re both the only single ones amongst their friends and have been for a while.

Calum showered his friends in love, giving his friends small gifts and helping in any way that he could. He was always down for a good time, sharing laughs and making memories. Rose was the same, she enjoyed being with her friends and family.

In the daylight they appeared fine and well put together but going home to an empty house in a lonely bed is where they felt the weight of their ache. Sometimes it kept them both up, reading their poetry books or writing their own. His were songs while hers were just words but the premise was the same, dreaming of love.

She received an opportunity of a lifetime to go to school for her writing. A quiet dream she’d held safe in the privacy of her own mind. It was thrilling yet terrifying moving to a whole new city, the city of angels. Her best friend stayed with her for a week helping her adjust in her new albeit small studio apartment.

It was a steal that was right above a coffee bookshop, a place where she’d also received a job. When she wouldn’t be in school, she’d be working to help pay for rent. While she unpacked and decorated her place, she kept pinching herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

When her classes started, she was up by 4 a.m. because of her nerves and her excitement, it bundled up inside her. She ran through her schedule three times, checked her bag that she had the right textbooks and her small laptop.

She read her favorite poems until it was time for her first class. The owner of the shop already had her coffee made to her liking with a cranberry orange muffin already in a bag.

“Thanks Teresa,” she smiles, taking the goodies.

“Have a great first day! Do you want a picture with your bag?” Teresa is a kind, thirty-something year old woman. She’s living her dream owning a coffee bookshop and has the kindest smile.

“I’m okay, don’t need a reminder I’m starting with kids fresh outta high school.”

“You’re not that much older, twenty-five is still young, Rose,” Teresa smiles. “Enjoy it.”

“Thank you,” she smiles then waves with her pinky.

Her first day of classes is just how she thought they’d be, the awkward introductions that she rehearsed in her head before speaking, going through the itinerary for the semester and then reading a few chapters and taking some notes. Rose loved every minute of it.

During lunch and her breaks, she reread through each itinerary again and bookmarks the pages in her textbook she’ll be needing. In between that, she reads her poetry book and jots down a few of her own thoughts.

Then, the day is done and she starts her four hour shift at the bookshop that would last until closing time at 9:30. Rose quickly discovered that this would be a very easy job because it didn’t get a rush of people for dinner.

Some other students she passed on campus would stop in with a friend and share a cup of coffee or tea. By 7:30 there were only a couple of people scattered about the shop, books, or tablets in front of them as the soft indie music played throughout.

Rose gathers her books into her bag behind the counter before she moves to the bookshelf wall to restock the books left on the small wooden tables. She finds herself humming along to a song she knows when there’s a commotion outside.

The other guests inside turn to look as well through the windows framed in the purple and blue twilight shade to see a couple. They’re the source of the noise as both their voices rise over the other and when he throws his arms in the air that’s when Rose turns back to her task.

Clearly whatever was happening outside was a private moment and Rose couldn’t help but smile at the irony of the saying ‘outside looking in’ while she’s inside but was just looking into their outside debacle. Her mind always thinks of outlandish things like that, she calls it her circle thinking because she can run with the same thought over and over.

It doesn’t make sense to others, but it does to her.

After a few moments, she glanced outside, and the couple was gone. The streetlights had flickered on and she could see stars poking through the darkened sky. She hopes she’ll see the moon upstairs.

After the last guest leaves, she locks the door and sweeps up the shop, wipes down tables and locks the cash drawer in the small vault in the back. She checks that the back door is locked after tossing the garbage out quickly and runs upstairs to her studio apartment. She makes a cup of hot cocoa before bed and reads and writes into her favorite poetry book, her journal next to her.

The hot cocoa made her sleepy and she fell fast asleep with her book atop her chest. She dreamed of someone that held a powerful connection with her, he understood her and made her smile. By morning, the dream slipped away with the stars and she started her new routine over again.

***

Calum’s fingers tap impatiently on the laminate surface of the table as he sat through this meeting. It was mundane but necessary that he be here because the band had decided to take a year off. The world is still in recovery from the pandemic and they agreed collectively to hold off on anything until there was some decent footing again.

He’s been in a bit of a mood since he and Zoe fought a few weeks ago after having dinner. They weren’t exclusive, only seeing each other on occasion and that night she brought up soulmates. She was almost nagging at him that he wasn’t hers and that they were wasting their time when he reminded her, she was the one to call him.

He hasn’t heard from her since.

His mind wandered throughout, thinking of ways he can occupy the next 365 days when he wasn’t writing music. Music is his life; it’s always been a constant and has pulled him through some tough situations and has uplifted him in joyous ones. On the TV stuck to the wall there was a news report scanning at the bottom that the university not too far from his home has the highest enrollment rate.

That piques his interest. He reads the closed caption below the broadcaster as it says open enrollment has become the new norm, welcoming students from all ages to attend. This information strikes a chord within Calum and he’s found what he wants to do with his year off.

When the meeting had finally finished, Calum decided to head over to the university and see if he could still enroll. The semester started only a few weeks ago but with this new window of free time, he’s sure he could catch up.

Enrolling turned out to be easy. He had a meeting with a counselor to discuss what his intentions were and if there was any specific study he wanted to get into. He selected creative writing and psychology, bought his books, got his schedule and he was officially a college student.

The night before his first class, Calum is restless. He tosses. He turns. He stares out the window of his room, the moon winking at him through the small opening of the curtain. Duke is snoring softly to his left and Calum’s mind is racing.

Thoughts tumble over one another, scenarios flash across his mind and then he hears a random melody in his head that sounds too familiar and it helps him drift off to sleep.

***

Calum is racing to get to his first class, he didn’t wake up to his alarm until thirty minutes after the intended time and he blamed it all on a dream. A dream that felt so real he thought the woman in his subconscious was still speaking to him in his ear.

He threw on the first article of clothing his fingers touched, gargled with mouthwash, and shoved a beanie on his head. Regrettably, he didn’t have time to stop for coffee and he hoped there would be some sold on campus somewhere.

Calum just got settled into his seat at the back of the lecture when the Professor stood at the front and began to speak. Thankfully, Calum retrieved notes from the three weeks he missed and read them all weekend, so he picked up easily with what the Professor is talking about.

He smiles to himself, maybe he is cut out for school.

Calum is surprised how drained he feels after his first day. His head is swimming with new knowledge and he’s anxious to get home and get to work. On his walk back to the parking structure where his car is parked, he sees the coffee bookshop he and Zoe fought in front of almost a month ago.

The sign above the bay window reads ‘CBS’ and in smaller print below that it reads ‘coffee bookshop’ and he smiles at the simple cleverness. He remembers Ashton has gone in there a few times and said the coffee is great. Calum makes a promise to himself that he’ll stop there tomorrow morning before class to grab a cup.

His night is spent reading over the homework and answering a few of the discussion questions while Duke sat in his lap. Calum tried writing down the lyrics of the song he heard this morning, but he couldn’t distinguish what they were. To wind down, he had his favorite Michael Faudet book propped on his stomach as he read through each page.

He reads through his own writing; his words transport him to that point in time when the words flowed out of him effortlessly. One poem resonates in his mind as he reads about love being compared to that of a rose and the lilting melody from this morning trickled into his ears again and he instantly relaxed. His mind quieted and his eyelids felt heavy as he replayed the same simple notes over and over.

A beautiful melody without any words.

The loud vibration of his phone woke him up before the actual song did, but he leapt out of bed immediately. The promise of a hot cup of coffee egged him on to take a shower and dress in something nicer than a wrinkled band shirt he had on yesterday.

Traffic wasn’t that bad, and he parked his car on the first level of the structure and he still had forty-five minutes until his first class. Today is shaping up to be the start of a good one and just as he locks his phone so he can open the door of the CBS, he collides with a body.

Books go flying. His phone clutters to the ground and he panics at the fatality that could be evident in the million cracks of his screen. Rushed ‘sorry’s’ are exchanged between him and the stranger as they scramble to gather their things. Their bodies twist away from each other as he shoves his books and pens back into his bag.

When he stands to apologize again, she’s already bustling away, her red scarf blowing behind her in the morning breeze. He sighs then heads inside to examine his phone, but he looks back again to try and get a glimpse of her face. She’s already gone. While they were scrambling to get their belongings, he noted how the smell of coconuts, vanilla, and something else he couldn’t put his finger on, invaded his nostrils. It made him think of the ocean.

He examines his phone to find there isn’t a scratch on it and when he unlocks it there’s a picture of the poem he read last night. Roses. The girl he bumped into smelled of roses.

***

Rose is having an off day. Her alarm didn’t even go off and she put in a generous amount of dry shampoo in her hair but resulted in putting on a hat. She didn’t even have time to get her coffee and muffin from Teresa for she rushed out the front door and collided with some guy.

Without her coffee it was hard for her to focus and when she got called on in class, she had to ask the professor to repeat the question because she didn’t hear it. Then her laptop crashed, and she couldn’t work on an assignment that’s due by Friday.

By the time she made it to CBS, she didn’t want to work her shift. Customers were being needy and rude and all she wanted to do was take a hot shower and read. After eating a quick microwave dinner, Rose took a hot shower then turned on her favorite playlist titled ‘Blue’ for moments like this.

She opens her bag to grab her poetry book, ‘The Universe of Us’ but finds its exact counterpart of Lang Leav; Michael Faudet’s book ‘Cult of Two’ lays on her table.

Did she put that in her bag by mistake?

It was a rough morning so it is possible, but she could have sworn she grabbed the book from her bedside table. Sighing, Rose takes the book to place it back on her shelf then becomes more confused when she sees the same book in her hands, perched snugly on the shelf with her other poetry books.

Rose knows she only has one copy, so where did this one come from and where is her book? She tosses the white paperback onto her bed and empties her whole bag, checking each book twice. How could she have lost it? It’s always buried safely in the bottom of her bag and she didn’t take it out all day except--

Rose gasps. This morning when she was leaving the shop she bumped into a guy and all their belongings went flying. She must have grabbed his book by mistake, and he grabbed hers. Panic sets in, she’s written down some of her innermost thoughts in that book, personal things.

Now this random stranger has her soul in his hands, and she might never see him again. With angry tears in her eyes she crawls into bed while Lewis Capaldi’s voice thrums around her walls. Needing comfort, she opens the strangers’ book then snaps it shut just as fast because there’s handwriting on the pages.

Just like hers.

***

Calum is reading about the red string of fate. After that run in with the girl outside CBS a month ago, he read through her book and became transfixed with those words she wrote down. He knows he shouldn’t have read her thoughts, but once he started, he couldn’t stop. Clearly the poetry captivated her, but her words captivated him.

The red string of fate is a Japanese legend meant to tie soulmates together by their pinkies. No matter the circumstance, the time or place, the two will always find each other. It may stretch and it may tangle but it will never break. He’s never heard of it before now, but he’s become obsessed with the idea of it.

Every morning he’s stopped by CBS to see if he’ll run into her again so he can return her book, but he’s never seen her. His classes are going well and he’s learning so much, his creativity is overflowing. Much of that is because of this girl’s book.

Its spine is overly creased from endless love of reading, some words are highlighted and circled. Pages are dog eared on what he assumes are her favorite poems. Calum smiled the first time he paged through it all because he’s written in his book as well. He wonders if she’s read any of his musings yet.

“Bro, I haven’t seen you without that book. Where’s yours?” Ashton asks while they’re out for lunch.

“Um, I lost it actually. I bumped into this girl outside the CBS and our things scattered everywhere. We switched books,” Calum explains flipping the pages. “She writes it in like I do.”

“You read it? Mate,” Ashton sighs exasperatedly, “that’s an invasion of privacy.”

“I know, I know! But I can’t get enough of it. She’s smart and passionate in what she writes. I wish I got a better look at her when I bumped into her so I could return it.”

“There’s no name inside?”

“Nope. She could be in one of my classes for all I know,” Calum sighs then picks away at the corner of the cover. “What was it like when you and Ruby found each other?”

Ruby is Ashton’s soulmate and they’ve been together for almost two years now. Calum remembers the change in Ashton when she came into his life, he was lighter.

“I heard her voice in my head.”

“What did she say?”

Ashton smiles, “My name.”

“Then how did you find her?”

“I don’t know, it’s hard to explain,” Ashton’s brows crease. “It was only a few days after I heard her voice that I knew her name. It came to me out of the blue. Do you remember anything about her?”

“She had on this red scarf and smelled like a rose.” Calum suddenly felt a wave of dizziness swim in his head and he held onto his temples.

“You okay?” Ashton reaches over as if to help but he’s not sure what’s happening to his friend.

“Woah, that was weird, I got super dizzy,” Calum says blinking a few times until he can see straight again. He removes his fingers from his temples and Ashton is giving him a funny look. “What?”

“What did she smell like again?” he leans forward.

“A rose, why--fuck!” the wave of dizziness crashes into him again and it’s like his brain is spinning in his head. When his vision returns Ashton is smiling gleefully. “Glad to see you enjoy my pain.”

“Don’t you see?! You got vertigo as soon as you said rose. That must be her name.”

“Really? Is that what happened when you said Ruby’s name?”

“Yeah basically, but it wasn’t this strong. She must be close,” Ashton looks around him as if she’ll appear out of thin air. “I suggest going to CBS morning and night, she’s gotta be there at some point.”

***

Rose is flicking through the pages of the new poetry book she acquired. Curiosity killed the cat and she just had to dig her claws between the pages because she’s sure he’s already done the same or will soon enough.

Some of his thoughts left her breathless and with an odd familiar feeling at the way it’s structured. Some of his sentences seem more like lyrics that she’s heard before but can never find the tune that goes with it.

She hadn’t been feeling well this morning, nausea and dizziness made her skip her classes and she laid in bed all day. It would come and go throughout the day and right before bed she drew herself a bubble bath with some candles. The flickering light created the perfect ambience while she read Faudet’s words and the mysterious stranger.

Where her notes are written in paragraphs or stanzas, his are scattered about the page. Sometimes she has to turn the book to read it upside down. The curse words make her laugh and sometimes there’s a fun little drawing.

It isn’t until she reaches the last few pages and she’s reading about a blue angel and knocking back a shot when she stumbles on a name that is not the author. It’s a name she’s heard before, a name she’s known of and has seen floating around her social media.

“Calum Hood,” she mumbles, and she instantly becomes dizzy again. It happens so fast it startles her, and she nearly drops the book into the bubbles. Somehow in her bewilderment she managed to let it flop onto the bathroom floor.

The bathwater and bubbles slosh over the sides as she reaches for the book again. Did she read that right? Her fingers leave dark, pudgy circles on the pages as she goes to that page again.

“Calum,” she breathes, and the room spins again causing her to drop the book once more. “Okay, okay, okay, okay. . .”

Rose gets out of the bath quickly, letting the water drain noisily as she dries off and puts on her pajamas. The spinning has stopped, and she sits cross legged in the middle of her bed, the poetry book open to the poem and her phone opened to Instagram and Twitter.

She’s been an avid fan for quite a few years now and to think if he was the one, she bumped into? With her thumbs hovering over the keyboard she closes her eyes trying to remember anything about him from that morning.

All she can remember is the rush to gather her things and his soft husky voice as he said sorry. She didn’t look at him once and it’s very possible she bumped into Calum Hood. Her mind racing, she texts every one of her friends that have already found their soulmates asking what and how it happened.

She needs answers because how odd is it that she’s felt dizzy and nauseous all day then sees his name, says it, and gets dizzy all over again? Is that what’s supposed to happen? Does this mean he’s been saying her name all this time as well?

Her friends' responses were pretty much the same. In each instance they heard his or her voice in their head say their name. Why hadn’t she heard his voice? Could he hear hers? Rose unlocks her phone and searches his name, turns out he’s gone back to school. The same school she’s attending but it doesn’t say what he’s studying, which is good because it must be annoying having everyone know what’s going on in your life.

Rose falls back onto her pillows burrowing under the covers and shuts off the light.

“Please let me go to school tomorrow, Calum,” she huffs then turns over to hug her pillow.

She swears she hears a ghostly laugh in her ear before sleep consumes her.

***

“I bite back.”

Calum still hears the soft voice from his dream, he can still feel the soft brush of her lips against his ear as she said those words. He’s staring up at the ceiling replaying the dream of sitting next to a girl. In his subconscious it felt like he already knew her, and they carried a conversation well. He doesn’t remember exactly what he was saying but he can hear those three words as if she were laying right next to him.

He greets Duke with quick kisses before letting him outside and Calum washes his face, brushes his teeth, and gets dressed. After he brings Duke in, Calum gathers his bags making sure The Universe of Us is right at the top.

He’s been going to CBS early each morning so he can sit and try to watch for the girl he bumped into. He has one cup of coffee and reads through her pages until it’s time to go for class. A few times he thought he recognized her, but the girl in question always turned out to be just a fan and wanted a quick chat and photo.

They never smelled like roses, so he knew it wasn’t her.

After his final sip of coffee, he flips to a page with the title ‘The One’ and he immediately goes to the girl’s handwritten words.

‘And I want you to be the one for me. The one who brings out my storm but also calms the waves. I want you to be my perfect counterpart. Is my red string frayed?’

Calum smiles at the last sentence. He wishes he could tell her that no, it isn’t frayed and he’s trying his damndest to find her. He gathers his things and heads out the door because his first class is starting in fifteen minutes.

Just as he walked out the door, if he would have waited one more minute, Rose came by his table and cleaned up his dishes to help Teresa out before she went on her way to class.

“How are you feeling today Rose?” Teresa asks, taking the dirty dishes from her.

“A little better,” Rose shrugs, “I can’t miss two days. Are you sure it’s alright I can switch my shift from tonight to tomorrow?”

“Of course. You need to catch up on what you missed, Colbie will cover for you. Take it easy, you still look a little pale,” Teresa frowns.

“I’ll be fine, but thank you,” Rose smiles then waves. “I’ll see you later.”

***

The day runs as normal for them both. Calum has felt this growing energy within him as if something is about to happen, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. He’s been looking at every woman he passes waiting to see if there’s a connection or a siren that will go off as if to say “that’s her! That’s her!” but he comes up short.

Rose still feels a little queasy throughout the day and she’s distracted because all she wants to do is read Calum’s poetry book to try and find another connection.

When the school day is over, she sets up her workspace at her favorite table by the bookshelf in a large, plush chair. Her own latte sits next to her while she quickly does her homework and opens the book. From the corner of her eye a tall figure sits in the chair on the other side of the table. She pays it no mind until there’s a loud crash.

The stranger knocked her cup to the floor, and it shattered, white foam and coffee filling up the grooves in the tile.

“Shit, I’m sorry--”

“It’s okay,” she says automatically.

They both reach for the largest fragment of broken cup; their pinkies touch and Rose feels something click inside her. Her skin is hot where he touches her, and with her heart pounding like a thousand horses running, she looks up.

He knew who she was before he looked into her eyes, when they came in such proximity, he smelled the roses and the coconut and the vanilla. When their pinkies touched, he felt a spark shoot up his veins, that’s the siren he’s been waiting for and when he looked into her eyes? Everything clicked into place.

“Rose?”

“Calum?”

They both laugh nervously, their pinkies still touching. Rose feels her cheeks warm and Calum can’t stop smiling at her. After their small moment, they clean up the mess of the broken cup and sit back in their respective chairs.

“I think this is yours,” she holds out his book that she was currently reading.

“And I believe--” he pulls out her book from his bag holding it up “--this is yours.”

Having it in her possession again makes it feel like a lost limb has been returned home. Calum flips through his own book noticing the wrinkled pages. He knows she read it and he’s so glad she’s the one who did. He watches her rifle through the pages, soft fingers tracing over words that have been printed and words she’s inked in herself.

“You’re a wonderful writer,” he comments, and her eyes flash up to him.

“You are too, but you’re a musician so that’s no surprise,” she giggles, and Calum loves the sound.

Talking comes easily between Calum and Rose, but how could it not when they’re soulmates? As the night gets longer and the shop is about to close, Rose invites him up for some tea and he gladly accepts.

While she’s setting up the kettle, he examines her bookshelf, some books he’s read, and others grab his attention that he wants to ask her about. Soft music fills the room and he smiles because this is on one of his playlists as well.

“How do you like your tea?” she asks, and Calum moves back to the kitchen area.

“Little bit of milk and honey and some sugar,” he smiles, watching her add the ingredients.

Their fingers brush again when he accepts the cup from her, another spark ignites but it starts a different type of warmth. Calum becomes very aware of both their actions. He’s aware of how close she sits next to him on the couch, he’s aware of the way she licks her lips and how badly he wants to kiss them.

“So, this is . . . a little crazy, right?” she laughs awkwardly, her finger circling the rim of the mug. “How did you find me? Did you hear my voice? Because I didn’t hear yours.”

“What did you experience then?” he asks, setting his mug on the small table in front of them.

“I was home for a whole day because I just felt really dizzy and nauseous, then when I was taking a bath and reading your book, I saw your name, said it out loud and had another dizzy spell. I think I dreamed of you, too. . .” her brows furrowed in confusion.

Calum tries not to let her small tidbit of information that she was in the bath when she said his name get to him, but he knows exactly what she’s talking about. He was at home playing with Duke when he felt another wave of dizziness hit, it came upon him so fast that he practically fell onto the couch. It felt different then when he said her name, it was stronger.

“I’m sorry, when I discovered your name, I kept saying it,” he admits fiddling with one of his rings.

“How’d you find out my name?”

“I was talking with my friend, Ashton and I told him about the day we collided and how you smelled like a rose. You know what’s funny? When we said each other’s name downstairs I didn’t feel dizzy, did you?”

“No, I didn’t,” she shakes her head then looks at him, “what does that mean?”

“I--” he stops short when the song shifts, and he gasps. “I’ve had this melody stuck in my head for weeks, is this you singing?”

“Absolutely not,” Rose laughs and rises from the couch to turn it up on her phone. “It calms me down, so I play it a lot. What was--oh!”

She spun around and Calum was standing right in front of her. She didn’t realize how tall he is until right now and the scent of his cologne and laundry detergent reminds her of a home she’s come back to.

“I have an idea as to why we didn’t hear each other’s voices,” he says, stepping even closer.

“What’s that?” Rose licks her lips.

“We feel things, and instead of vocalizing them, we write them down or listen to it in music,” he tucks her hair behind her ear. “Even the books we read the authors are in love.”

Rose chuckles at that. “Yeah, what are the odds they’re our favorites?”

“Pretty high, since we were made for each other,” he smiles. His fingers tickle her cheek as he tilts her head up, her eyes are shining, and the smell of roses invades his senses. He inches his mouth closer to hers, “I’m ready to surrender to this, Rose.”

She nods and closes the small space between their lips and it’s as if everything stops. The only thing she can feel are his soft, warm lips on hers, the calluses of his fingers on her cheek and the way his other hand wraps around her waist. He pulls her close and she grabs hold of his shirt, kissing him is like a breath of fresh air.

He pulls her even closer, chest against chest and she gasps at the movement but welcomes his tongue excitedly. They kiss feverishly, as if this is the only time they have. But they have many more days and many more moments to make memories of.

They’re breathing heavily when they break the kiss, she feels him smile against her lips and gives her two soft pecks.

“Calum?”

“Hmm?” his thumb strokes her cheek affectionately.

“You made my world stop spinning.”

• • • •

Copyright talkfastromance4 © All works is intellectual property of the author. All rights reserved. Any redistribution or reproduction or any part or all contents in any form is prohibited. You may not, without written expression and consent from the author, distribute works amongst other social media platforms

Taglist: @galcalirwin @cashtonasff5sos @wokeupinjapanisabop @myloverboyash @rotten-kandy @tea4sykes @jannimoeller3 @loveroflrh @iovehemmings @cxddlyash @princesslrh @here-for-the-uproars @katiaw2 @g-l-pierce @fairyintheglass @gosh-im-short @banditocth @dezzym17 @loverofmineabi @lukeisbaby @spicycal @mysticalhood @thesubtweeter @wastedheartcth @atlcalm @itjustkindahappenedreally @calumance @babylon-corgis @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt @lanternlover2 @istaywithmyjonas @calteahood @sarcastically-defensive17 @allier59 @calumhoodaf @frontmanash @philthepegacorn @mantlereid @lukedorkyhemmings @addietagglikesbands @kikixfandoms @sanrioluke @mayve-hems @morguelth @galactic-golden

#calum hood writing #calum hood oneshot #calum hood angst #soulmate!calum #soulmate!au #calum angst #calum fluff #calum hood fanfiction #calum hood fic #5sos writing #5sos au #calum hood au

278 notes · View notes