#WHAT DO YOU MEAN I’M BEAUTIFUL LIKE GUITARS AND THE MOON AND FLOWER FIELDS BEFORE A STORM AND RECORDS AND DARK RAINY DAYS

[rainswept]

i just ascended

[mikrowrites]

cottages of constellations

c!wilbur x f!reader

warnings: angst, fluffy flashbacks, arson, character death

summary: there’s a place only known by two people, full of sweet memories and domesticity. but the world isn’t sweet anymore, and sometimes violence is the only universal language. rather, Sophie visits the cottage she and Wilbur shared before the war, and is met by an unlikely guest.

might make a part two w doomsday and revivebur, we shall see...

Y/n sighed, sitting upon her horse as the wind blew across the grassy field. Smoke still rose behind her from fires still not put out long after the destruction, the girl shaking her head to try and absolve the memory from her head.

She gripped the reins, goading the horse to move, Y/n riding across the field. She knew where she needed to go, she knew the coordinates by heart.

No one else knew about the cottage, just two people, and one of them... well, he’s dead. There’s no sugar coating that. It resided far from the server, a little place just for the two of them.

After a few hours, with the sun rising behind, Y/n rode into the woods. She kept going forwards until she reached the river, stopping the horse. She looked forwards, pursing her lips.

The cottage.

“This is the perfect place!”

Wilbur jumped off his horse, pointing to the small clearing along the river.

“You think so?” Y/n asked, walking up beside him to stare at the landscape.

“Of course.” He emphasized. “But of course perfect is wherever you are.”

Y/n scoffed. “Jesus, that was cheesy.”

Wilbur laughed, running down the landscape towards the small clearing. He turned back, smiling.

“Hey, are you coming?”

Y/n tied her horse to a lead, patting it in thanks before moving forwards, approaching the cottage.

It looked frozen in time, from when Y/n had left it to help fight for L’manburg. The flowers still looked kept, the farm out back unharvested. She smiled as she approached the cottage, taking in the blooming flowers.

“It’s a surprise, so no looking.”

“Okay, okay!” Y/n allowed Wilbur to lead her over outside the cottage.

Wilbur stopped. “Okay, you can look.”

Y/n opened her eyes, walking over to peer at several brightly colored flowers planted around the cottage’s exterior. The hues painted the landscape, causing her jaw to drop at the beauty.

“Do you like it?” Wilbur nervously asked, Y/n whipping her head around to cast him a bright smile.

“I love it, Wilbur.”

Y/n pushed the oak door open, the hinges creaking. She let out a few coughs as dust invaded her senses, stepping into the cottage. the lanterns were flickered out, pots of plants and flowers left withered and dead.

She walked past a set of bookshelves, running her fingers across the spines of the books.

Wilbur and Y/n sat together, books in each of their hands as they read and relish each other’s company. A kettle of water was being heated in the kitchen, the sun filtering through the windows.

Y/n flipped a page, not noticing as Wilbur’s eyes lifted from the pages to her face, studying every bit of her. A soft smile crossed his face as he studied her soft green eyes, the bridge of her nose, her eyebrows that were furrowed in concentration.

Suddenly her eyes flicked up, Wilbur’s face going red. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing! Nothing, no, not at all, no, uh—“Wilbur smiled sheepishly. “You’re... you’re just so ethereal right now.”

It was Y/n’s turn to blush as she tried to hide her cheeks behind the book, the boy laughing.

Y/n grasped a rung of the ladder in her hand, sighing for a moment before pulling herself up. Each step up the ladder her heart quickened, her lips trembled.

She climbed into the loft area, her breath catching in her throat.

The bed was still perfectly made from the day she left it. The sunset reflected perfectly into the room from the large glass window, casting the room into a beautiful orange hue. Y/n turned and saw the chest in the corner, the sight bringing her to her knees.

The letters.

“I’ll write you so many letters, Y/n/n!” Wilbur insisted, grasping her hands. “Every day! Until you can join me, we can send those letters.”

Y/n nodded eagerly. “I’ll miss you, Wil.”

The boy pulled her into an embrace, the girl burying her face in his shirt. He smiled, tracing circles into her back comfortingly. “A letter a day for you, until we see each other again.”

And a letter a day she received.

The letters came daily, some recalling the events of the day, some poems, some love letters. Y/n read each letter enthusiastically, hearing of Wilbur’s adventures and the people he encountered. The nation he was creating, L’manburg.

Then, after receiving a letter detailing the start of the war for L’manburg, Y/n packed her bag, took her horse, and left for the server. She fought alongside Wilbur and the others, resisting for independence.

Y/n’s hands trembled as she sifted through and read each letter, the open pieces of parchment cast about the floor in front of her. Her heart ached as she read the words of a man whom she had lost so long ago, so long before his death. The Wilbur that had wrote Y/n songs and poems declaring his love and admiration had died in that war, leaving a man she could hardly recognize.

The orange glow of the sun was fading from the room, darkening the inside of the cottage. Y/n felt tears gather in her eyes as she finished reading the last letter, two teardrops pattering on the wood floor. The letter fluttered from her hand onto the ground with the rest, the girl wiping the tears from her cheeks.

She stood, looking out the window and noting how night was fast approaching. Y/n frowned, reaching into her pocket to produce a box of matches, walking over the the bedside lantern to light it. She struck the match, the flame igniting, lighting the lantern.

Y/n went to shake out the match before freezing, her eyes fixed upon the yellow light of the small flickering flame.

The fire crackled softly as melodic guitar chords filled the night with sweet music. The river rushed by near them, as well as the sounds of the rustling leaves in the wind, creating an orchestra of soothing sounds.

Y/n smiled, closing her eyes and resting her head against Wilbur’s shoulder as he strummed the guitar. They sat on a blanket in front of the fire, one of Wilbur’s coats draped over the girl’s shoulders.

Peace. Both felt total and complete peace.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” Y/n mused, staring up at the stars.

“Maybe, someday, we will. We’ll just lay and chart constellations.” Wilbur responded confidently.

Y/n smiled, closing her eyes and letting the sounds of Wilbur’s guitar and the campfire lull her to sleep.

“I’d like that.”

The lit match felt heavy between Y/n’s fingers, the girl sitting amongst the countless letters once more. Night had fallen, the stars dotting the sky. Y/n stared out at the stars, catching sight of constellations and clouds and the moon.

She reached for a letter, parting her lips.

“You lied to me.”

Y/n stood once more and let the letter meet the match, the paper going up in flames. She dropped it, the flaming parchment falling to the floor and igniting the rest of the precious letters that could have redeemed Wilbur.

She stepped back, watching as flames set to the wood of the room, the bed, the carpet. The girl spared the room one last look before climbing down the ladder, throwing the match onto the bookshelf, and walking out of the cottage. Y/n walked backwards, watching as surely the cottage was caught in a fury of flames.

Y/n finally let herself breathe, exhaling deeply as if a weight had lifted off her chest. She watched her old home burn, finally feeling a sense of finality.

“You sure did a number on that house.”

Her eyes widened, spinning and quickly unsheathing her sword and raising it to the person behind her’s neck. Y/n’s eyes hardened, glaring at the unwanted visitor.

“What the fuck are you doing here.” She spat.

She could almost see Dream’s smile from under his mask. “Wilbur sure did love his secrets. Was will to impart a few to me in exchange for some TNT. I figured you might be here.”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “He... he told you about the cottage?”

“Y/n... he told me everything.” Dream responded. She slowly lowered her sword, stepping away from Dream. “I understand everything now. Your blind devotion to him, the loyalty. The server that drove him to betray that trust.”

“You did.” Y/n insisted. “You drove him to his death. You caused all of this.”

“Wilbur made his own decisions.” Dream shrugged. “And as I can see now, so can you.”

Y/n turned to look back at the fire. “So, you’re here to kill me then, yeah?”

“No, I’m not.” Dream quickly replied, Y/n looking back at him. “I’m here to make you an offer.”

“An offer? What the hell does that mean?” She scoffed.

Dream approached her. “They’re rebuilding L’Manburg as we speak. They never learn, they never understand. They call Wilbur insane, yet maybe he was the most sane of us all. He saw and understood the truth, and that scared them. So here’s what I offer you, Y/n. Help me take them down. I’ll pay you a good price.”

“What could you pay me that’s worth my time?” Y/n raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms.

Dream reached into his pocket, throwing a few netherite ingots and several diamonds onto the grass in front of her. Y/n’s eyes widened slightly, looking up at him. “There’s so much more where this came from. And better yet,” Dream tilted his head slightly as he held a bundle of fabric to her, the brown shades and patches so very familiar; Wilbur’s coat. “you can finish what Wilbur started.”

Y/n stared wordlessly at the piece of clothing held out in front of her, before closing her eyes.

“Wil?” Y/n wandered over to where Wilbur sat in the darkness of Pogtopia, the girl kneeling down next to him.

“Hey, Y/n/n.” He smiled tightly, sitting forwards. “What’s up?”

The girl smiled sadly. “I don’t know. I just... everything’s all wrong. I don’t know how to fix it.”

The man pondered her words, considering how the events of the next few days would play out. The heartache and betrayal.

It was no secret Wilbur and Y/n had been drifting apart. The lingering trauma of her torturous life in Manburg and the loss of her first two canon lives, him grieving the loss of his country. They were both hanging on by a thread, and comfort was hard to be sought between the two of them.

Wilbur knew he would die soon. He knew that the end of his story was approaching, but maybe, he could have one more sweet memory with the girl he had fallen helplessly in love with.

“Let’s go look at the stars.”

Y/n perked up, her featured contorted in surprise. “What?”

“Like we used to, by the river. Let’s go stargazing.” Wilbur stood, holding out his hand to help her up. The girl took it, the boy pulling her up to standing and intertwining his fingers in hers, pulling her through the ravine.

They trudged up the stone stairs and through the hidden doorway, out into the open air. Wilbur led Y/n into a clearing, where he shrugged off his jacket, laying it on the ground. He beckoned her over, the two laying on top of the fabric and staring up.

The sky was exceptionally clear that night, the stars glittering beautifully against a dark sky. Wilbur turned to watch Y/n stare up at the stars, noting her lips twitch softly as she began to list constellations under her breath. He took her hand once more, looking up at the stars.

That was the last moment they shared together before he died.

Y/n opened her eyes, looking up at Dream, who held out a hand to shake. She sheathed her sword, nodding slightly before taking the jacket and reaching her hand out, clasping his palm in a firm shake.

The man chuckled from behind his mask, stepping backwards. “You’ll be hearing from me. Goodbye, Y/n.” With that he left, the girl left standing alone on the riverbank. She stood still for a beat before bending down, moving the items to her inventory, shrugging on the trench coat, and turning back to the cottage.

It was nearly burnt to the ground at this rate, the flowers outside catching. Y/n swore for a moment she could see a glimpse of a tall boy in a yellow sweater in the flames, but brushed it off. She made the trek over to her horse, climbing onto the saddle.

She cast one more look at the remains of the cottage before cracking the reins, riding away.

It was time to finish what Wilbur had started.

a/n: i wrote this before the philza lore where wilbur fabricated history in the letters, so just assume that wilbur was truthful in these letters and y/n arrived directly before the duel and the betrayal.

[in-superbloom]

okay so. i never really did a review (feels weird to call it a review tho so let's say a very opinionated essay that's totally the opposite of what college taught me) for wfttwtaf but i never really know how to do that for any album, doesn't matter how much it makes me feel feelings, bc i simply can't write about my own emotions in cohesive thoughts ✌🏻😔

so instead, i let my brain do this thing he usually does when i listen to an album that leaves an effect on me, which is pretty much just creating visuals for the songs bc apparently my feelings translate better into images/vibes rather than words lmao but since i am unfortunately not skilled to drawn/paint/created actual visual stuff, i just wrote them so i'm gonna leave them here bc why not <3

i just really love when music (art in general, but especially music for me) makes your mind run wild & be so inspired that you can't help but create something based on that feeling <3 a great example of that is the amount of art everyone here (on tumblr!sos verse, but also tumblr & the internet in general) create based on other peoples' art & i just *clenches fists* really love that 💜

anyways !! if you're reading this, i hope this makes sense to you & if you wanna chat about the album, my mail box is always open 💜

• track one: starting line – like the mv, but he's running like he's trying to get away from something, always looking behind his shoulder, stumbling on things/people on the streets. also maybe not flying?;

• track two: saigon – then he reaches a tiny but unique/eye-catching door, gets intrigued & enters. he has to go downstairs through a dark and narrow corridor, he hears muffled music coming down there. he reaches the door & the music is now clear, it looks like there are disco balls everywhere ((pink, blue and purple bc ofc)), the place is packed with people dancing & just vibing™. he goes to the dancefloor, but soon it gets overwhelming so he tries to reach a wall or the other end of the club, but he can't. the more he walks, the furthest he feels from the walls. everything has a psychedelic look, also some of those trippy effects he used on motion, and no one seems to notice/ care about him. this goes on until the end of the song, then he finally finds a door ((not the one he came from)) and opens it;

• track three: motion – he expects to find a street, but instead he's inside a room. it's a bit dark, all he sees are shadows, but then suddenly everything turns into an explosion of colors ((when the songs picks up in the beginning)), all dancing in front of him, making him feel lost & dizzy. he keeps walking, but every now and them he stumbles on something ((random things like animals or weird props or stuff that aren't supposed to be alive, but are)). he admires everything with a childlike wonder, touches things and then they turn into something else, or change form/shape/color. in the end, he's distracted looking at something and then falls like the floor reached an end;

• track four: place in me – he fell right there where he is in the mv/visualizer, it goes on like that;

• track five: baby blue – make it look like he fell asleep after the end of place in me, so he's very confused when he wakes up & it looks like the place is falling apart, like end of the world type ((like the lamentis thingy on loki)). things are exploding & he can see another planet very close to the one where he is. it's a bit scary but it's a breathtaking view nonetheless. he's mesmerized, but also kinda already accepted his fate? he's not trying to run to find a shelter/salvation or anything, just watching it all fall apart. at the end, he stops, turns around & looks at the path that he was walking ((full of nature things colored in every shade of blue and also glittery dust)) and he's just admiring it when he's hit by a big rock maybe? or a moon, who knows;

• track six: repeat – he's throw away to somewhere that's not collapsing, it looks like a pathway in the woods? but like, no florest too near, and it's sunny but not too warm, and the path is filled with green grass and flowers. he lands in a place that looks like a field but not quite. and then after walking for a while, he finds himself, but another version of him. maybe a younger one or an older one or both? like, they both just stop and stare at each other and kinda do this lil dance of trying to touch the other & watching the other, both a lil frightened but completely intrigued. maybe the older version of him? ooooh maybe it starts with an older version, but then every time present luke gets distracted by something else or turns around for a second, the other luke is getting younger, until he's just a lil kid. the ending is the mini luke offering his hand for present luke to grab, so he can lead him to a house that was near where they were. ((or maybe mini luke makes him run after him));

• track seven: mum – luke enters the house & immediately recognizes it as the house he grew up in. every step he takes, a wall or an object or a room brings a memory & it plays it out like a hologram. lots of memories. then in the guitar solo part, he finds a guitar in the room where he used to play the most when he was a kid ((maybe some cool&cute effects going around him, representing the sound coming from the guitar)). before the solo ends, you can see a shadow in the threshold of the door, and when he finished the guitar solo, luke turns around and smiles, getting up to hug the person ((it's his mum)) but maybe you never actually see her face?;

• track eight: slip away – he steps out of his childhood house and enters this big dark room. there's only a lil blue light coming from the very center of the room. when he gets closer to it, he sees it's a lil star, who looks very scared. as soon as she notices him ((he tries to reach her)) she runs out of the door on the other side of the room. he's worried&intrigued so he follows her, but when he opens the door, he immediately falls, this time he's in what looks like the clouds ((blue hues ofc but clearer ones, not as dark shades like the ones in place in me & baby blue)), and soon he finds out he can "swim" through them. he does that for a while until he sees the lil star and tries to follow her again. this goes on until he finally gets close to her, but when he touches her, she literally slips from his grasp bc he's being teleported again ((but make it look like she's the portal));

• track nine: diamonds – it starts with a close up on the water maybe? and then the camera keeps getting higher & suddenly he falls into it and soon the camera follows. he's distorted for a bit, especially when he notices he's already too deep into the water, away from the surface. then he tries to swim to the surface, but there's a bunch of things?? or like weird and mean seapeople maybe? trying to drag him down ((kinda like that scene on harry potter & the goblet of fire)). he tries his best to fight them, but what gets him away from them is a group of nice seapeople who came to his rescue. then they all swim away from the place they were ((also maybe slip in some diamonds or things that look like them around there?));

• track ten: a beautiful dream – he reaches a lil city? under water with the help of the nice seapeople & then there's this piano on the ground ((maybe covered in seaweed and stuff like that)) and he's immediately drawn to it. he plays/sings the song ((maybe like the guitar effects in mum, the sounds coming from the piano affect the place around him even tho it looks like he barely notices it)). when the song is finishing, he notices a white light coming from the surface. he looks at it & then follows it;

• track eleven: bloodline – then he's getting out of the water? at some beach perhaps? he's slowly getting out of the water & there's this beautiful sunrise behind him. he's singing along, looking like he just came out of a battle but at the same time he's in peace with himself, looking not exactly happy but relieved. he's walking on the beach, making his way home but he's not in a hurry. then in that lil bit in the end of the song, he gets out of the frame after looking straight to the camera maybe?? and the camera focuses on the sunrise and then everything goes black;

• track twelve: comedown – he wakes up in a bed ((like, this is him waking up from all these dreams)) & he's slightly confused bc the dreams felt so real, but he's feeling better & not so lost anymore. he goes out in a walk that maybe shows every place he was in his dreams? but like, this time you see what they really are bc every place in his dreams was inspired by a real location/thing, just reimagined. but like, he doesn't enter anywhere, he's just walking & you can see the places on both sides of the street. like, it's clearly a set up location but it's just representative. maybe you can see some of his friends/family at some of these locations or maybe they're all together in one place? but they don't look at him, they're just talking&laughing with each other. he looks happy, at ease & he's smiling, wearing a yellow or gold shirt. in the end, he reaches a cliffside maybe? somewhere that leads you to think that he'll go through another portal, but then he suddenly stops, looks down at the cliffside and crouches down bc he saw the lil blue star from slip away but it's now a necklace. he picks it up, with a small&easy smile and then looks at the camera, gives a bigger, real smile, gets up and turns around, going back to where his friends&family are, but the camera stays there, just watching him go.

// now some notes bc i love to over explain myself //

• the "water" one was supposed to be slip away, but alison @bandsanitizer was talking about a beautiful dream these days & said that something about the song reminds her of a sonar-like sound & the idea of searching for something, so that got me thinking about the ocean & relating it to this song and it also makes a lot of sense with what the album represents in my mind, so it made me change that. thank you for that miss alison, it's always a pleasure to read your thoughts 😌💜

• & it also fitted well with the “i can't fight the bloodline living in the seams back home” line from bloodline, so i wanted that one to be related to the water as well bc that's all i can think about when i hear that lyric;

• something in common that appears in every single one: an object or something related to time, since it's the big common theme on the whole album;

• in each song he's wearing the same outfit he wore in the starting line mv (white tee + black pants + converse) but in each one of them, that red shirt is in a different color;

• i had the visuals from starting line to mum very clear in my head on my first listen of the album, but i only truly finished writing all of this yesterday bc i wanna listen to halsey's new album and see if my brain does this thing again, but i wanted to finish wfttwtaf first <3

& that's it bc i already talked too much for a day lmao if you read all of this, you're a true hero & i love you <3 have a nice day 💛

[earthfluuke]

after my first saratine fic, @sarawatine and i talked about the idea of tine being an actual meadow nymph and sarawat being a hunter/explorer sent out into the wilderness by his town, and...this happened.

i based some of nymph!tine off of the nymphs from greek mythology, but for the most part, he’s whatever i made him up to be.

this is very different from what i usually write, but i hope you all enjoy it! ♡

He was sent here to get a lay of the land, look for resources they could use, scavenge for something valuable. And Sarawat can certainly say he has found the latter.

A pretty, pretty boy, draped in a white tunic, looks at him with the widest eyes he has ever seen. He’s almost positive he can see his reflection in them mixed with fear. He had been tending to a dying tree when Sarawat stumbled upon him, and when he’d caught sight of him, he stilled. He hasn’t moved since, petrified frozen.

Sarawat is unsure of why he does, but he takes a tentative step closer. Poor thing jerks, pale hands tightening around the roots he’d been caring for. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he tries, but it’s hard to reassure him with the knife in his hand and weapon belt on his waist.

Tossing the knife a good distance away, he unhooks the belt and lets it drop to the ground. His hands raise in a final promise of safety, and that’s when the boy finally stands up. He still holds on to the tree, like a clutch, but the fear in his eyes is replaced with curiosity. Eventually, he comes over to inspect him, sticking his nose in every crack and crevice to make sure he really means no harm, and Sarawat lets him.

…

His name is Tine. He doesn’t know how he can know for sure, seeing as he hasn’t said a word to him, but the wind had whispered it to him the second time he’d made his trek up to his meadow. For a spirit of nature, Sarawat supposes that’s as good of a sign as any.

Nymphs are meant to be a thing of legend, something you tell young children about at bed time. He almost doesn’t believe Tine is one, until he sees him blossom a flower in his pasture and offer it to him with a bright smile.

Sarawat supposes it isn’t too much of a surprise. Nymphs are known for their remarkable beauty, and this boy is the most beautiful creature – human, mythical, or otherwise – he’s ever seen. Skin the paleness of a white orchid, lips the pink of cherry blossoms, he matches the crown of flowers that always sits atop his head. He’s very much a prince in that way; he looks the part and has the garb to match.

How he goes from hunting him to pursuing him, Sarawat doesn’t know. But every day without fail, he finds himself in that meadow, sunrise to sunset. Part of him knows he should stop, but every time he makes it to the top of the hill and Tine is there waiting for him, he knows there’s no way he can.

…

Strumming a few test chords as he tunes his guitar, Sarawat lets his head fall back against the trunk of the tree he’s leaning on. The weather is cool, the breeze is light, and the grass is soft beneath his skin. It’s an altogether perfect day.

There’s a sudden weight on his legs, pulling him upright and out of his trance. Tine may be on top of him, but his eyes are elsewhere, namely the instrument in his lap. He plucks a string if only to see the light lift through his face. The wonder he sees in things Sarawat considers ordinary only adds to his beauty.

“It’s a guitar. It’s used to play music, see?” He plays a few more notes, and when Tine leans even closer to the sound hole, seemingly to see where the noise is coming from, Sarawat finds himself asking, “Do you want to learn how?”

Before Tine can barrel into him with excitement, he spreads his legs and lets him get comfortable between them. He puts the guitar in Tine’s lap and positions his hands correctly. Tine is tall with lanky limbs, but that doesn’t stop Sarawat from wrapping his arm around his waist to help him strum along to a simple, slow melody.

He loses track of time, finding it almost impossibly distracting to have Tine’s back pressed into his chest and being unable to do anything about it. So he allows Tine to mess around with the strings on his own while he busies himself with burying his nose in the back of his neck. Inhaling deep, he stays there until the sun goes down.

…

Sarawat shields his face from what feels like the hundredth apple thrown at him. All the stories his parents had read to him had missed one very important detail: for as gorgeous nymphs are, they are twice as stubborn.

“What did I do?” he asks helplessly. It’s foolish to, seeing as Tine can’t respond to him. All he can do is guess until he stumbles on one that’s right. “I can’t bring you treats every single time I come here. The others will get suspicious. Or is it because I saw you bathing in the river the other day?” He gets an extra-large apple aimed directly at his shoulder for that one.

“I can’t read your mind; you’re going to have to give me a bit of help here. Did I step on your new blossoms? Scare off some of your animal friends into grazing in a different field?” The apples don’t stop, keeping him as far from the answer as he had been from the start. “Come on! What could I have done! I haven’t been here in over a week!”

He expects the next assault to come, but he’s left waiting. Lowering his arms, he looks up in the tree branches Tine has taken shelter in. His head is turned, petulant scowl to his lips. His avoidance is telling, and Sarawat cannot help but smile.

Approaching the tree, he reaches a hand up towards him. “You needy thing. I’m sorry, yeah? Is that what you want to hear? You’ve given me a couple of pretty good bruises if that helps.”

Tine doesn’t budge, determined to keep his pettiness strong. Sarawat sighs and turns on his heel. In the hopes of him taking the bait, he says, “Well, if you’re really that angry with me, I guess I should just go.”

He doesn’t make it far, only half a step, before he crashes to the ground in a heap. Like a savage beast, Tine had jumped from his branch onto his back. He must have thought that would keep him from leaving. Groaning, Sarawat lets his face fall into the grass. He swears he’s going to rewrite those stories just to capture Tine’s stubbornness.

…

Cupping Tine’s hands in his, Sarawat rubs his thumb over the bright red callouses forming on the tips of his fingers. Tine had thrust them into his face – as though he was to blame and therefore needed to fix them – with an unhappy pout.

“I told you that if you didn’t take a break, the strings would hurt your fingers,” he scolds. His mindless nymph only stares at him, wide eyes apologetic and pleading. There’s little he can do after that. He’s a weak man with an even weaker heart; he can’t deny Tine anything.

Raising his fingers to his lips, he presses gentle kisses to each sore, following with, “You’ve got to be more careful. We can’t have anything ruin your pretty hands.”

For once, Tine is the one struck shocked. Dazed eyes lock onto him, and it’s a nice feeling to have him look at him like that, as though he’ll willingly hang the moon, the stars, and the rest of the night sky for him. And he will, if Tine only asks.

…

“No,” Sarawat says, putting his hand on Tine’s chest and pushing him back towards his tree. “I’ve already told you; you can’t come back with me.”

He turns to go but stops when he hears footsteps following him. “Tine,” he snaps, hoping to get through the spirit’s thick skull. “What part of you can’t come back with me do you not understand? Do you know what will happen if the rest of the town sees you? At best, they’ll sell you off to some rich family like a rare prize. If they’re selfish enough, they’ll cut each of your limbs to see how much they’re worth. Do you get it now?”

It isn’t until he’s heaving out hard breaths that he looks back at Tine. Immediately, his anger is replaced with concern. Hands balled against his stomach, he’s hunched into himself. It seems as though he wants to look away, but his gaze is locked on Sarawat, eyes holding the same fear they had the first day they’d met.

Sirens go off, and Sarawat is moving quickly. Taking Tine’s face in his hand, he whispers quick apologies. His goal is to protect him, and he did the exact opposite. How is he meant to get him to understand that everyone else is the danger when he is the one dealing each fatal blow?

“I’m sorry,” he coos again and again. “I just don’t want them to hurt you. And I know them, Tine; they will, the first opportunity they get. I can’t have them hurt you, okay? I can’t.” His fingers spread out, through his hair and to his ears. “I’m sorry, just please. Don’t look at me like that.”

The quiver in his voice is what makes Tine reach up and mirror him. His palms are soft, warm like the light he radiates. There are no other words shared, but when Sarawat pulls back to look at him, his eyes aren’t as heavy but easier to read. They tell him ‘I understand; thank you.’

…

Sarawat isn’t sure how Tine finds it, the hidden away cave with an opening at the top to let the moon light in, but dwelling on it is the last thing on his mind. The first is the skin of Tine’s neck under his lips. It’s as soft as the rest of him, and he can feel vibrations every time he takes in a sharp breath.

He’s already gotten him out of his tunic, taken the time to admire him (and got slapped in the chest for it), and there’s not much else left to do except love him. And he does. Oh, does he ever. It’s so difficult not to when he smells like flowers and looks like sunshine and feels like heaven.

Caged between Tine’s curled up legs, Sarawat rises to lean over his face and presses their foreheads together. Tine practically glows under the stars, and Sarawat can’t help himself. He kisses him in full, starting at his lips before making his way down. “I’ve got you,” he promises. “I’m never going to let you go. My sweet, perfect Tine.”

Tine clutches at his back, holding him close, as though to say he has him too. They have each other, and it’s such a glorious feeling, to hold and be held.

…

Distracting himself with a new song, Sarawat glances up every so often from his strings to Tine. He’s been busy at work, adamant to keep whatever he’s so focused on hidden from him. His nymph is in his own class of adorable, so Sarawat humors him, leaving him be while he plays for him.

It’s when he’s not looking that Tine makes his secret known. Crawling over Sarawat’s legs like he so enjoys doing, he holds up a flower crown. Two branches are weaved together in a plaited pattern, the spaces filled with baby blue and cream colored flowers. It’s a breathtaking creation, but he expects nothing less from a nature spirit.

He thinks he just wants to show off his work and earn some praise, but Tine keeps thrusting it into his chest. Pointing at himself, Sarawat raises an eyebrow. “It’s for me?” he asks, and Tine nods happily.

Placing it on top of his head, he rearranges it in his hair until it sits the way he likes. Sarawat can’t see himself, but he can see Tine. His hands are clasped together in front of him, and there’s a wide smile spreading across his cheeks. He’s fully content, and he cannot ask for much more than that.

“We match now,” Sarawat says, returning his smile. Carding his fingers through Tine’s hair, he lets his fingers brush over his own flower crown, the same one he had been wearing the day he’d ran into him. Some would call it fate that they met; others would say it was luck. Sarawat doesn’t care what it is. All that matters is that they found each other.

Tine leans in expectantly, and he doesn’t have to be told twice. He gives him a quick kiss and then another. And another. It turns into a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, until Tine’s a giggling mess in his lap. He doesn’t stop, prepared to spend the rest of the day – his life – kissing this pretty nymph.

But Tine beats him to it. Pressing him onto his back, pushing his guitar aside in the process, he lays atop his chest and kisses him, long and deep. Sarawat’s hands find their way around him; they run up and down, over the fabric of his tunic to the hair on the back of his neck.

Everything is right. The sun shines down, beaming a halo around the two of them as the birds chirp from the branches of Tine’s tree. The leaves above keep them cool, and the grass beneath cushions them as they cuddle against each other. And most importantly, Sarawat has Tine nosing at his neck and cozying up against him. In this moment, there’s nothing more he can ask for.

[asleepyperson]

fine line: the album (a commentary / best songs list)

disclaimer: I love every single song on this album. I will never not love them. I just happen to love some songs more than others.

Harry Styles is a mans. a mans who I adore. a mans I cherish. even more so since he released this beautiful masterpiece of an album that I still listen to at least 3 times a day. this is me finally externalizing my love for this album and its individual pieces of heaven i.e. songs.

1. Golden

an underrated queen. she’s beauty, she’s grace, she’s miss united states. nothing gets me up and bopping like this song and harry was nothing but CORRECT when he made this the intro to the album. a ride from beginning to end, albeit more a road trip down the coast than a roller-coaster.

favourite lyric: “You’re so golden. I’m out of my head and i know that you're scared because hearts get broken.”

2. To Be So Lonely

I can't explain it. it's just the vibe of the song. it's so up my alley and slightly different to his other songs, I really can't help but love it. that guitar or whatever it is throughout? the strumming? the violin (or cello?) before the bridge?? take all my money. if you think about it, it gradually gets a bit more dark as the song goes, which is so cool. and also yeah, I relate way too hard to this.

favourite quote: "do you think it's easy being of the jealous kind?"

3. Adore You

do I even need to explain this one.

favourite quote:"you don't have say you love me, you don't have to say nothing, you don't have to say you're mine."

4. Sunflower, Vol. 6

i actually feel like skipping through a meadow or a field of sunflowers, wearing a flower crown and and a yellow dress and strappy sandals and just being in the sunshine. it is everything good in the world poured into a 3:46 song.

favourite quote: "your flowers just died, plant new seeds in the melody."

5. Cherry

I know this is actually kind of a sad song but man how CUTE is this. I hope his ex listened to it and got only good vibes because you can tell that he really loved and appreciated this relationship. and yeah he's bummed that she's moved on but you can sort of hear the resignation? either way, cherry makes me want to be on a boat on a windy day with a milkshake in my hand.

favourite quote: "i just miss your accent and your friends. did you know I still talk to them?"

6. She

someone said 'woman walked so she could run' and I couldn't agree more. there's not even a specific setting this could be listened in but it's worth listening to anyway. and that guitar solo? whew chile.

favourite quote: "she lives in daydreams with me."

7. Falling

I know I know, it's lower on this list than most but hear me out! usually my favourite song on any album is the sad one and falling used to be my favourite. I still love this song too death, but I don't know if I overplayed it or it just doesn't hit the same now that I'm not in my feelings about a boy. doesn't matter anyway because this song is a masterpiece the whole way through, I have little to no complaints.

favourite quote: "I can't take it back, I can't unpack the baggage you left."

8. Fine Line

this is just a vibe. it's a pick-me-up without being too peppy, which is great when you just want to feel a bit better without using a lot of energy. and the VOCALS. falsetto all the way through, that's what I'm TALKING ABOUT.

favourite quote: "we'll be alright"

9. Watermelon Sugar

I love this song. I bop to this song. the only reason this song is so low is because I love the others a bit more, which doesn't diminish the love I have for this song. and I just KNOW the music video is going to give us what we deserve, and I don't mind being fed.

favourite quote: "i want your belly and that summer feeling, getting washed away in you."

10. Canyon Moon

this song is so cute. the way he sings moon has watered my plants. imagining domestic life with Harry is just *chefs kiss*. the HARMONIES. the FLAVOUR.

favourite quote: "I've been gone too long from you."

11. Lights Up

I live and breathe this song. this song sounds like if I was at a house party and I was high off of something so everything is moving in slow motion and everyone's on the dance floor swaying and there's like, strobe lights or something. or maybe I've been influenced by the music video, idk.

favourite quote: "all the lights couldn't put out the dark running through my heart"

12. Treat People With Kindness

again, just because she's last don't mean I don't love her. this is a song for when I'm ridiculously happy and want sunshine and rainbow stickers on all my possessions and I'm suddenly seized with the need to dress like it's the 80s. I love love love the message and I still want a tpwk hoodie but ya girl is broke. the only reason I put her last is because I'm rarely ever that happy so I'm rarely in the mood to shake my booty to this. once again, I still really love her and I think she deserves more attention and love from the stans in general, she's THAT song.

favourite: "and if we're here long enough, they'll sing a song for us"

[myspookysunshine]

Original Poetry Dump Post

These were written under dustyirish, my other url, so I promise I am not plagiarizing myself. Bad poetry, but what the fuck. It was heartfelt at least. : )

NYC

I got your number. NYC; confusion, cacophony, crazy smell of taxi exhaust inexplicably smothered by the smell of roasted beans mocha latte grande whatthefuckever just give me Coffee boring and hot you laugh and it sounds genuine but my hearing isn't what it used to be. the horde floods past, fighting for air threatening to sweep us up in the flow you stand firm and vanish them with a drawl southern magician in a Ramones tee your hand brushes my arm accident or promise? that pinky sure felt like promise. yeah I got your number better yet I got your smile.

*************************

Discordance

Every night, 9:00 a solo goose flies overhead, late to the party offering his lonesome song to the night he's easy to single out the notes are slightly strange; a hoarse, desperate honking not quite like the others waiting at the pond 9:00, on the nose, I hear his tone deaf journey I always look up and smile. I can relate.

******************

Yarrow

Dawnlight breaks across the land birds call on the hill but in the valley down below the farm lies strangely still cows low crossly, needing milked morning chores gone unattended wash forgotten on the line a rocking chair upended bright flowers bent and broken by a shadow come to pass something that is not paint spilled upon the blades of grass wheat sways gently in a breeze that reeks of secret sorrow and last night's sin lies waiting amongst the fields of yarrow.

****************

Grandmother

You laugh at the sky. The picture's in black and white, but I know that ugly blue bathing suit scuffed in the rear from years of poolside sitting one strap permanently twisted from some washing machine trauma I was mortified by it then; I would give anything to see it now. You laugh at the sky, carefree and wild/beautiful, wind whipping dark hair into something approaching chaos Bettie Page on the edge of a hurricane. Your arms reach for me; I, that sepia child, race for them. As I recall, there was an embrace and promises of baby bunnies but memories are funny things; they seek one another, merge, then hide themselves away in corners.

You're in color now, though the room is kept dim machines beep a monotonous rhythm that some dark part of me wishes would just go silent. I stand, arms outstretched, waiting for my embrace. Time and tubes and coma be damned. You're still laughing at the sky.

************************

Solitary Duck

Eighteen months and here in this youless reality tattered grocery lists become relics tears are shed over cow slippers a stray Butterfinger wrapper lies under the bed, coiled, ready to strike I would pick up a sword to protect a voicemail I would sell my soul to still believe in ghosts.

They said malignancy I became five again; all I wanted was my mommy I settled for sharing the news with a rectangle of sod and a solitary mallard on the duck pond.

Isn't it funny how shared laughter sounds like music the same joke, told alone, sounds like madness

I live to pluck words from the ether The most elusive (and the one I fear most) is goodbye.

Leprechaun

It was a day for celebrating. Exactly what was being celebrated she had forgotten (if she ever knew) but attendance seemed to be required.

So she went.

She took a deep breath, steeled herself and walked into the gathering.

A shirtless leprechaun sat in the corner, softly crooning The Doors 'Love Street', plucking out the notes on a tiny piano held in his lap.

He was no Jim Morrison, granted, but was anyone?

She stepped further into the room and the atmosphere changed.

Whisky bottles were festooned with shamrock stoppers, green beer flowed freely from taps, a musky green scent perfumed the air.

Pretty people getting ugly drunk.

A shoving match broke out between a tall man and a misplaced clown. She side-stepped the melee with ease.

She had crafted invisibility into an art form.

In the center of pushed-back chairs, couples danced to contemporary music. Their bodies moved to the pulsing rhythm but their eyes were dead.

She tried a bit of everything on offer, musky green burning between her fingers as she retraced her steps, back towards the known.

No one asked her to dance, and this was not necessarily a bad thing. She was afraid to be swept up in their nothingness.

There once was a yesterday bride seeking happiness somewhere inside she was dimly aware that the spark was still there But that fucker, it knew how to hide.

In the end, she returned to the leprechaun.

His head rested back against the plaster, hair flowing in loose curls to his shoulders. He had moved on to 'Soul Kitchen' and he was suddenly beautiful.

She slid to the floor beside him, lay a hand on his ankle and closed her eyes.

What she lacked in visibility she made up for in imagination.

********************

Three

His kiss is wildfire, eager and consuming Yours a gentle rain to temper the flames laid down together they alter my landscape forever make way for new growth

(you both taste of conviction)

His eyes shout for desperate truth Yours whisper questions and secret pain combined, they stare into the depths of me clear my path to perception

(you both see into the shadows)

your breaths mingle on my skin which touch is which has lost meaning there is no division here oneness rough and smooth sharp and drawl chaos and peace the differences blend into something nearing perfection Twenty fingers twine, seeking my heart

finding my soul

I take you both into myself and in doing so perhaps I can absorb his laughter and your tenderness

(you are both strength)

two men, one woman evolve into the unknown.

******************

Knotted Noose

I was there when the songs formed in basement band trial and error in beer and sweat and frustration in epiphany I slipped away then you Slipped Away I never heard the music that was formed after you lost yourself among the masks and pharmaceuticals you've been gone so long now memories have faded down to driving, pulsing bass a worn high school jersey and the places where you liked my tongue.

*******************

Cancer

I look in the mirror my silhouette is off-kilter I stand, lopsided and pining for something I never thought I would miss. Two hours under the knife equals twenty years of aging biology isn't supposed to work that way the math is wrong, goddammit. Now, even in my dreams, I am unwhole I am old there is hesitation in reaching hands there is hesitation in my reaching back If I could ask this disease one question it would be this : Was that truly necessary; couldn't you have left me my dreams?

***********

Cowboy Prince

Full Texas moon tinged with blood above a half-gone bottle of Jameson rolls in time with your hips your balled-up army jacket cradles my head your heartbeat cradles my senses your body is the only warmth I need against the chill in the air Zombie on vocals backed by coyotes we merge in this wonderland where a rusted out Silverado becomes a horse-drawn carriage you are my cowboy prince and a hi-top sneaker turns to glass.

******************

Yo--Ville

was what we called it I don't know why but it seemed to fit

(maybe it was a vibe thing)

music never ceased within its walls 24/7 lullaby the tunes created weren't good

(but the intentions were)

tofu was a confusing concept to my young mind and I rode on the back of a Harley in a miniskirt

(that scar is all I have left)

a drifter lived silent in the corner bedroom he carried his life in a backpack he could speak but chose not to

(and nobody thought it was strange)

The singer was a woman who dressed in tattered tie-sye she was angry and mysterious and beautiful

(I wanted her desperately)

Jesus was a man named Bob He never walked on water but we all believed he could

(if he could only find the ambition)

I was on a path back then and somewhere between there and here I strayed and lost myself.

********************

Perspective

Yes, it's true.

There are scars under my fingertips when they whisper along your thigh I run my tongue over teeth that aren't aligned with precision I have to pause ecstasy for a moment to kiss stray tears from your cheeks My arms stay around you in sleep to ward off demons I can't see

It's all true.

But what you don't realize is that your imperfections make you my perfect.

***************

Lesson

don that mask, hide yourself away whisper sweet lies in my ear lay your heart bare to be trod upon drown yourself in fear side with monsters, fight the light let the decades take their toll be the bringer of Death if you must but never whore your soul.

************

To The Unknown

Here you sleep, under cold pink marble and sentiment - well-meant but generic - in lieu of identity. I never knew your heart; if it was nurtured with kindness or made to hide away and beat in fear. I never saw your smile; if it was a shy, sweet blossoming or if it burst like sun flare, lighting up your eyes. I never heard your voice; if it was soft and melodic or booming and brash, filled with mischief. But oh I wish I could hear it now, whispering a name to etch upon this stone.

*************

Effigy

The scent of you lingers on pillowslips the mattress still holds your shape I use an old flannel for a nightshirt an acoustic guitar for a teddy bear I'm left with all the pieces that don't make up a whole You are only here in effigy and I can't find a match.

**********

Zephyr

I was numb before I met you soul shot full of novocaine I'm numb after I left you it's a numbness of the brain you whispered soft instruction a curriculum to maintain you first taught me oblivion then you taught me pain nothing much left standing now only crumbling walls remain you came in like a zephyr and went out a hurricane.

***********

Wish

Last night I discovered your words tucked away among dusty knickknacks on a back garage shelf.

I wish I knew how they had come to be hidden. I wish they had found a more dignified resting place. I wish you could have spoken them aloud. I wish I didn't understand the whys. I wish I had opened that box earlier. I wish I had never opened that box.

Last night I found your goodbye and today I wish I was still unaware that a heart can break twice.

*************

Taboo

The only two left floating high and exhausted in a sea of beer-swept men couch springs prod your spine but he is familiar comfort his lap a favorite pillow a slight shift of your head a slight shift in your friendship and lips are tracing denim steel you know the unspoken language of him you are fluent in his groans this one screams fucking finally fingers catch in your hair ghost along your inked bicep interpreting the coded message

'Break glass in case of emergency'

his cock pulses against your tongue your own thrums in time a driving, crescendoing drum beat he belongs to someone else you don't belong even to yourself together, here, you belong Wrong? Forbidden? Taboo? you wouldn't know as the taste of him floods your mouth words have ceased to exist.

***********

Horse

We flew, you and I, across years wind in my hair, dust in my nostrils wildfire under my skin we rode on trails of deception under the illusion that I held the reins.

One day you balked and bucked me hooved death came down beside my head knocked some courage loose I corralled you, slammed the gate and limped away bruised but triumphant.

I never was good at mending fences.

You've broken free and galloped back whinnied softly against my ear and I can only savor the ride as I settle into this well-worn saddle molded to the shape of me.

*************

Just Be

I first saw you on your rooftop sanctuary hiding tears behind a cigarette you'd forgotten where you put your laughter but managed to find where I'd put my soul your shadow was beautiful Just Be, I whispered you sobbed against my shoulder smoke and cologne and tears and I fell, far more than the three stories to the ground fear of not being everything Just be, I whispered, and guided you into me and it was imperfect perfection I can be strong enough for both of us the sanctuary of my mind the lesson held even if we didn't I saw you yesterday, up on stage doubt in your eyes I closed my own and whispered Baby, just be.

**************

[museinspo]

*.:｡♦ ⋅ ⋆ — MUSING TAGS - QUOTE EDITION

i recently hit a huge milestone & reached the 2nd birthday for this blog, so i wanted to do something cute to give back & say thank you !!! with that being said, under the cut you’ll find 828 quotes that can be used for character musing tags ! they’ve been categorised into different labels ( eg. the baby doll, the lothario, the vixen, the cataclysmic, etc ) so some quotes may appear under more than one category. i do, however, recommend checking out all the categories !! they were just listed by my own interpretation and definitely aren’t limited to a certain label in the slightest. the pronouns used are simply what was used in the original line but can obviously be changed to fit your character. depending on personal preference, some may be a little too long but can be shortened down pretty easily. a general trigger warning is to be placed for these as they do reference some sensitive topics ( drugs, alcohol, sex, etc ), as the tags on my blog do. i believe that covers it all !! if you find this useful, please do like and/or reblog ! also, please let me know if you’d like to see a part two of this ! you can find the lyric version of this right here for more suggestions !!

general (31)

better to be slapped with the truth than kissed with a lie.

he is terribly afraid of dying because he hasn’t lived yet.

she drew silver linings of her own.

like art she was beautiful but like art she was also complex.

my mother looks at me and sees my father’s mistakes.

desire is the kind of thing that eats you and leaves you starving. 

she was brave and strong and broken all at once.

i am the sea and nobody owns me.

your sweetness is more cruel than your hurt. 

she looks like royalty ; so fine and distinctive. 

compare me not to stars but to storms and hurricanes. 

fuck your soft words because i am not soft. 

love breaks my bones and i laugh. 

sipping cool red wine out of a long-stemmed glass.

chain smoking tastes like 50′s perfume if you try hard enough. 

she crunches diamonds between her teeth.

in this world that kills beauty ; even gods cannot survive the fall.

it inspires a keen nostalgia in her for the simpler times before. 

friends and family filled with envy when they should be filled with pride.

my first love was an insignificant boy when it should’ve been myself.

he flew darling. he may have fallen ; but first he dared to soar.

take the weight of your insecurities and lay them underneath a gravestone.

you have your fathers mouth and dreams of ripping it off your face. 

you lie to erase the memories from your naked body.

i’ve kept my feelings to myself for i’ve never found a language to express them.

you drink a little too much and go home alone. 

the most beautiful of angels are destined to fall. 

his biggest fear is ending up like his father. 

she was restless in a way that seemed permanent. 

i am mine before i am ever anyone else’s.

she isn’t human ; she is art with a heart.

the addictive (9)

i used to smoke to get high ; now i smoke to stay sane.

you drink like you have something to forget. 

his fingers flash with jeweled rings when he waves them ; dealing drugs out of his pocket. 

he spends his nights drinking jack and smoking weed.

i’ve got whisky with white lies and smoke in my lungs.

i’ll find comfort in my pain eraser. 

oh baby you’ve made mistakes and drained the bottles. 

the addictions that were killing me faster are the ones i loved the most. 

you drink a little too much and go home alone. 

the aesthete (21)

she had lavender in her hair and roses on her cheek.

she has the moon in her mind ; that’s why stars spill off her lips.

like art she was beautiful but like art she was also complex.

he craves the balm of beautiful and soft things.

there she was ; bathed in moonlight and silhouetted by stars. 

he was vulnerable ; to art and to the sky. 

her aura is made of poetry, roses and galaxies. 

to be written in ink is to be immortal. 

seduce me ; ravish me with your words and poems. 

he’s made up of silk and rose water.

everything has beauty but not everyone can see it.

let me tell you about the birds and the bees ; the moon and the stars.

like artwork i could admire you forever.

getting drunk on honeyed water with berry stained lips.

she’s dreaming of lace trimmed dresses and warm pink cheeks.

he wanted to be extraordinary to possess a savage glitter.

his trouble is that he falls in love with every pretty thing.

one day he realised he was made of light.

she wore flowers in her hair and carried magic secrets in her eyes. 

he falls in love with details.

he’s always had a terrible weakness for beautiful things.

the anthomaniac (16)

she had lavender in her hair and roses on her cheek.

i need the empty field around me and my legs pounding along roads.

she longed to go far into the fields and listen to the birds. 

he sits before flowers hoping they’ll teach him the art of opening up. 

barefoot in grass and drinking fresh lemonade.

she was made of sunlight.

the earth laughs in flowers as does he. 

she wore flowers in her hair and carried magic secrets in her eyes. 

she spent hours on the riverbank and had midnight swims.

i need the empty fields around me and my legs pounding along roads.

sensitive souls don’t have it easy ; that’s why their eyes light up when they breathe in the scent of a flower.

nature is not a place to visit ; it is home.

i have nature and art ; is that not enough?

he has a garden and a library ; that’s everything he needs.

for me ; beauty is first and foremost in nature.

there’s a girl out there with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair.

the artisan (28)

seduce me ; ravish me with your words and poems.

underestimate me so i can embarrass you. 

she has the moon in her mind ; that’s why stars spill off her lips.

rule #1 never be #2.

there is a loneliness only poetry knows.

painting is poetry than is seen rather than felt.

poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.

be my muse and you can have my soul.

gather the constellations in your mind ; press them to paper & call it art.

writers make love to whatever they need.

her eyes are classic novels and poetry.

to write is to hold the power of a thousand universes between paper and pen.

i write as if it can heal my broken heart.

i write what i could never say.

artists are prisoners of their own creations.

write to settle the rage within you. 

when she dances she looks like a poem about loss.

in writing you must kill all your darlings. 

it’s funny how artistic we become when our hearts are broken.

he left pieces of himself in his art.

there is a chaos in my mind that can only be quelled by my hand on a pen.

i want music that makes holes in the sky. 

with my beaten small guitar wearing the same old jeans.

i am writing to disappear. 

to be written in ink is to be immortal. 

show me a hero and i’ll write you a tragedy. 

heartbreak makes poets of us all.

she had literature inside her heart that she couldn’t sometimes write.

the astrophile (20)

i would drink the sky and inhale the stars if i could. 

i want to exhale stardust and create my own constellations.

moonlit princess in the night.

the stars in her eyes are far more beautiful than those in the sky.

and the stars whispered ‘come home’

i look up at the moon and wonder who else is looking too.

let me tell you about the birds and the bees ; the moon and the stars.

you are a cosmic child ; a celestial wonder.

she has the moon in her mind ; that’s why stars spill off her lips.

she’s beauty she’s grace she’s in love with aliens and space.

people hope to touch the sky ; i dream of kissing it.

i would drink the sky and inhale stars if i could. 

i want to exhale stardust and create my own constellations.

i saw galaxies in your eyes ; your love put stars in my evening skies.

you will give meaning to the evening skies. 

now we’re lost somewhere in outerspace. 

her aura is made of poetry roses and galaxies.

when you dream ; do you dream of the stars?

i can see the stars from the window of my bedroom and i think i’m in love.

she dreams under the midnight sun of colour and melodic heartbeats. 

the baby doll (21)

she’s in the window in her pink dress ; radiant & transparent. 

she had lavender in her hair and roses on her cheek.

she has the moon in her mind ; that’s why stars spill off her lips.

there she was ; bathed in moonlight and silhouetted by stars. 

she tastes like fairytales. 

their soul is baby pink and very expensive. 

her idea of love was gentle and silent like a whisper of a touch.

she was like cherry wine and what a lovely headache she left behind.

to be soft is to be powerful.

she’s made of silk rose water and glitter.

she spritzes her face with rose water and moves on.

his voice is honey.

his affection comes fast or not at all.

she falls in love with the attention you give rather than the person.

he’s gentle and soft.

everything about her is so captivating ; like the aftermath of a storm. 

she possesses an innocence so destructive she puts angels to shame.

he’s a glimpse of bliss ; a little taste of heaven. 

she doesn’t love ; she quickly falls and ever so slowly picks herself back up and walks away.

there’s something godly yet sinful about loving her. 

she wasn’t afraid of being left ; she was afraid of being forgotten.

the bellwether (11)

she’s in the window in her pink dress ; radiant & transparent. 

there she was ; bathed in moonlight and silhouetted by stars. 

she wore her dress almost as well as she wore the universe.

she uses stardust as a highlighter.

stay until enough people have had time to admire your attire. 

my mascara’s too expensive to cry over this.

fashion is the most powerful art there is.

he doesn’t wear outfits ; he creates looks.

she wishes she could make decisions the way she picked her clothes ; from a catalogue.

the sound of heels on pavement is the ultimate power trip.

you can never be overdressed or overeducated.

the benevolent (26)

you blossom under kindness like a rose.

you managed to have a soft heart and peaceful mind despite the cruelty of the world.

you don’t have to be a child to be naive ; just have too much of a good heart.

she would have swallowed the sun to make you warm enough.

to love and lose and to still be kind.

her hands are soft and her eyes shine in the sun. 

she laughs like she hasn’t a care in the world. 

he’s got a heart so pure ; i bet he has flowers growing between his ribs.

she was not a girl of ice and glass but of sunshine and stardust.

she emits warmth and injects laughter into the people she encounters. 

isn’t it ironic that you take care of everyone but yourself?

she dismissed those who stopped her from being able to see the world’s good.

she tastes like hope.

kind people are forged in fire and darkness and imploding stars. 

he was made of sunlight.

to be soft is to be powerful.

optimism can save the world. 

she cares ; its kind of her thing. 

all he wanted was to receive the love he gave. 

you’re soft like spring flowers and the white feathers inside your pillow. 

there’s bravery in being soft. 

it takes grace to remain kind in cruel situations. 

the world gave him so much pain and here he was turning it to gold. 

he takes care of everyone but himself. 

her voice is honey. 

you are not weak just because your heart is so heavy. 

the bibliomaniac (15)

i grew up in the shadow of a big bookcase ; where verses and novels all mingled and murmured.

books became her friends and there was one for every mood.

she made a vow to read one book a day as long as she lived.

novels aren’t just happy escapes ; they are slivers of peoples souls. 

books were cold but safe friends ; he adored them. 

walking the stacks in a library ; feeling the presence of sleeping spirits.

books gave him a comforting message ; you are not alone. 

he finds himself turning to books and films for comfort. 

a library is like an island in a vast sea of ignorance. 

he dreams of old books and french cafes. 

he loves fictional characters because he has a habit of loving people who can’t love him back. 

novels aren’t just happy escapes ; they are slivers of people’s souls. 

her eyes are classic novels and poetry. 

he always imagined paradise as being some kind of library. 

she wants to be the kind of woman people read books about. 

the cataclysmic (20)

you will learn why storms are named after people.

i’ll swallow my blood before i swallow my pride.

there were girls who would tear you apart with their lips.

you took a wonder boy and you threw him away to become a monster.

the world demanded hate from her and so hate she gave.

girls like her were born in a storm. 

how do i stay tender with this much blood in my mouth?

she sins to forget she has a heart.

you’ll understand why storms are named after people.

her mind is a very dangerous and destructive place.

real darkness was more than just a lack of light.

do monsters make war or does war make monsters?

if i’m anything it is violence. 

to you everything tastes like blood.

she was destruction given form and purpose.

she held an elegant savagery. 

not everyone can swallow the parts of you that have sharp edges.

you’re more than the fires you’ve walked through and the storms you’ve caused.

he tore the beauty from his face and called it terror. 

there is blood in everything you say. 

the connard (15)

my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes.

not everyone can swallow the parts of you that have sharp edges.

take off your armor and let your skin breathe. 

those who are heartless once cared too much. 

he spent his life learning to feel less. 

she can be so cruel and it comes so quickly that birds fly away. 

how to be unapproachable ; a book by me. 

i know i’m fucking moody and i know i’m quite unkind. 

mood ; not in the mood. 

smiling is a sign of weakness. 

sorry i’m such an asshole. 

on one hand who cares and in the other hand so what. 

most likely to not give a fuck.

in memory of when i cared. 

being brutally honest is a different shade of mean. 

the coquette (20)

there were girls who would tear you apart with their lips. 

she sins to forget she has a heart.

she’s like a rose ; she’s beautiful and enchanting but her roots are full of wounds.

she tasted like imported sophistication and domestic cigarettes.

she kissed demons and slept with ghosts because living with the dead felt more like home.

a pretty face doesn’t mean a pretty heart.

she looked at young men like she could smell their stupidity.

she’s a sweet talker with great legs ; her affections fleeting and wild.

she was sweet like cherry wine ; what a lovely headache she left behind.

her hair was long and her eyes were wild. 

how to be a heartbreaker. 

she’s no angel.

blow a kiss ; fire a gun.

she could tear you apart with her lips. 

her attention comes fast or not at all. 

she touches herself with strawberry painted fingers. 

call me your baby girl. 

boys play with toys and girls play with boys. 

she wasn’t actually in love but she felt a tender curiosity. 

they hate her because she smells of vanilla and doesn’t pick up her phone. 

the credulous (14)

you don’t have to be a child to be naive ; just have too much of a good heart.

she laughs like she hasn’t a care in the world.

he’s so busy looking for the good in people he misses the knife they’re holding in their hand.

he’s the definition of starry eyed. 

she thinks she’s living in a fairytale ; it’s why she fears the world so much. 

she feels too vulnerable and soft for the world. 

when someone shows her their true colours ; she tries to paint a different picture. 

he was blinded by how people took him for granted. 

be gentle with her ; she’s more vulnerable than she appears. 

he’s always depended on the kindness of strangers. 

she burned too bright for this world. 

he knows too much and not enough. 

she possesses an innocence so destructive she puts angels to shame.

she will love you unconditionally and that may be the saddest part about her.

the crepehanger (22)

she’s rotting quietly under her skits with a melancholy smile.

the world demanded hate from her and so hate she gave.

my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes.

her imagination has made friends with the dark parts of her mind.

she was a compulsive pessimist ; always looking for the soft brown spot in the fruit ; pressing so hard she created it.

you have such a february face ; so full of frost of storm and cloudiness.

and i’m disgusted with dreams now.

be like snow ; beautiful but cold.

she wears darkness as a queen wears her crown.

show me a hero and i’ll write you a tragedy. 

he doesn’t expect sunshine and rainbows to be coming from every aspect of life. 

be like snow ; beautiful but cold. 

i’m full of poetry now ; rot and poetry. 

but his bones knew something wonderful about darkness. 

she is rotting quietly under her skirts with a melancholy smile. 

a negative mind will never give a positive life. 

he became bitter and untouchable. 

you know what they say about hope ; it breeds eternal misery. 

i overflow like this black night. 

she walked with darkness dripping off her shoulders. 

i’ve seen ghosts brighter than his soul. 

we’re all cynics and romantics ; sometimes simultaneously. 

the crestfallen (20)

she’s rotting quietly under her skits with a melancholy smile. 

i am made of insecurities.

you are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy.

sadness flirts with my soul and takes that too.

take the weight of your insecurities and lay them underneath a gravestone.

you may be in pain but you are not weak. 

if only her life could be more like the movies. 

what hasn’t killed her has made her oversensitive and defensive. 

she’s a lions roar ; broken glass and a thousand tiny paper cuts. 

when he’s sad he doesn’t say a word. 

she’s standing in the window ; transparent and lost. 

crying doesn’t mean you’re weak ; it means you’re alive. 

she’s strong but she’s exhausted. 

silence is not a song you should know all the words too.

some say she’s very poetic others say she’s very sad. 

sadness fucks me way too often.

she is broken and she won’t ask for help.

he’s broken apart his insides.

when he moves he looks like a poem about loss. 

he believes he’s nothing without his pain. 

the crimson (20)

you’ll understand why storms are named after people.

she wanted a storm to match her rage.

she slipped her anger into something silky and attractive. 

i have the world raging under my skin.

she beats her knuckles into other peoples jawbones ; the fight club is her temple.

to you everything tastes like blood.

she hissed ; her teeth dripping crimson. 

he’s never been good at emotional stuff ; except anger. 

he’ll argue about anything with anyone. 

and the grace of the gods is a grace that comes by violence. 

there is blood in all the things you say. 

tragedy exists because you are full of rage. 

he’s got fire for a heart. 

he has the whole world raging beneath his skin.

the world demanded hate from her so hate she gave. 

there is so much hate in his heart. 

rage is the only emotion he’s good at feeling. 

he’s a tiny yet angry force of nature. 

make me your enemy and you shall see fury. 

he’s made up of black coffee and poorly supressed anger. 

the despondent (26)

skin deep damage does not make you unlovable. 

i’ve turned people into homes and i ended up homeless.

the feeling of emptiness is incredibly intoxicating.

she’s strong but she’s exhausted.

my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes.

if only hell didn’t feel like home.

he became bitter and untouchable.

her imagination has made friends with the dark parts of her mind.

she fought best when she was breaking.

there is a beauty in the emptiness of your soul.

he opens his mouth and dust spills out instead of feelings.

sadness flirts with my soul and takes that too.

she walked with darkness dripping off her shoulders. 

i’ve seen ghosts brighter than her soul.

i’m a ghost that everyone can see.

be like snow ; beautiful but cold.

take the weight of your insecurities and lay them underneath a gravestone.

not everyone can swallow the parts of you that have sharp edges.

his chest caves in whenever he thinks about the past. 

it’s so dark in the room you’ve chosen to store your regrets. 

you’ve handled tragedy ; surely you can handle tenderness. 

maybe emptiness is a way of listening. 

he spent his life learning to feel less. 

she wears darkness as a queen wears her crown.

you may be in pain but you are not weak. 

a lot of confidence generates disappointment.

the dirtbag (15)

his motorcycle is the loudest noise in the city that never sleeps.

his fingers flash with jeweled rings when he waves them ; dealing drugs out of his pocket. 

he spends his nights drinking jack and smoking weed.

his life is flashing lights and nights in jail for petty theft. 

she’s a burden on society. 

you were wild once ; don’t let me them tame you.

she spends her day riding motorcycles and smoking cigarettes. 

he told me he was afraid of commitment with thirteen tattoos on his body.

mood ; not in the mood. 

on one hand who cares and on the other hand so what. 

he always finds the energy to sin. 

he loves the way being bad feels. 

boys who skate are better at grinding. 

she doesn’t give a damn about her reputation. 

property of no one.

the facade (15)

she’s like a volcano ; cool and calm on the surface with lava running through her veins.

you wear a mask for so long you forget who you were beneath it.

your mouth can lie but your eyes can’t.

you are not her anymore ; always presenting a different facade. 

her eyes said more than words can say.

alone in my head ; i am content to pretend.

in a world where everyone wears a mask ; it’s a privilege to see a soul.

everyone saw a princess but inside she was on fire ; crashing and burning.

look at her smile and in the corner of her smile you’ll find the smallest hint of sadness.

her eyes are pure stars but her touch will freeze you to the bone.

not everyone can swallow the parts of you that have sharp edges.

take off your armor and let your skin breathe.

he spent his life learning to feel less.  

kind faces are a lie.

i’ve met people who have never met me. 

the fallen angel (16)

everything my mother prayed i wouldn’t be i became. 

my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes.

how do i stay tender with this much blood in my mouth?

if only hell didn’t feel like home.

i was a goddess and now i ache.

he became bitter and untouchable.

maybe you have to know the darkness before you can appreciate the light.

i’ve lost so many battles but i won’t lose the war.

she was not a girl of ice and glass but of sunshine and stardust.

in this world that kills beauty ; even gods cannot survive the fall.

and i’m disgusted with dreams now.

skin deep damage does not make you unlovable. 

you’re more than the fires you’ve walked through and the storms you’ve caused.

my father looks at me and sees everything i used to be. 

you may be in pain but you are not weak. 

broken isn’t the same as unfixable.

the fervour (17)

i never learned how to love in small doses.

pick up your heart on the way out.

those who truly love never stop loving.

i would rather die of passion than of boredom.

she felt everything too deeply ; it was like the world was too much for her.

he’s a lover without a lover.

i’m still a sensitive woman just with passion.

she creates entire romances in her dreams.

he’s an incurable romantic. 

she falls in love so passionately and out of love so painfully.

i never learned how to love in small doses. 

he has no notion of loving people by halves. 

god save the romantics who wil destroy themselves for a better story.

it’s both a blessing and a curse to feel everything so deeply.

he spent his life learning to feel less. 

my heart just sang and out poured my soul.

her idea of love was gentle and silent like a whisper of a touch.

the grifter (3)

she thinks manipulation is the greatest art of them all.

she’ll look you in the eye as she tears you open. 

he’s the best at what he does and what he does isn’t pretty. 

the halcyon (20)

he is terribly afraid of dying because he hasn’t lived yet.

love her but leave her wild.

she loved the sea ; it made her feel small but free as well.

i never learned how to love in small doses. 

lay underneath the clothes line and listen.

people like you are not meant to stand still.

you were wild once ; don’t let them tame you. 

her foot was light and her eyes were wild. 

optimism can save the world. 

he’s alive with pleasure. 

he refuses to die ordinary. 

he doesn’t get attached to moments because good or bad ; they all pass. 

she didn’t allow life to just happen to her ; she traveled the world and wrote books about it.

once you learn to create your own happiness ; no one can take that away from you.

she likes her hair messy her love wild and her sex aggressive. 

she wants to love and radiant light. 

home doesn’t exist for girls like her. 

a life lived in fear is a life half-lived.

he wants to touch the sun and immerse in the sea. 

take your shoes off and dance in the rain.

the impecunious (5)

now your wallet is nothing more than empty space. 

the girl of her dreams was herself but with more money.

nothing to steal. 

girls just want to have funds. 

he wants to work until his bank account looks like a phone number.

the impious (7)

every day that satan tempts me i take it in my stride.

she’s no angel.

he believes in hell and he’s in it. 

she sins to forget she has a heart.

he always finds the time to sin.

god is love but satan does that thing with his tongue that you love so much. 

he refuses to believe he’s not the god of his own universe.

the intangible concept (16)

she was truly a puzzle but god forgive anyone who mistook her for a game.

her smile screamed ‘you don’t know me and you never will.’

i’ve met people who have never actually met me.

i’m a different person to different people but unknown to a lot.

she rolled into town like a new mystery. 

for he had a great variety of selves.

he’s a mystery wrapped up in a pretty body.

she looked pale and mysterious ; like a lily under water.

her eyes reminded me of tinted windows ; she could see out but you couldn’t see in.

you will never know the real him.

accept the mystery.

she was like the moon ; part of her was always hidden away.

he’s as beautiful and mysterious as the night sky.

perhaps she loves mysteries so much that she became one.

trying to understand him is like trying to hold smoke in your hands.

she spoke to no one and carried secrets in her eyes.

the isolato (15)

i need the empty field around me and my legs pounding along roads.

loneliness becomes an acid that eats away at you.

i was quiet but i was not blind.

alone in my head ; i am content to pretend.

loneliness is like a drug ; you know it’s bad for you yet you keep going back.

she’s so transparent ; she could disappear without a trace. 

i wasn’t lonely when i was alone. 

he doesn’t mind being alone so long as he doesn’t feel lonely. 

she doesn’t let anyone in so she doesn’t risk the chance of losing them.

he was born alone and he’ll die alone.

she believes she’s better on her own.

she spoke to no one and carried secrets in her eyes.

he felt alone in a crowded room.

he could disappear forever and no one would notice ; that’s how he liked it.

she has no time for meaningless conversations and friendships.

the lost soul (15)

travel far enough that you meet yourself.

i am a language i am yet to understand.

you will find your place in this lost world and give meaning to the stars.

i mean different things to different people ; but who am i to me?

i was quiet but i was not blind.

how does he know who he even is ?

she’s in the window looking lost and transparent. 

he feels homesick for a place that doesn’t exist.

he’s a ghost that everyone can see.

when she moves she looks like a poem about loss.

how can he move forward when he doesn’t know which way he’s facing?

i’m the place between who i want to be and who others have made me out to be.

he’s starting to miss the person he used to be.

his mind is an ever going ocean with dark shades of teal.

two years later and i was gone.

the lothario (15) 

he told me he was afraid of commitment with thirteen tattoos on his body.

my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes.

his mouth is heaven ; his kisses falling over me like stars.

he is lust ; he is sex in the back seat of a car. 

he is an angel made of devilish grins and laughter.

he’s a god in human form but he’s got a corrupted soul.

he is the dangerous boy with the wild heart. 

a pretty face doesn’t mean a pretty heart.

he’s a sweet talker with great legs ; his affections fleeting and wild.

there’s a hunger inside of me ; a thirst to be godly. 

how to be a heartbreaker.

don’t give pieces of your heart away that you’re not even sure you have.

he was temptingly beautiful but stung anyone who got too close. 

blow a kiss ; fire a gun. 

he has persuasive lips but terrible motives. 

the magnate (21)

underestimate me so i can embarrass you. 

rule #1 never be #2.

he’s a corporate ceo ; making storms in other peoples lives.

there’s a hunger inside of me ; a thirst to be godly. 

the lawyer with the briefcase can steal more money than the man with the gun.

the sound of heels on pavement is the ultimate power trip.

she’s driven by power and profit.

stressed but well dressed.

act like you trust people but don’t.

you can never be overdressed or overeducated. 

she thinks manipulation is the greatest art form of all.

people like her don’t write books ; she’s written about. 

if you’re good at something never do it for free.

she’s a powerful girl.

be ambitious not thirsty.

her favourite position is ceo.

it’s only failure if you don’t learn something.

he doesn’t stop until he’s proud.

we all die ; his goal is to create something that never will.

intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings.

find a way ; if there isn’t one make one.

the miscreant (7)

his life is flashing lights and nights in jail for petty theft.

dressed to kill.

she sins to forget she has a heart. 

at what point does a man turn into a monster?

he’s the best at what he does and what he does isn’t pretty.

his fingers flash with jeweled rings when he waves them ; dealing drugs out of his pocket.

she’s a burden on society.

the paracosmist (21)

her imagination has made friends with the dark parts of her mind.

people hope to touch the sky ; i dream of kissing it.

i fear my imagination ; i’ve fallen so deeply in love with people and places i’ve only dreamt of.

things rarely happened the way he’d imagined them. 

the real world is where the monsters are. 

her mind stays up all night telling itself stories.

if only her life could resemble the movies. 

go after dreams not people.

only her dreams will keep her from falling apart.

he’s always dreaming ; even when he’s awake.

he has an entire universe inside her mind.

she thinks she’s living in a fairytale ; it’s why she fears the world so much.

he creates entire romances in his dreams.

she fears her imagination for she’s fallen in love with places she’s never been and people she’s never met.

he’s in a world of his own.

why stop dreaming when you wake up?

the world needs fantasy not reality.

a thousand dreams within me softly burn.

life is hard but dreaming is not.

we lead strange lives ; chasing our dreams from place to place.

she tastes like fairytales ; she tastes like hope.

the paradox (17)

fire in her bones ; honey in her soul.

she’s sweet when she has to be & fierce when she needs to be.

i’m part heaven and equal parts hell.

she was the kind of girl who was a chaos of contradictions.

her heart has an argument with her head every time it beats.

we’re all cynics and romantics ; sometimes simultaneously.

she is madness ; she is hell and paradise.

she was truly a puzzle but god forgive anyone who mistook her for a game.

the girl has always been half goddess, half hell. 

he’s got both light and dark inside of him.

she tastes like nectar and salt.

we all have both light and dark inside of us.

he wears darkness and strength equally well.

the girl has always been half goddess half hell.

fire in his bones honey in his soul.

he told me he was afraid of commitment with thirteen tattoos on his body.

he feels everything so strongly or not at all.

the pastiche (20) 

everything my mother prayed i wouldn’t be i became.

you took a wonder boy and you threw him away to become a monster.

the world demanded hate from her and so hate she gave.

how do i stay tender with this much blood in my mouth?

if only hell didn’t feel like home.

no one has apologised for all that i have lost.

do monsters make war or does war make monsters?

not everyone can swallow the parts of you that have sharp edges.

skin deep damage does not make you unlovable. 

you’re more than the fires you’ve walked through and the storms you’ve caused.

don’t apologise for the way you chose to survive. 

his chest caves in whenever he thinks about the past. 

you were wild once ; don’t let them tame you. 

my father looks at me and sees everything i used to be. 

he used to be better.

she’s not entirely here ; half of her has disappeared. 

we are good people and we’ve suffered enough.

i am sorry for who i had to become to survive. 

he wants himself back but he doesn’t remember who that is.

who i was then and who i am now are vastly different. 

the philophobe (16) 

he told me he was afraid of commitment with thirteen tattoos on his body. 

my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes.

he’s not afraid to love ; he’s afraid of not being loved back.

silly boy she laughed ; love is for fools.

my first love was an insignificant boy when it should’ve been myself.

name the taste of your last heartbreak and spit it out. 

do not fall in love.

i have love inside of me but i don’t know how to use it ; it scratches like barbs.

you were temptingly beautiful but stung when someone got close.

love scares her more than a gun.

she’s afraid of love so she doesn’t love anything.

loving was painfully awful and terrifying for her.

he craves attention but the mere thought of someone caring made his stomach turn.

she’s convinced that to love was to be torn apart.

she’s too busy being scared to realise she’s already in love.

his sin was falling in love and he’s learned his lesson.

the phoenix (20)

you can’t change the past but you can alter the future.

i survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me.

you are not her anymore ; always running away from feelings.

you are not her anymore ; not that masked and layered princess.

you are not her anymore ; always presenting a different facade.

my first love was an insignificant boy when it should’ve been myself.

he flew darling. he may have fallen ; but first he dared to soar.

the way you brave your chest to the world is terribly brave.

you’re more than the fires you’ve walked through and the storms you’ve caused.

don’t apologise for the way you chose to survive. 

his chest caves in whenever he thinks about the past. 

admire your reflection as you step out of the haze of what's gone. 

do better and move on.

broken isn’t the same as unfixable.

someday the pain will be useful.

if the hurt comes so will happiness.

she forgave and became.

her best revenge was improving herself.

the sun will rise and he will try again.

you have suffered enough ; it’s time that you won.

the polymath / academic (17)

underestimate me so i can embarrass you.

the more he acquires the more certain he is that he knows nothing.

the possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery.

happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing i know.

i can’t live in blissful ignorance like others. 

he’s interested in everything and in nothing else.

we are voyagers ; discoverers of the not known. 

everything interests me but nothing holds me.

you can never be overdressed or overeducated.

it’s only failure if you don’t learn something.

he doesn’t stop until he’s proud.

intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings.

keep growing and learning.

his mind is as big as the universe.

true intelligence operates quietly.

it’s only failure if you don’t learn anything.

remind yourself that it’s okay to not be perfect.

the pristine (15) 

you don’t have to be a child to be naive ; just have too much of a good heart. 

her hands are soft and her eyes shine in the sun. 

she laughs like she hasn’t a care in the world. 

he’s got a heart so pure ; i bet he has flowers growing between his ribs.

she possess an innocence so destructive ; she puts angels to shame.

you’re soft like spring flowers and sunsets and white feathers inside your pillow.

she tastes like fairytales ; she tastes like hope.

to be soft is to be powerful.

he’s soft like spring flowers and sunsets. 

his voice is honey. 

you don’t have to be a child to be naive ; you just have to have too much of a good heart. 

he looked like milk and honey would flow out of him.

be gentle with them ; they’re more delicate than they look. 

you’re a glimpse of bliss ; a little taste of heaven. 

they’re as pure as a river. 

the prosperous (15) 

we are beautiful and privileged. 

there’s a hunger inside of me ; a thirst to be godly. 

the sound of heels on pavement is the ultimate power trip.

he’s driven by power and profit.

her soul is pink and very expensive. 

billionaire boys club.

you can never be overdressed or overeducated. 

she wanted to be extraordinary. 

she’s a trust fund baby. 

people like me don’t write books ; we’re written about.

selfish people live longer.

money makes her romantic.

he’s spoiled and selfish.

the devil does indeed wear prada. 

her aesthetic is money and fighting with people.

the reticent (16) 

no one will ever be able to totally capture her ; she seemed so evanescent.

nothing haunts you like unexpressed feelings.

silence is not a song you should know all the words to.

your mouth can lie but your eyes can’t.

she kept her thoughts to herself.

her eyes said more than words can say.

the secrets inside her mind are like flowers in a garden at nighttime ; filling the darkness with perfume.

he’s met people who have never truly met him.

you don’t ask ; i don’t tell.

things she can’t say outloud.

he wants to write a novel about silence ; the things people don’t say.

if you don’t get it off your chest you’ll never be able to breathe. 

i don’t think anyone will ever truly capture her ; she’s so evanescent.

secrets that i held in my heart are harder to hide than i thought. 

he doesn’t care who sees him naked ; he cares who sees him cry. 

she was like the moon ; part of her was always hidden away. 

the reveller (10) 

she sins to forget she has a heart.

you drink like you have something to forget. 

he spends his nights drinking jack and smoking weed.

i’ve got whisky with white lies and smoke in my lungs.

you were wild once ; don’t let them tame you. 

you drink a little too much and go home alone. 

she doesn’t give a damn about her reputation.

good times ; bad friends.

he’d rather be getting high.

dance all night ; sleep all day.

the self destructive (15) 

if they can’t find anything to destroy ; they destroy themselves.

my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes.

i destroyed myself so you couldn’t hurt me.

you play with fire because you want to be burned.

he has a habit of self destruction.

god save the romantics who wil destroy themselves for a better story.

my hands are full of ash because i burn everything i touch. 

he plays with fire because he wants to be burnt.

you will learn why storms are named after people.

she was destruction given form and purpose.

she held an elegant savagery. 

nothing can destroy me like i can destroy myself. 

you can’t scare a girl by screaming fire if she wants to be burned. 

i desire the things that will destroy me in the end. 

my hands are full of ash ; i burn down everything i touch.

the solicitous (12) 

she’s drowning in an ocean of thoughts.

he’s tired ; he just wants the world to be quiet for a bit.

she was calm on the outside but thinking all the time.

the voice inside my head speaks louder than the one that comes out vocally.

he just wants to escape one thing ; his head at night.

her thoughts are haunting her.

too busy feeling feelings and overthinking it.

once he learnt to think he couldn’t stop.

i think i worry too much ; i need to take it easy. 

maybe i think too much for my own good.

most of the stuff people worry about never happens. 

he’s afraid of talking nonsense.

the sovereign (21)

not everyone can swallow the parts of you that have sharp edges.

she thinks manipulation is the greatest art of them all.

you think i’m not a goddess? try me. touch me and you’ll burn.

i’m learning to sharpen my teeth and rule kingdoms.

oh royal princess ; i love the way you wear your crown.

be careful royal princess ; too much and you will drown.

she was afraid of being forgotten.

a pretty face doesn’t mean a pretty heart.

look to your kingdoms ; i am coming for them all.

everyone saw a princess but inside she was on fire ; crashing and burning.

rule #1 never be #2.

she looked at young men like she could smell their stupidity.

there’s only one queen of the underworld.

queens raise queens.

she was destruction given form and purpose.

she held an elegant savagery. 

who still believes in kings?

the girl has always been half goddess, half hell. 

she wears darkness as a queen wears her crown.

she wasn’t afraid of being left ; she was afraid of being forgotten.

the sound of heels on pavement is the ultimate power trip.

the traveler (15) 

no one will ever be able to totally capture her ; she seemed so evanescent. 

travel far enough that you meet yourself.

she loved the sea ; it made her feel small but free as well.

home doesn’t exist for girls like me.

we are voyagers ; discoverers of the not known. 

she runs until the world is quiet and the smells are peaceful.

people like you are not meant to stand still.

remind yourself of how fast you’re able to run. 

no matter where you run ; you always end up running into yourself. 

she longed to go far into the fields and listen to the birds. 

he’s flirting with life ; teasing each city with his presence before leaving them behind. 

be inspired by beauty everywhere ; be a citizen of the world.

i love places that make you realise how tiny you are in the world.

he wants to see every kind of sunset. 

be a traveler not a tourist.

the urbanite (10) 

his motorcycle is the loudest noise in the city that never sleeps. 

if you want to find love than you know where the city is. 

she loved the loud cry of the city. 

but first ; coffee. 

everyone hurts themselves in the city ; then they pick themselves up to not get in anyone elses way. 

living in new york city is like dating a comedian ; fun while it last but when it’s over man is it over. 

she loves to make coffee for the city that loves to drink it.

he loves the empty streets and 5 am winds of the city. 

brooklyn baby.

smells like cold coffee stress and aesthetic in here.

the utopian (5)

she thinks she’s living a fairytale ; that’s why she fears the world so much.

her idea of love was soft and gentle like a whisper of a touch.

he never learned how to love in small doses.

people wait a lifetime for true happiness.

he thinks fate is behind everything.

the vindictive (16)

i’ll swallow my blood before i swallow my pride.

you took a wonder boy and you threw him away to become a monster.

my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes.

you’ll understand why storms are named after people.

she wanted a storm to match her rage.

she fought best when she was breaking.

no one has apologised for all that i have lost.

is it better to out monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?

a pretty face doesn’t mean a pretty heart.

to you everything tastes like blood.

you will learn why storms are named after people.

his chest caves in whenever he thinks about the past. 

it’s so dark in the room you’ve chosen to store your regrets. 

he tore the beauty from his face and called it terror. 

there’s a hunger inside of me ; something vicious. 

there is blood in everything you say. 

the vixen (25)

there were girls who would tear you apart with their lips.

i’m part heaven and equal parts hell.

girls like her were born in a storm. 

love her but leave her wild.

she sins to forget she has a heart.

she’s like a rose ; she’s beautiful and enchanting but her roots are full of wounds.

she wanted to be extraordinary ; to possess a savage glitter.

you’ll understand why storms are named after people.

she tasted like imported sophistication and domestic cigarettes.

she thinks manipulation is the greatest art of them all.

home doesn’t exist for girls like me.

like art she was beautiful but like art she was also complex.

people find her madness charming because she is so beautiful.

a pretty face doesn’t mean a pretty heart.

everything about her is captivating like the aftermath of a storm.

she looked at young men like she could smell their stupidity.

she was taught young to strike first and you’ll always be safe.

she was destruction given form and purpose.

she held an elegant savagery. 

not everyone can swallow the parts of you that have sharp edges.

you’re more than the fires you’ve walked through and the storms you’ve caused.

the girl has always been half goddess, half hell. 

she wears darkness as a queen wears her crown.

she was sweet like cherry wine ; what a lovely headache she left behind.

the sound of heels on pavement is the ultimate power trip.

[auskultu]

Donovan: “I Remember Donovan… And It Makes Me Feel Good!”

Keith Altham, Flip, August 1967

DONOVAN HAS achieved something that at one time I would have thought impossible—he has emerged from ‘The Scream Age’ into ‘The Ear Age’ as one of our most important composers. When he first sallied forth upon the English pop scene he was strictly ‘riphishairouttearoffhisbuttonsletshavehisautograph’ fodder. Those the days of the battered old guitar labelled ‘This Machine Kills’ and the sailing cap and the senseless accusations that he was just Bob Dylan Jr.!

Fortunately, I was not one of the vulture-like critics out to pick him to pieces before he got off the ground and spread his wings. In my very first article on the “everso gentle genius!” I wrote that he had a unique and honest talent all of his own and the day would come when the “critics” would have to eat their words. Don remembers it and treats me as a friend—I remember it and it makes me feel good—it’s nice to feel smug about things like that.

“I never deliberately set out to copy Dylan,” says Don. “But Dylan was the one incredible force in the field in which I was hoping to travel. We played guitars and we both liked those songs called ‘folk’ songs but that was and is still about as far as comparing our work will go.

“I have enormous respect for Dylan—even more for him as a man when I met him on his visit here. People said he was arrogant but they misunderstood. I remember watching him knock over a glass at his reception and a waiter dashed to pick it up. Dylan wouldn’t let him do. He insisted on clearing up his own mess!”

Dylan himself once declared, “Sure I’m influenced—I’m influenced every time I open my eyes or my mind—you can’t help it.” And so it was with Don and is for anyone else.

Just lately I went to a concert at the Royal Albert Hall which boasted “Donovan” on the bills outside supported by two unknowns—the Tyrannosaurus Rex and Flame. The huge Hall was packed to capacity on a Thursday night and I can count the pop singers on the fingers of one hand who can do that today. I don’t think I have ever heard such an immense young audience so attentive or so silent.

“This is what I have been working toward for years,” said Don after the show. “They want to hear what I have to tell them and they have come to listen. Those who came to hear cared—and those are the people I want to reach.”

It is also an example of Donovan’s immense popularity that top artists like Graham Nash of the Hollies and Georgie Fame came backstage to see him. Georgie actually leapt on stage at one point to play organ in an impromptu spot. It is also quite important for you to realise where ‘pop’ music is going by watching those young people around whom it is revolving. It was not pure chance that has led to Donovan, the Beatles and Mike Love of the Beach Boys being in India with the Maharishi at the same time. They are working in the same directions and that means both morally and musically.

“So many of us are thinking in the same kind of terms without realizing it,” says Don. “We throw ideas around like the one about the band of strolling players who went from town to town performing sketches, singing songs, reading poetry and showing pictures. This is the form of art which we are all moving towards and eventually we may all converge.”

Perhaps Mike Love’s dream of a “World Peace Concert” in which the Beatles, the Stones, the Beach Boys and Donovan will perform is more a reality than it seems. We shall see.

One of the most important things that Donovan has done over the past few years is break the shackles of the “folk” singer.

“I’m really quite pleased to be called a pop singer,” says Don. “I don’t think our generation want their music put into little boxes labelled ‘jazz, folk or classical’—I play and sing my music which I hope will be popular and heard by as many people as possible. I’m a pop singer!”

“Of course I am influenced by folk music but I play my own thing. George Harrison has composed some Arabian inspired music for a new film but it is not Arabian music. It is something that is of George. We are all trying to combine what we feel is the best of Eastern and Western music.”

Apart from Don’s obvious sincerity and convictions over the Maharishi’s philosophy, he is also sensible enough to realize that an atmosphere of complete calm and relaxation is very necessary for a composer. “While I was in India away from the pressures of the every day show business whirl it was very easy to compose,” says Don. “I wrote songs about the moon and the animals and some swans. It all came so much easier.”

For every concert that Donovan puts on now it costs him approximately $1200 to provide the musicians and the flowers. “I want the best musicians and the best musicians are expensive,” says Don. “But all this is given back to me by the vast audiences we get now and their support.

And neither must you run away from the idea that Don’s excursion into the realms of “transcendental meditation” has moved him from simplicity and the little every day pleasures. You can still find him down at Gipsy Dave’s house playing snooker with his friend or walking the dog. He is still a wanderer but instead having only a narrow strip of beach to walk on in St Ives, Cornwall, the whole world is his playground. And he goes to Greece to talk to the fishermen and sit around the fires of mountaineers to sing songs with them and drink their wine.

He still drops in unexpectedly on friends like Jimi Hendrix’ manager Chas Chandler and still loves the sand and the sea. In fact the key to much of his success lies in the simplicity of his enjoyment. What he loves we all love, if only we can find time for it in our overcrowded, greedy lives.

I heard here on the BBC radio recently someone criticize a colleague of mine for her constant reference to ‘Donovan’s beautiful world’ which made him sick. It seems to me that there are still some people in the world who because they know there is pain, war, hate and ugliness in the world think we should not give more emphasis to pleasure, peace, love and beauty. That is Donovan’s message—and you may take it or leave it.

[independentartistbuzz]

7 From The Women is a new segment here on Independent Artist Buzz where we ask some of the industries finest seven questions. During this time of accusations and the lack thereof, we think it’s important to give women a voice. We chose to ask seven questions to honor the seven Wiccan clans.

Lo Marie’s aesthetic encompasses jazz harmonic constructs, urban grooves, soulful guitar passages, and the expressivity of the jazz and neo-soul vocal traditions. Her debut EP, Beyond the Age of Reason(2012), produced by ace Nashville session man Jerry Kimbrough. We had the pleasure of asking her a couple questions this week.

What have you been working to promote lately?

I have been working to promote a series of 7 singles (what a coincidence that you are honoring 7!). Each song will come out approximately a month apart, and will eventually be bundled as the album Le Rêve, which means “The Dream.”

The whole album is a celebration of freedom of creativity and expression. “The Dream” is represented by the phrase “I wanna dance on the moon.” Obviously, that is something that will not happen for me - it is simply embracing the notion of limitless dreaming and having wandering, free-thinking ideas.

Another theme throughout the seven singles is bravery. This idea is best seen through the image of an African Daisy. Every night African Daisies close up, a gesture interpreted as being protective of their vulnerably beautiful pedal display. In the morning, these flowers burst open and share with the world their bold essence. The notion of having to re-open oneself every day seems like such a brave and admirable act.

Sea Monster, which comes out March 8th, is about embracing all aspects of yourself, even the “ugly” parts that you shove down to the bottom of a lake. In the song, those ugly parts grow into a sea monster that rises from the depths to meet you, but instead of being threatening or scary, simply wants to dance with the other half of you in the light of day. It’s a sigh of relief to finally find peace with yourself.

Please tell us about your favorite song written, recorded or produced by another woman and why it’s meaningful to you

Oh man. That’s a tough one. I’d have to say pretty much all of Carole King’s songbook. “You’ve Got a Friend” is such a great song. It’s pure and honest and compassionate. “You Make Me Feel (Like A Natural Woman)” is another great one. It really addresses relationships from both sides - how each person affects the other - and shows how that can be such a positive thing.

What does it mean to you to be a woman making music today and do you feel a responsibility to other women to create messages and themes in your music?

I love who I am, and being a woman is part of that. I also love what I do, which is make music. To me, those two things are very separate. Being able to differentiate yourself from your work is a very important part of living a full life. While I think it would be great to gain more equality in my field, I don’t feel compelled to use my work to promote that idea. Part of equality is freedom. I’d like to be free to write whatever I want to write about it. If that happens to be women’s rights, so be it. If it happens to be something else, that’s great too. I will continue to speak up for women’s rights in the field, but I’m most concerned about making great music.

A lot of what I’ve been writing about lately is about self-acceptance, unconditional love, and bravery. Those are beautiful things, and apply to everyone, not just women. However, I would also argue that those ideas, essentially boiling down to identity development, IS feminism, as well as humanism. So many women need to work on identity development - myself absolutely included. Just yesterday, a guy left a note for me with his number in a very creepy way. My sister and I were talking about how to handle it. We thought maybe I should lie and tell him that I’m seeing someone else. Then it hit us - why on earth do I need to make him feel better about rejection, when it comes at the cost of my own feelings? I hate lying; it makes me feel terrible. Plus, it doesn’t do anything to correct the underlying problem of how he approaches women. That’s just one small everyday example of how I could stand to re-evaluate how I view myself in comparison to a male acquaintance. In any case, I firmly believe that self-acceptance and identity development, the themes I often choose to write about, are a big part of feminism. But make no mistake - it is a choice to write about these things, not a responsibility. By the time I didn’t have a choice, then it would become a responsibility.

What is the most personal thing you have shared in your music or in your artist brand as it relates to being female?

Dirty Fools is about a college professor who crossed the line. I honestly thought it only happened in the movies. It was a clear abuse of power.

It started really innocently. He was my big band director and I was also in his Jazz Chord Extensions class, and I also played in his professional big band. He would take the college big band rhythm section out for pizza every Tuesday before our sectional rehearsal. One by one the other members got too busy for dinner AND rehearsal, and for a week or two, it was just the two of us. He was a southern gentleman, so he would kiss me on the cheek to say goodbye. He would also waive me into his office when I had free time and show me cool old jazz videos, which was awesome, but it established that it was ok to be alone together in a non-professional manner. After that, he invited me out to one of his gigs, brought me backstage to hang with the band and drink beer. While it was still harmless, it once again established that our relationship was not strictly professional. The following week, he called me up on Friday and asked if I had dinner plans because he knew a really cool spot. I knew that going to dinner alone on a Friday night was not something I was comfortable with, but I didn’t know how to say no. After all, he controlled my grades in 2 classes, and my scholarship depended upon a certain GPA. Additionally, he was well respected in the music community, and he really could be detrimental to my career in the long run if he wanted to be. So I went. It turns out that this “cool spot” was actually an hour away and quite fancy. Then the change was visible. Monday in the hallway at school, instead of kissing my cheek to say goodbye, it was on the lips. In public. It totally took me by surprise. The fact that it was in public meant that I really couldn’t react to it. Then it happened again. After talking to my roommate and crying for a week, I decided to talk to him about it. I went in to his office and immediately the tears came. He kept saying, “This can’t all be from me. What’s going on? You can talk to me.” Instead of hearing me, he used it as an opportunity to be my shoulder to cry on and try to get closer. I knew then that talking to him wasn’t going to change anything.

I should also take a moment to say that he had cancer. It had come back for a third time, and things were not looking good. If I went to the Dean, would he lose his job and therefore his healthcare? There’s absolutely no way that I wanted to condemn this man to death. In so many ways he was an excellent mentor and there was a vast amount I could learn from him. People are very complex - not all good, and not all bad. But he shouldn’t die for making me feel uncomfortable.

I should also say that this behavior of being inappropriately close to female students had happened to at least 2 other girls that I knew of, and I could see it starting to happen with a new Freshman too. Nobody else wanted to say anything.

After a month of being really unhappy and seeing my grades start to slip, I decided to talk to the Dean. I told her that I didn’t want any repercussions for him - I simply wanted her to know what was going on so that she could keep and eye on it, and for me to withdraw from his classes. One of his classes was actually required for me to graduate, but he very kindly decided to give me an A in the course rather than have a W on my record (I had already audited the course the previous year and taken the exams, so he gave me the A retroactively).

Things went the absolute best they could have. It felt like a huge weight had been taken off my shoulders. I had successfully made myself happier without hurting another person and while keeping future students safe too. Dirty Fools is a complete celebration of speaking up! I couldn’t be happier that I did. I hope it inspires other women to speak up as well. Even more than that, I hope it encourages everyone to speak up about what they need. Communication is such an essential part of coexistence.

A year later, we were able to make up. When I first started playing guitar for him, he had given me his Fender Stratocaster from his high school rock band. I gave it back when everything went down. Instead of making up with words, he told me that the guitar was still mine, and that any time I wanted to come back to his professional big band, there was a spot for me. I’m so glad that I was able to forgive him. He passed away about two years after that.

What female artists have inspired you and influenced you?

Alicia Keys is such an inspiration to me. She is a promoter of both feminism and humanism. She delivers her message in a beautiful and uplifting way that seems like it comes from a place of honesty and purity. I fell in love with her as a musician right off the bat with Songs in A Minor, and she’s kept me as an avid fan by making me feel like a comrade on a shared journey. I love how she chooses to use her platform, and I love that she chooses to be more than a musician (even though I believe that being a musician should be enough - but that’s another story).

What was the most challenging thing you have had to face as a female artist?

Gaining base-line respect from others in the industry. Whenever I’m working with new musicians, I always have to be on the top of my game. Granted, I always want to be on the top of my game, and working hard is important to me; however, there is simply no room to slack. If I don’t show up to a rehearsal with everything ready to spoon feed the musicians, they won’t put in the effort to make great music with me. One small example was just a little comment in passing after we’d finished our first rehearsal together. He said, “You really have your stuff together for a chick singer.” He immediately backpedaled, but the fact of the matter is: that’s what he was actually thinking. He came into the rehearsal thinking that I would suck, be uneducated, or somehow less of a musician than he is. Once I’ve broken through the first impression barrier, things generally flow pretty smoothly. But extrapolate that to how many cold emails I send out weekly for booking, press, etc. If that is everyone’s first assumption, I’m constantly fighting a pretty steep uphill battle.

If you could collaborate with any other female artists who would you choose?

Nai Palm - she has such a gift for music making. Lyrics, chord progressions, meter changes - she’s just fantastic. One of my favorite lyrics of hers is “I could call your demons inside, soak them in Chamomile.” It’s simple, but it’s such a unique thought.

Susan Tedeschi - both as a singer and guitarist

Bonnie Raitt - I love her slide style

Joni Mitchell - what a beautiful songwriter. And I love her guitar playing too. She knew exactly what tone she wanted for each song.

Connect with Lo Marie online:

www.lomariemusic.com

https://open.spotify.com/artist/22CZx5oZBRtU7XFHpnlDeq?si=znekMmgRSrCC7O3nf5MzjA

https://www.instagram.com/lomariemusic/

https://www.facebook.com/LoMarieMusic/

https://twitter.com/LoMarieMusic

https://www.youtube.com/LoMarieMusic

[neewtmas]

100 questions

Thanks to @giraffingthetardis i sat here for 2 hours answer all this questions     (but don’t worry, it was fun^^) 

#1- does the darkness comfort you?   depends. in my room in my bed it’s ok, but at every other place i’m nearly dying of fear .  

#2-what brings you crashing to the floor? not much, actually i can’t think of anything right now                   

#3angels or demons? angels

#4- God or Satan? yes, i just said angels, but i’m more for satan

#5- would you sit on the moon and watch the universe twirl quietly, even       if you couldn’t breathe? yes! even it would be fun only for like 20 secs?

#6- what scares you most in the world? darkness and heights

#7- can we always be there for one another? of course

#8- I feel like I’m dying… Can I talk to you? yes! don’t hesitate, i’m here

#9- being blind or being deaf? idk, like i love music but i love reading more and it would be terrible for me to live in darkness forever so i would rather be deaf

#10- what song makes your heart pound the most? idk... just every song by ed sheeran

#11- do you wish on stars? do you mean shooting stars? bc i would,but i’ve never seen one :/

#12- what were you doing last night at 1:03 am? sleeping?

#13- the happiest, most golden moment of my life? tbh, i don’t know. like there are many happy moments, moments where i’m just thankful for everything i have (ik i’m a cheesy potato) but i can’t think of the most happy one? i guess i couldn’t do a patronus .-. 

#14- the worst, most positively crushing moment of my life? didn’t had one yet

#15- if you had to choose between your mother and your father, who would you choose? oh god. idk maybe my mother? 

#16- ask me anything ok random fact: i love eating pomegranates, but everytime i make one, the kitchen looks like i slaughtered a pig afterwards

#17- salt or sugar? sugar

#18- death by water or fire? idk i think fire bc you get unconscious by all the smoke first or later by the pain and won’t feel anything, also i hate the feeling of drowing

#19- if you could have a degree in anything, what would it be? idk

#20- black or white? ….assuming I don’t like grey both, but rather black?

#21- the thing/person I want to stay safe and happy and comforted in this world? everyone i like

#22- if you could have the superpower of flight, invisibility, or mind-reading, which would you choose? invisibility, i think it would be really interesting to see how people act when you’re not around

#23- is music something you could not live without? i love music... but i could live without it if it would really necessary

#24- favorite flower my dear? roses

#25- why dragons? why not?

#26- ice cream in winter? Or possibly hot chocolate in the summer? hot chocolate in summer, i’m not the biggest fan of ice cream

#27- what’s your sexuality? heterosexual

#28- do you dream in black and white or color? luckily in colour, i think dreams in black and white would be really scary

#29- nights full of nightmares? nope

#30- what was the voice in your head saying at 2 am? idk, i was sleeping #31- okay…. Why don’t you hate the thorns on a rose? idk, it’s a part of the rose i guess? also, i like this thought -beautiful, but hard to touch if you don’t treat it careful

#32- do you trust me? yes 

#33- most cared for song at the moment? kitchen sink by twenty one pilots,i just love the lyrics

#34- worst injury? one time i fell off a horse and it stepped accidentally on my right shin - nothing bad happened but it hurted very much

#35- bath or shower? shower

#36- color you love the most? blue, black and white

#37- anonymous question ok, another fun fact: plants hate me,like i just have tolook at them and they already die .-.

#38- another way to wish not using 11:11, dandelion blooms, or even the fairy you thought you saw…? nope

#39- do you ever stare at the sky and look for those weird shapes in the clouds? yes! all the time, especially when i’m sitting in class

#40- a really weird something I like to eat in a weird way ok it’s not a weird something, but at our school you can buy this chocolate crossiants with a little chocolate bar in the middle, and i always eat the dough at the outside first, then the yummy pastry on the inside and then the chocolate bar, instead of just eat the whole thing like evrey other normal human being

#41- Lamborghini or Corvette? ok, i had to google it, and for me it looks pretty much the same, but i think i like corvette more

#42- when did I have my first kiss? Boy or girl? i didn’t had my first kiss yet (and i’ll die lonely with 30 cats)

#43- most listened to genre?  idk what genre this is, but i mostly listen to twenty one pilots, Ed Sheeran and Fall out boy #44- Jack Frost or Iron Man? Jack Frost ( is it possible to have a a crush on an animated character??)

#45- are shorts and a tank-top an optional outfit for you today? nope, bc first, i’m fat and second, it’s freezing cold outside right know

#46- will you be speaking to anyone you hate today? i won’t be speaking to anyone today

#47- nachos or pizza??? pizza pizza piiiiizzza

#48- is my life what I thought it might be like nope, bc i’m the most lazy person on this planet, even if i don’t want to

#49- thing I am the most proud of accomplishing? idk, i don’t have accomplish many things by now

#50- ask me a question concerning intimacy i’ll just skip this question lol

#51- piano or guitar? piano

#52- tell me something about yourself, my follower, please :) ok another fun fact: i can’t sleep longer than 10 am

#53- rather a mad world? Or an insane universe? insane universe

#54- are you that girl that sits alone on her roof at night? no, bc i’m that girl that is too afraid of falling down to sit at her roof at night or any other time

#55- I wrote this question at 3:59 in the morning, listening to Mad World by Jasmine Thompson: do you like hummingbirds? yes! i even drew one for my phone case

#56- is 1 (one) a unit or a number? a number

#57- glorious fireworks on a dark beach with your thoughts? Or swimming in the rain with your lover? i would love swimming in the rain with my lover - only problem: i don’t have one

#58- tattoo? What would it be? i don’t have one, but i think of a little moon or stars on the inside of my right wrist

#59- natural shade of your hair?  dark brown

#60- color of your eyes? oh thats interesting. hazel, and when i’m standing in the shadow, they’r brown, in the sun green, with the sun directly in my eyes somewhat green, light brown and and a hint of gold and with normal light they look mostly like a duck had just shit in my eyes .-.

#61- the thing you regret the most? don’t have one

#62- would you break a heart if it helped someone else? depends on who it would help

#63- do you ever wish you hadn’t kissed a past friend/lover/acquaintance? i never kissed a past friend/lover/acquaintance

#64- the most violent/brutal/inhuman thing you’ve ever done? i never did something like this, i’m a walking sunshine :)

#65- would I hug again, my most recent lover? maybe

#66- would I kiss the lips of my last kiss? maybe not

#67- who was the last soul to see you cry idk that’s long ago, but i guess my best friend

#68- have you ever looked into the eyes of someone who was about to die… And you didn’t even know it? if so, i don’t know it today either

#69- do you ever wear your clothes in a uncomfortable fit, just to try and reshape the way your body looks?  all the time

#70- have you ever intentionally hurt someone? pysical not, but when i’m really angry at someone, i can get mean and say things i don’t mean but just say because i want to hurt that person

#71- if you could spend the night with anyone, anywhere you wanted, how would you end up? idk, probably one of my favourite fictional characters

#72- butterflies or dragonflies? butterflies

#73- do you enjoy cooking? yes, but i’m the worst cook ever

#74- given the rather unpleasant opportunity, would you wear white to a funeral? yes, if it would fit to the dead person,like if he/she was a hopeful person i would probably do it

#75- have you ever abused drugs/alcohol/people? no never, i’m a good girl

#76- have I ever lay down in a barren field in the middle of a lightning and thunder storm? no luckily not

#77- would you dear, eat a strangers heart? i would eat nobody’s heart, not even the heart of an animal

#78- take the chance to sing in front of 10,000 people, while its snowing? no, because i can’t sing

#79- if “New Zealand” was a French pastry dish, would you eat it? i would try

#80- if “Naples Italy” was a Korean Milkshake, would you drink it? i would try

#81- if “Cardiff Wales” was a star in the universe, do you think you would know that? probably not #82- what happened in your dream/s last night? i forgot it 

#83- tell me who doesn’t deserve the air they breathe? the only person who i can think of is Donald Trump, becuase he stands for everything i absolutely hate, and is basically an asshole

#84- do you speak any foreign languages? english

#85- do you experience anxiety attacks? nope #86- ABCDEFGHIJKPLMNOPQRSRTUVWYXYZ…. do you know the alphabet? yes. and that’s wrong. it’s ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRTUVWXYZ

#87- describe “nucleus” ...

#88- running through the woods at night? Or crawling in the snow at dusk? crawling in the snow

#89- have you ever had a one night stand? Do you regret it? nope, i never had one #90- ask me anything “music” related *skips the question while hearing Young Volcanoes by Fall out boy*

#91- smoke alone, by the water or on your roof in the dark? by the water, but without the smoking part

#92- have you ever kissed a flower, knowing it was someone else’s favorite? ...no?

#93- have you ever sat on a cold bridge… And just waited? nope

#94- when I said “I love you” last… Did I honestly, truthfully and wholly mean it? i never said ‘I love you’ before (at least not in a romantic way, otherwise: yes)

#95- have you ever had a near-death experience? /What happened? no

#96- what do I want more than anything else on the planet/in the world/in the universe? idk

#97- do you put others before yourself, even on bad days? no, i’m a bit selfish from time to time, but i guess that’s important sometimes

#98- what, to me, is an angel? idk, someone who helps you in a situation where you really need it?

#99- what’s the most passionate thing I’ve ever done? idk i can’t think of something

#100- this is not a question, but rather a statement. 

* I want everyone to do me a favor: smile. Find that piece, that glimmer, that twinkle that brings life to you breath. Hold it, love it, don’t let it go. Talk to that person you fell for so long ago… Laugh with them, cry with them. It doesn’t matter, just talk. Get it all off your chest. We all need this. Eat what you want. Fuck society, everyone is beautiful, shape/color/voice/culture/sexuality/habits/ love and hates included. Wear something comfortable. Listen to your favorite song until you’re shouting the lyrics at the world because it feels wonderful. Run outside in the night air and jump up and down in your pajamas like a crazy child because we are human and we are beautiful and we deserve the love no one ever gets. Because we are us, and that is more than okay.

#101- thanks guys 

[emma-writes-stuff]

Getaway (part one)

Dean x Reader, Sam

Basically the reader, her boyfriend, Dean, and best friend/basically brother figure Sam take a short break from hunting to go on a vacation. 

I really only split it up because of length, like once it hit 3, 069 words and their vacation hadn’t even officially started, I said to myself, “God, Emma, you should probably split this up or these people are going to hate you”, so......

Word Count: As mentioned above, 3, 069

Warnings: I don’t know, is fluff and really cutesy boyfriend Dean stuff a warning? Does that count?

With a huge beam on your face, you all but skipped through the bunker, leaping down the steps with a colossal thud and sprinting into the living room, where you knew Dean was watching a movie and Sam was reading in the corner. As soon as you appeared in the doorway, Dean looked up at you from the couch with a goofy grin across his face.

“Hey, sweetheart. I was wondering where you were-”

“I have a really awesome idea,” you said quickly, the smile somehow growing on your face. Sam sat his book down on the stand to his right and looked up at you, one eyebrow raised as if he was asking you a question. Dean sat his beer down next to him as if to show you he was giving you his full attention, the same goofy smile still plastered on his face.

“A vacation,” you announced, pleased with yourself as you flipped your laptop around to show the screen: an absolutely breathtaking picture of a beach at sunset.

“Wait, are you serious?”

“Okay, guys, think about it. The most relaxing we ever get to do is sometimes laying around the bunker for a few weeks waiting for a case. That’s it. Our break from hunting is shuffling around a place full of hunting weapons and old hunting books. We’re all going to lose our minds eventually, and I think that a vacation to my favorite place in the world since I was six years old would be the perfect way to stop that before it happens.”

There was a moment of silence, and then a grin grew across Sam’s face.

“Let’s do it.”

Dean turned towards him, a somewhat surprised expression on his face. “Damn, and here I thought you would be the one against it.” He turned back to you, smiling now as he said, “Well, what the hell? If Sammy and you both want to go, let’s go for it. I guess a little sand never hurt anybody.”

You beamed at both of them as you set your laptop on the stand next to you. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you! This is gonna be so much fun,” you said excitedly, relieved that it hadn’t taken as much convincing as you thought it would. 

“So, when do you want to leave?” Sam questioned.

Hesitantly, you suggested, “This afternoon?”

“Works for me. Sam?”

“Alright. Let’s go pack.” Sam replied. As the boys stood up, you threw your arms around Sam in a hug and gave Dean a kiss on the cheek, whispering how romantic beaches always were in his ear as you pulled away with a smirk before skipping off to your room.

http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=214703287- Your Suitcase

You flung open the car door and bounced into the seat next to Dean, leaning across the middle compartment to plant a kiss on his smiling mouth.

“Ready to go, babe?”

He smiled at you, almost shyly, looking down a little. “Yeah, sweetheart, we’re good.”

You turned around to see Sam already settling in for the trip, a small stack of books about the history of the Outer Banks next to him. “Sam, how about you? Ready to spend 24 hours in a car with our music?”

“I am prepared for that,” he said, whipping out a pair of headphones without even looking up from his book. “Audiobooks.”

“Alrighty then,” you said with a laugh as you turned back around in your seat to see Dean opening the compartment.

“Dean, whatcha lookin’ for?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

With a grin, he pulled out a small, badly wrapped present with a big heart-shaped bow on top and handed it to you proudly.

“Is this for me?” you asked with a giggle as you inspected it. 

“Yeah. I was- um, I was saving it for our anniversary later this week, but I figured since we’re gonna be in here for the next day, it might be nicer to have now, if you like it.”

You gave him a kiss on the cheek, sending a blush up to his cheeks as you carefully began to open up the wrapping paper until you had revealed a small black cassette tape and a piece of paper. Dean looked down at the ground as you read the sticker across the cassette, carrying onto the back-

“Y/N’s Playlist”

For my other half, the love of my life

7 years since we met

7 years of being best friends

6 years of being in love with you

5 years since you somehow agreed to go out me

5 years of complete and utter happiness

Thank you so much

For everything

Happy 5th Anniversary

With love, Dean

~

Love overflowing in your heart, you looked over at the paper to see a long list of all your favorite songs. Every song your favorite band had ever recorded along with a million other bands and songs.

Some songs that had special meaning to you and Dean. Like “Fly Me To The Moon”, the Frank Sinatra song. It was what he had played on your first date, when he had set up an incredibly elaborate moonlit picnic with fairy lights and blankets and all your favorite foods and lots of flowers for you, a night of dancing and nervousness and laughter and playfulness and love. 

And then there were other songs that you had never heard of before, and before you could ask anything, Dean hopped in with, “I put in a lot of songs that reminded me a lot of you. To listen to so you can kind of see just a little how I feel when I’m with you.”

“Dean-” you whispered, almost tearing up, not just at the tape, but everything that it represented. The past five years had honestly been the absolute best of your life, the happiest you had been since your parents had died so long ago. Dean was your family. He meant more to you than anything else in the world. You looked over into his beautiful emerald eyes, wide and nervous as they watched you, and imagined them staring intently at the cassette and his own fingers as he undoubtedly worked in secret for hours upon hours making this for you. There were ten hours worth of music here, meaning that he probably had to spend several entire days trying to figure out how to put it all together. You thought your heart was going to explode.

“If- if you don’t like it, it’s fine, you can tell me-” he said, looking down a little.

“Dean, no! I love it so much,” you whispered/choked out, reaching forward to pull his chin up with your fingers so you could lean forward and place a soft and sweet kiss on his full, pink lips. He grinned.

“Really? You’re not just saying that?”

“Yes, really, you goofball. It’s amazing,” you giggled before pausing for a second, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you. So much.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, an adorable smile on his face as he realized you weren’t making it up, you genuinely loved his present. You sat there, staring into each other’s eyes for what seemed like hours before-

“Alright, you two, you guys know how much I love you and how adorable I think you are, but as cute as this is, we really need to get going if we want to make it there at any time other than five in the morning two days from now.”

Dean turned to face his brother with a glare that could kill as he huffed out an, “Alright, fine. We’ll go.”

As he turned the key in the ignition, you placed a small hand on his thigh. He lovingly turned to look at you as you quietly said, “Dean? Do you think we could maybe put it in now?”

A beam lit up his face as he gently picked up your cassette and inserted it into the slot, followed by a few seconds of silence before the song started.

The Impala pulling forward and out of the driveway, you heard the tell tale opening sound of The Killers’ “Mr. Brightside”, grinning as the guitars exploded and you realized Dean was laughing and singing along with you.

With a laugh, you started screaming along the lyrics to one of your all time favorite songs, throwing your hands up in the air dramatically along with the words.

“And I just can’t look, it’s killing meee!!!!” you yelled, turning your head and shielding your eyes from Dean. “And taking control! Jealousy, turning saints into the sea, swimming through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis!” Throwing your arms out wide and squeezing your eyes shut as you sang to Baby’s ceiling, you yelled out your favorite part, “But it’s just the PRICE I PAY! Destiny is calling me! Open up my eeeeeaageeeeer eyeeeeeeees!” You turned, dramatically pointing a finger right at Dean and then back at yourself as you said with a nod to the beat of the song, “Cuz I’M Mr. Brightside.”

He was laughing at you, and the only thought running through his head at the moment was how ridiculously adorable you were.

After a few more classic rock songs, Twenty One Pilots, and a Panic! At The Disco song, you came to a slower one, Elvis’ classic “Can’t Help Falling In Love”. With a smile you reached over and wrapped your small hand around your boyfriend’s huge one, lacing your fingers between his and shooting him a sweet smile before turning to stare out the window at the fields passing by.

He marveled at the way the golden light hit your face, shining on you and making your eyes and hair sparkle like diamonds, the bright blue sky the perfect background for your incomparable beauty.

Dean thought back to the night the song represented and smiled, remembering how you had run upstairs, excitedly grabbing his hand and pulling him into the room down the hall, where you had found a dusty record player sitting in the closet. How you had so gently pulled out the record on the bottom shelf, the one that read “Elvis Presley” across it, and blown the dust off of it as if you might shatter it by breathing too hard. The way your face had lit up as you sat the needle on it and heard the opening chord you knew so well ringing loud and clear through the old machine. 

How you had turned around, absolutely beaming as you stepped up on your tiptoes and even then struggled to wrap your arms around the neck of your boyfriend, of two months then, and asked him to dance with you. How he had happily obliged, despite his inability to dance, wrapping his arms around your waist and swaying back and forth slowly. 

How as the final lyrics, “For I can’t help falling in love with you,” resounded, you pulled closer to Dean with love in your eyes as you whispered “I love you, Dean,” not for the first time, but as the lips he had fantasized about the last two years finally reached up and met his. It was better than he ever could have imagined. And how that kiss had led into another. And another. And another.

It was one of the happiest nights of his life.

It had been 29 hours.

29 hours in a hot car. Granted, you had one or two pit stops for gas and food (one of which was in a town called Winchester, which you loved). But otherwise you had spent over a day in Baby, and as much as you loved her, you couldn’t wait to get out.

The beautiful music Dean had put together had greatly improved the trip, but that was only half the ride. Of course you still had the rest of the cassette tapes, but after ten hours even you and Dean got tired of listening to the same rock songs a million times over.

You were taking a turn driving after Dean had almost fallen asleep at the wheel, and now his head was lightly resting on your right shoulder, his legs sprawled out across the seat and his arms crossed over his chest. When you realized you were only five minutes away from the motel, you gently reached over and rolled down the window, allowing the warm air and that salty beach smell you loved so much fill the car. It was about one in the morning, and you were, for obvious reasons, the only car on the road. You were exhausted, but slightly less exhausted than the boys, and of course after driving for over a day there was no way you could blame Dean for being so tired.

That was when you saw it. An adorable white motel, with a pool and a picket fence and baskets of colorful flowers spilling out of the wicker by every door. “The Mari-Anne”. That was where you were staying.

Pulling the car into the parking lot next to it, you carefully turned towards Dean before whispering, “Dean, honey? We’re here, babe. We can go inside and sleep on a real, soft, big, comfy bed, just like at home.”

Sam was already in the back, sleepily gathering his things with his eyes half closed. “Y/N, are you gonna be able to get him in?” he mumbled.

“Yeah, Sam, it’ll be good, just give me a minute to get him up.”

Dean’s eyes fluttered open and he tiredly raised his hand to rub at them, burrowing his head against your shoulder with a yawn. 

“Dean, c’mon, you can go right back to sleep in a minute or two, babe.”

“Will you sleep with me?” he asked innocently, still in his odd space between sleep and consciousness.

“Yeah, Dean, I’ll definitely be passing out right next to you,” you promised.

“Will you pwetty pwease cuddle with me?” he pouted, still so sleepy.

You giggled before responding, “Yes, Dean, I will definitely cuddle with you, but if you want me to, you need to get up now so we can go in and get our own room before they run out.”

“Our own room? No Sammy?”

“No Sammy, he gets his own room. Just us, for a whole week.”

“Oh, boy!” Dean mumbled happily, pushing himself off of the seat and out the door, stumbling to the back to get your suitcase from the trunk. Even tired off his ass, he was ever the gentleman.

But you couldn’t wait to collapse in bed and finally close your heavy eyes.

A warm, salty-smelling breeze was the first thing that hit your nose when you “woke up”. You were in that strange state between sleep and consciousness where you were technically no longer sleeping, you could hear what was going on around you and everything, but you just couldn’t seem to open your eyes or move at all to save your life. Over a day in a car with three hours of actual sleep tops can do that to you, I guess.

You could faintly hear the sound of seagulls outside, and even through your closed eyes, you knew the window was open and the morning light was pouring in. 

Despite the warm, pleasant weather, however, you were, as always, icy cold. So, it was undoubtedly the feeling of your frozen foot brushing against Dean’s leg that woke him up. However, he didn’t playfully jump or move or complain as he usually would. He just laid there, his arms wrapped protectively around you, pulling you in against him, as they had been all night.

You were curled up into a tiny ball against his chest, wearing an oversized T-shirt of his that fell about to your mid-thigh as a dress. Your head was buried in his AC/DC shirt, his chin resting on your forehead. It was so incredibly comfortable, warm and snuggled up against him on a soft, pillow-topped mattress and under the thickest, most amazing comforter you had ever seen. You wanted to just stay here forever.

You allowed your eyes to flutter open, the light streaming in from the blinds and falling over you in golden strips.

You flicked your eyes up to see that Dean was staring down at you, green eyes sparkling like emeralds as he looked at you. How the hell did he manage to look so damn good in the morning? It was the morning, for Chuck’s sake. Looking like shit was supposed to be in the description.

“I don’t know about you, but I am really comfortable right now. Like, really really ridiculously comfortable,” he mumbled into your hair, voice deep and scratchy from lack of use. 

Fireworks exploded in your stomach, just like every time. Every time you spoke to him. Every time your hands “accidentally” brushed against each other. Every time he smiled at you, beautiful green eyes crinkling and so full of love and adoration. Every time he laughed. Every time he wrapped his arms around you in that special embrace only you had ever known so well. Every time your lips touched. Really every time he did absolutely anything in your presence. But especially every time you woke up in his arms like this. 

A smile grew across your face as you whispered into his chest, voice muffled by his T-shirt, “Is that so?”

“Mmmhmmm,” he confirmed with a hum.

He pulled you even closer up against him, which you didn’t know was possible at the moment, but you certainly weren’t complaining about it. 

“You know, you were completely right, sweetheart. This whole vacation thing was an amazing idea,” he said, still sounding sleepy and tired, but a little more coherent than before. 

You smiled. “Well, I’m glad you think so. I’m having a great time so far, myself.”

You felt a light kiss being planted on your forehead and tilted your head up, pressing your lips against the soft, full ones that belonged to your boyfriend. He smiled against your mouth slightly, just happy to be sharing this moment with you.

You broke apart and laid your head on his chest, snuggling against him.

“Just think of all the stuff we can do while we’re here. The beach, new restaurants, super touristy places-”

“Or we could just stay right here all day.”

“Sounds good to me. We’ve got all the time in the world.”