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skzdust · 4 days ago

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Arrange These to Spell Love

Chapter Two: Violet, Purple

Chapter two!! I've been way more into this fic than I thought, so you can expect even more coming soon :)

Also, wrote about half of this in a sleep deprived, election-anxious haze. So I'm sorry if it's not great. Hope you enjoy though lol.

Inspired by an ask from @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna !

Summary: You run Beehive Flowers and Enchantments in your small beach town... and the attractive and infuriating Choi San runs the competition, Seaside Floral. When he calls you asking for help learning about Victorian flower language, you agree to help him. Little did you know what was to follow... involving your town's harvest festival, a wayward enchantment, and your best friend with benefits, Kang Yeosang.

Pairing: Kang Yeosang/Choi San/afab reader love triangle

This chapter includes: more "I hate him I swear", more flower lessons, a birthday party, and Mingi, Yunho, and Wooyoung!

Word count: 1.6k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife,

@hyunjinsjeans, @somethingkindazainy, @silverstarburst

Network:@mirohs-aurora-society

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Part 1

Masterlist

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VIOLET, PURPLE.

You occupy my thoughts.

The sun is bright— its golden rays / Gild mountain-top and flower; / O’er rock, and wave, and vale it plays, / From morn till evening hour. / But, ah! No beauty in its beams / My weary heart can see,/ While rocks, and vales, and glancing streams / Keep me away from thee!

“Do you think he’d like this one?” Yeosang thrust a glittery body mist at you. You took it gingerly and sniffed it.

“I don’t think Mingi would wear something that smelled like jasmine.”

“I don’t either.” He snatched it back, setting it back on the shelf. “I think he’s more of a sandalwood kind of guy.”

You nodded. “Very masculine. That’s Mingi.”

“Yes.” Yeosang picked up another bottle. “Maybe this one?”

“Maybe.” You hummed.

“You’re thinking about something.” Yeosang smelled it, shook his head, and put it back. “I can tell. You’re quiet.”

“Oh, I don’t know, just… thinking about the harvest festival.”

“That’s not till late October, right? Why are you thinking about it now?”

“Just… remembering what San said. About having a stand together. Sign-ups are due soon.”

“You want to do a stand with him? Wow, flower lessons must be going well. I thought you’d rather slip him some kind of poison than voluntarily spend more time with him.”

“Yeah, well, that was a couple weeks ago.” You mumbled. “He’s more bearable than I thought.”

“You also like teaching people things.” He smiled at you over his shoulder. “Maybe you just like a willing student.”

“Okay, who doesn’t like having someone to teach their valued knowledge to?” You flicked him.

“Hey! What is this, high school?” Yeosang rubbed his shoulder. “I get it. Your little rivalry with him was a little aggressive, anyway. I’m glad you don’t hate him anymore.”

“He’s actually kind of nice.” You said. “He’s, like, getting into the flower meanings and stuff. Keeps asking me about the poems. It’s kind of endearing.”

“Ooooo, you have a crush on him!” Yeosang singsonged.

Your cheeks got hot. “I do not.”

“I better be in the wedding.” He sniffed another body spray. “Oh, wait, I think this is the one.”

You engaged Yeosang in the perfume conversation, glad to turn the topic away from your love life— especially your love life in relation to San.

Discussing dating with Yeosang always seemed normal, the way you’d expect two best friends to discuss their romantic prospects. You thought that it felt a little tense every time though— your romantic past and sexually active present weighing over the conversation like the executioner’s axe over the condemned man. Yeosang hadn’t met someone he wanted to date in the past few years, and you’d only had a couple of relationships since Yeosang. It felt like only a matter of time before you’d have to deal with your ambiguous, not-ambiguous relationship.

It wasn’t that it was ambiguous, exactly, it was best friendship with benefits. You both knew the boundaries. It was the true emotions both of you were hiding that were the unknown.

You didn’t even really know what you felt about Yeosang, so it was safer not even to touch the topic.

But you could identify how you felt about San, and it was quickly evolving from annoyance to attraction, a fact you weren’t exactly thrilled about.

He was the competition. You couldn’t date the competition. Besides, you told yourself, he’d still thrown away your flowers. You couldn’t forget that. He didn’t like you.

And, more importantly, you didn’t like him.

—

“Alright, we’ve had three lessons. What are you thinking for this weekend?” You crossed your arms.

“Forget-me-not and short sunflowers for true love and adoration, and marjoram for blushing. It’s a very colorful theme to the wedding, so I wanted to include lots of colors in the centerpieces.” San nodded. “And I was thinking each table would have a different centerpiece. Like, one table has forget-me-not, one has sunflowers, one has marjoram. And then they’re all filled in with moss, which is for maternal love, but the bride is very close with both her mother and her mother-in-law, so I think it will work, and it’ll look nice. And then the bride’s bouquet will be all of it.”

“I’m impressed.” You blinked. “You’ve memorized that pretty fast.”

“Yes, well, I want to keep learning.” San smiled. “I like working with you on— on this. I’m having fun.”

It might just have been your imagination, but he seemed to shift a bit, almost as if he were nervous.

“Okay, I can keep teaching you, then.” You smiled. “Is there anything you want to learn to say with flowers?”

“Maybe… I was actually thinking, first, maybe you could help me with this wedding. I want to use sunflowers, but I’ve never stocked those in large quantities, and I know you sell a lot of them. I’d pay you, of course, and credit you. Just… a little collaboration.” He smiled.

You were taken aback. San wanted to work with you?

“I, um, I think that would work, yeah.” You stumbled over your words. “I’d love to work with you.”

You could barely believe you were thinking this, but San wasn’t as unbearable as you’d thought. He was actually kind of sweet… and thoughtful… and he seemed to enjoy working with you… and though you wanted to deny it, you had to admit the man was gorgeous.

“Great!” He beamed, and your chest fluttered.

You continued with your flower lesson for the day— the meanings of colors.

“Flowers with multiple colors often mean different things based on the color.” You pulled a few roses from your bag. “White roses mean something different from pink roses, and you’ve gotta be careful with yellow.”

San nodded. “Colors. Got it.”

You set the roses down on the table. “I can tell you about the different colors, but you have to remember, it’s dependent on the flower as well. It’s sort of… a combination of the two.” You sighed. “It’s hard to explain. I’m… my book does a much better job.”

“I want to see this famous book at some point.” He smiled. “It sounds amazing.”

“No.” You said quickly.

“Oh… okay.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“It’s just… it’s my family’s spell book as well.”

“Spell book? So you’re herbalists?”

“Yes. Herbalists who do all kinds of enchantments.” You waved your hand in the air. “My family’s been doing magic for centuries, probably longer.”

“Really?” San’s eyes were wide. “My parents were always wary of that stuff.”

You couldn’t help it, you snorted. “Denying magic is like denying the sky is blue. Now that we don’t have to hide anymore, no witch trials or anything, we’re pretty open about it.”

“I know. People around here trust you, trust your spells. I hear all about it.”

You smiled, pride glowing in your chest. “I try to help people. I’m glad it’s doing something.”

“You do a good job.”

Had San always looked this adorable when smiling? You couldn’t really say.

—

Mingi’s birthday was a relatively calm event. It was Mingi, his boyfriend Yunho, Yeosang, and you. You’d all met in college, and remained friends ever since.

“Where’s Wooyoung?” You looked around. “Where are you hiding him?”

“Hiding him?” Yunho laughed. “Why would we hide him? We want him here as much as you do.”

“So then… where is he?”

“Dunno.” Yunho put his glass on the table. “I’m not in charge of him. He said he might bring a friend, though.”

You hummed. “Wooyoung is certainly… friendly.”

The front doorbell rang, and Mingi leapt up to answer it.

“Wooyoung! And this is…”

“San.” Wooyoung filled in.

Goosebumps ran over you. San? No way it was the same San. There had to be another one, or something.

But you looked over your shoulder, and you felt yourself flush. It was, in fact, the same San. He was in a dark shirt, unbuttoned halfway down, and light wash jeans. A few necklaces glittered on his collarbones.

He looked more than fine. He looked hot.

He grinned at you. “Y/n! Woo didn’t say you’d be here.”

“Well, here I am.” You swallowed before remembering to force your face into a smile.

Yeosang cut in. “San! It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Have you?” San looked amused, his gaze darting between you and Yeosang.

You huffed. “I just… told Yeosang about the flower lessons. That’s all. This is Yeosang, he’s my best friend.” You left out the part where you occasionally fucked.

“Hi, Yeosang.” San said with a small laugh.

“Well, don’t just stand in the doorway.” Mingi ushered them inside. “Sit down.”

Wooyoung took the last available chair, leaving San to sit on the couch beside you. His leg bumped yours as he sat, and he briefly smiled at you as he pulled it back.

The conversation was mudane, at least until after dinner.

“Any news on the dating front, y/n?” Yunho asked, pulling his legs up into his chair.

“Not really.” You laughed. “Still single. The shop is my boyfriend.”

Was it your imagination, or did it seem like San perked up?

“Oh, Beehive Flowers and Enchantments, sweep me off my feet!” Wooyoung put the back of his hand to his forehead, swooning back.

“Exactly!” You grinned.

“I won’t stop at my mission to get you laid, y/n. We will find you someone.” Mingi looked at you sincerely.

“I’m sure you will.” You smiled.

“How about you, San? You got a partner?” Mingi turned to him.

San shifted. “No, I… I don’t.”

“Sounds like you wish you did.” He poked.

“Maybe.” San looked down, flushing. “I do kinda want someone… yeah.”

Your heart jumped.

“We should get you on some dating apps or something, then.” Yeosang leaned over. “I hear there’s a few that are pretty good.”

“Yeah, that could be good.” San glanced at you with an inscrutable expression before looking to Yeosang. “For sure.”

You didn’t know what he wanted. But you wanted him.

#mirohsaurorasociety #skzdust writes #ateez #ateez fic #san x reader #choi san x reader #choi san #san #ateez fluff #yeosang #kang yeosang #yeosang x reader #kang yeosang x reader

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mareenavee · 1 year ago

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Talking about writing and advice on it got the wheels in my brain churning, and now I'm curious! So! If you're so inclined to answer:

Are there any writers who have served as an inspiration to you? (Whether through specific advice or just the stories/poems/music/etc that they have written.) If so I'd love to read some examples of how their words have inspired you!

Hi!! Thank you so much for this ask. It means a lot, actually.

I talked about this a tiny bit on how this specific writer inspired my fic, but honestly, they've inspired my entire writing career! It's not my only influence, but for sure is the most significant one as it's the earliest example I can remember that had me itching to write.

That writer is JRR Tolkien.

When I was a wee child, I read so much and so often that I was above my "reading grade" in no time at all. When I was about 7 years old (so a long, long while ago now lol) my uncle gave me his copies of The Hobbit and The Silmarillion. The Hobbit was missing its front cover. Me being a child, I ignored it for a while, and tried to read the Silmarillion...and it didn't go well. So I shelved it and tried the Hobbit instead. (:

I flew through that book so quickly. I had never, by that point, read anything quite so cool and complicated. There were stories within the story itself and a sense that there was more to the world than just what was being said. I don't of course remember anything of what I actually thought at that specific moment, but I DO know and have proof of from old journals that I immediately set about trying to write after that. My first story was kind of derivative. I turned my friends into characters on an adventure with me where I was the wizard (or witch, as it happens) instead. It was maybe 12 or so pages in a little hardback journal.

Years later, I read The Hobbit as my first read of the year to kind of remind myself of that initial enthusiasm that jumpstarted my journey. Every year, without fail, my first book completed is this one. Maybe at this point I could probably recite it word for word LOL (okay that's an exaggeration.) Whether I read it aloud or I read to myself, it's super dear to my heart.

My current project, as I noted in the link above, has a specific quote from The Silmarillion that I wrote the entire thing around (: There's another specifically from The Hobbit that I keep in general to remind myself of why I do what I do.

“The Road goes ever on and on Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with weary feet, Until it joins some larger way, Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say.” ~ J.R.R. Tolkien, The Road Goes Ever On; The Hobbit

It relates a bit to my advice from a tag game I posted earlier, if you were wondering (:

#AskMareena #MareenaWrites #Tolkien #The Hobbit #Writeblr #Fanficblr #Writing Advice #Writing Inspiration #Writing Tips

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adickaboutspoons · 2 years ago

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tagged by @red-sky-in-mourning. Thanks, hon. Hope everything is going better with the power sitch 🧡

Fair warning - I've had a glass of wine, I'm a lightweight, and an amorous drunk.

fave ed gif

I mean, an entire life of male-gaze cinema has trained me to read this as sexy, and boy howdy did it succeed. The toe-to-head "this is the love interest" pan. His fingers skating down his chest in a teasing caress. His cock(ed) pistol. And then you throw in how blazingly hot Taika looks in that wig and beard and leather? The flesh is weak, your honor. And the lizard-brain is even weaker.

fave stede gif

Relatable af, but also, I want to hug him and put him in my pocket for safe-keeping. He looks like a live-action Podling. I love his ridiculous face.

fave ed outfit

I love the classic leathers, and he's the prettiest princess in purple, but my answer is this outfit, specifically right here. The superb fit of the breeches and how well the color complements his complexion. shirt partially untucked and open to the chest. Then him, just laying there with his legs sprawled and drinking directly from the decanter. Look me in the eye and tell me that he doesn't look thoroughly debauched and debauchable.

fave stede outfit

It's a tie between the wedding outfit

and the navy taffeta with brick-red lace trim during the "Arthur's kind eyes" flashback.

What can I say - I'm a slut for red and blue, and the specific hues matched in these two outfits make my brain sing. I covet the fabric of Stede's wedding outfit like burning.

fave blackbonnet song

"Leather and Lace" by Stevie Nicks and Don Henley for them getting together, "Stranded" by Heart for them falling apart. (White Flag by Dido for the reunion IDC if I'm jumping the gun).

fave ofmd fic trope

If you write Stede and Ed engaging in all manner of sexytimes, but Stede is convinced it's anything OTHER than Ed being in love with him because How Could Ed Be In Love With HIM ("this is just what pirates do and we're pirates, so...", "ed is helping me get acclimated to being more casual about touching", "ed is such a good friend to let me do this", etc.)? I'm yours.

ed's hair or stede's hair

So here's the thing. My hair is v. similar to the Ed wig. Long, dark, wavy, shot with silver streaks. It's v. distinctive and defining - like to the point that my college advisor would tell underclassmen to go talk to "the girl with the hair" and they would find me on that description alone (and that a high school teacher once wrote me a v. inappropriate poem entitled 'The Lady With Hair'). And I love my hair. I cut it all off several years ago to donate to Wigs 4 Kids, and while I don't regret the donation, the following few years while it grew back out were TORTURE. So I wouldn't trade it for anything. BUT, if I weren't so deeply lazy, and burdened by sensory issues, I would be serving mid-century high-femme all the times, and Stede's highly styled and shaped curls are The Dream.

longest i've gone between rewatches

It's been awhile, actually? I mean, I rarely go more than a week or two without checking back in on one specific scene or another to make sure I'm remembering it correctly before I mouth off about something here or on Discord, but it's been months since I've watched an episode from end to end. I am planning a full re-watch before the new season drops, though.

hiding in the ship lucius vs. ghost lucius

I was an early adopter of hiding in ship. Like one of my first posts as dancing-with-the-madmen was about how he climbed the un-scraped barnacles on the hull like a climbing wall (we have fun making jokes here at spoondick llc ™,©, ®).

favorite crew member

How v. dare. Rude. Ask me to pick a fav muppet next, why don't you. Gun to my head? Prolly Buttons. He's so deeply and wonderfully weird.

tagging @nicnacsnonsense, @tisziny, @chocolatepot, @ymfingsteadilyon, @poorcitrusmanagement, @bizarrelittlemew, @peachesandpink, @artgirlfunkel, and anyone else who feels the music move them, but no presh, babes (gn).

And, uh, sorry for the overshares and being so horny on main.

#wineblogging #envinoveritas #I for sure won't regret this tomorrow #ofmd #our flag means death

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borderlinelightning · 2 years ago

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time traveller

i never realised how difficult it would be to figure out which of my ramblings to post each day but then i realised that they will probably all surface eventually regardless. therefore i decided to let my flatmate choose a random number between 1 and 43 according to the pages of a document on my laptop and so she picked 21. i wrote this one a while back now after reading a poem relating to a similar concept of missing a past that you never quite understood nor actually experienced. the term 'anemoia' has stuck with me ever since because this really resonates with the idea that i am in a constant state of missing feeling okay and not having any concern about feeling comfortable in my environment. i remember the past through rose-tinted glasses to some extent simply because it has only gotten worse as time has progressed yet this piece still attempts to somewhat capture the fragility that accompanies the absence of security and stability. sometimes life just gets too heavy and you are allowed to miss the times when it felt lighter.

nostalgia makes me weak

when i long for that time just

seven years ago and

everything seemed so much

simpler because my school

breaks were not devoured by

three overdue assignments and

two essays to write out but

all i had was

one desire to live

and simply breathe

without interruption.

nostalgia makes me weak

when 3am was my favourite

time of the day and not

because it was that kind of silence

where everything feels lonely enough

to focus on the letters on the screen

but because it was a time

when everything felt lonely enough

to let me satisfy my

one craving to live

and simply breathe

without interruption.

nostalgia makes me weak

when i remember that it was not

perfect but it was perfect enough

for me to idealise that time just

seven years ago and

i had my insecurities but feeling

‘just good enough’ was good enough for me

because now it is never going to be close to good enough

and i will no longer enjoy 3am out of

fear that i will become further from the

perfection toxically indoctrinated

into my once naive mind that

lived and breathed without fucking interruption.

#poetry #writing #nostalgia #anemoia #student #3am

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neocatharsis · 4 years ago

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NCT’s Mark Lee on Dreams, Instagram Poetry, and Growing Up

Mark has a lot going on — but he’s making time for poetry, introspection, and, of course, the members of NCT Dream. - Vivien Wu

“I’ve been thinking about dreams a lot these days!” Mark Lee exclaims over Zoom from SM Entertainment’s Seoul headquarters.

The 21-year-old leader of NCT Dream is enthusiastic as he mulls over the meaning of dreams, his back against a wall of pink and yellow flowers assembled by his fellow NCT members. He’s wearing a simple, white tee, and when he gestures with his hands, you can catch glimpses of the friendship ring that all seven members of NCT Dream wear as a symbol of their bond.

“I actually feel like dreams hold a large portion of a life, and I’m not just talking about the subconscious dreams that we all have when we sleep,” he continues. “If you put it in a way where dreams are actually things that motivate us, and the drive that keeps us going, especially as a strongly driven person myself, I feel like… a guy with no dreams is like…” He looks up, thinking. “…A car with no engine. So, I think it’s as important as yourself. That’s how deep I go with dreams.”

His interest in dreams is fitting, considering that they are also the central, underlying concept to the lore behind NCT Dream’s parent group, NCT. They connect their three subunits, NCT 127, NCT Dream, and WayV, in a complex, Inception-inspired fictional universe where dreams are the only way they can find each other, and where upon uniting they can mix to form new subunits collectively referred to as NCT U. In practical terms, this has resulted in a 23-member mega-group that is multifaceted in every way — from their musical styles and visual aesthetics to their cultural backgrounds and spoken languages.

NCT Dream’s original teenage concept meant that members were supposed to “graduate” when they came of age, and as the oldest, Mark was the first to leave the group at the end of 2018. Having grown attached, however, fans were devastated at his departure; after a year of separation, SM announced that the graduation system would be scrapped and that he would rejoin the group. Their new album, Hot Sauce, is the first with Mark in over two years. As fellow member Haechan declared in an interview with Teen Vogue earlier this week, “Mark [is] very special. NCT Dream means Mark.”

But before the rapper led NCT Dream, and before he joined NCT U and NCT 127 and SuperM — the man is in high demand — Mark’s childhood dream was writing. He grew up in Toronto, and through doing school projects and essays quickly discovered that he had a natural way with words. Inspired by Percy Jackson author Rick Riordan, Harry Potter, and James Patterson, Mark dreamt of becoming an author, long before he was recruited by SM at a global audition in Canada in 2012. “When I was in school, I was always the kind of guy who would write more than expected, and that became a thing that clicked for me,” he says. “I was like, ‘Maybe it’s something that I naturally do?’ But then that kind of turned into rap writing too, so I guess they kind of clicked together.” It explains his prolific career as a lyricist; since debuting, he’s amassed over 30 songwriting credits across his various groups, contributing to songs as iconic as NCT U’s “Boss,” NCT 127’s “Cherry Bomb,” and NCT Dream’s “Chewing Gum.”

Even with such an extensive body of work, however, penning lyrics hasn’t satiated his appetite for literary expression. In an interview with Japanese magazine Men’s Non-No, he revealed that he still hopes one day to write a book, whether that be a novel, autobiography, or something more philosophical.

In the meantime, he’s taken to writing what are basically short poems on his Instagram, which he created just a few months ago. He’s gathered over 4.5 million followers since then, but having such a large audience hasn’t deterred him from being endearingly vulnerable with the way he writes. When I refer to them as poems, he laughs and looks embarrassed, but when I ask him to tell me the stories behind them, he’s enthusiastic again. They’re short, but offer brief glimpses into Mark the writer — sharp, inquisitive, and thoughtful. As pieces of literature, they’re a little rough around the edges, but the sincerity he’s known for shines through, illuminating the introspective, philosophical side that may not be so obvious in person.

His first poem, loosely titled “Late Night Scribbling,” put into words his musings about sleep, thoughts, feelings, and writing. It meanders from topic to topic, hovering between feelings of hope and hopelessness, before ending with a comically awkward “haha.”

“I actually wrote that by imagining how I wanted to organize my Instagram page,” he explains. “I was thinking of creating an Instagram, then I realized that, well, I’m not really a picture kind of guy, I’m not really a travelling kind of guy… I kind of studied who I am first, and I [asked myself], ‘What’s something that I can really portray in an intimate way?’ and it turned out to be writing.”

“I started to brainstorm what kind of topics I could write about, and then from there on, I started to write a little each and every night, and that turned into Late Night Scribbling,” he continues. “That kind of gave me courage to start Instagram in the first place, that piece of writing.”

Two weeks later, he followed it up with “Black Socks,” a whimsical ode to, well, black socks — complete with accompanying photos of him wearing said socks. Immediately, it feels more confident and cohesive than its predecessor. Using the neat and tidy look of black socks as a metaphor, he describes his own mindset for living life: “Pleasure from perfect alignment; That also goes for my ability to be parallel with my thoughts and actions; I try to live out what’s in my mind, and keep it consistent even when forgotten like a working habit.”

Comments on the posts praise his writing and encourage him to continue sharing these small pieces of himself. On the stage, Mark takes on a confident, larger-than-life persona, while in vlogs and spoken interviews, he’s a bubbly character full of laughter and boyish charm. What the poems show is that, beneath these outer appearances, there’s another layer of complexity that is yet to be fully explored, and it’s not surprising that fans want to know more.

His day job as a K-pop idol doesn’t allow a lot of time for hobbies, though, and he confesses to not having written much lately. Despite that, he’s determined to stay in the industry for as long as possible. “Longevity is something that I’ve always been aiming for,” he says. “I’m willing to do this for a long time, and that requires a lot of work. I’m willing to take that as a challenge and I’m trying to stay as long as I can, but with quality.”

That focus on quality informs his preparations for the upcoming promotions with NCT Dream. In both their fictional world and ours, NCT Dream are a central component of NCT by virtue of their unique focus on growth — the seven members were aged between 14 and 17 when the group first debuted in 2016. Fast-forward five years, and the members are now 19 to 21, having reached a milestone in January when the youngest, Jisung, finally became a legal adult in Korea. When asked if he feels like an adult yet, though, Mark gives an extremely relatable answer with zero hesitation.

“I still feel like I’m in middle school, I’m gonna be totally honest. I swear to God, I feel like I’m… All right, I’ll put it up — I feel like I’m in high school!” He laughs. “I even had this talk with Jisung, ‘cos he’s the latest that turned into an adult. He said that he still feels like he’s a student, he doesn’t feel like he’s 20 [19 in international age] right now.”

It’s been a long time since all seven Dream members — Mark, Renjun, Jeno, Haechan, Jaemin, Chenle, and Jisung — have released an album together, and as the first full-length album since their debut, the fan anticipation is palpably intense. Mark himself has mentioned in various vlogs how important he believes this comeback to be, and that conviction becomes obvious whenever he talks about it.

“We had a talk all together, the seven of us, without any cameras or anything. I brought all the guys together and we talked before the whole momentum started, and I said that I’m willing to put my everything on this one. Like, I always had, but I feel like… the whole universe, or like— ” He pauses, trying to figure out how to articulate himself, and his next line is the most emphatic of our whole conversation. “There are things that are out of our control, but we can see and feel when the pieces match together sometimes, and I feel like this specific moment, this particular album, kind of had those essential parts.”

He’s thinking about all of the context surrounding this comeback: the group’s coming of age, the reunion of all seven members, the scale of the album, the fact that Jisung has only just recovered from a leg injury that meant he couldn’t dance for months — even the fact that 2020 was, against all odds, the best year yet for NCT, with release after release bringing them unprecedented success and momentum.

“I felt that coming and I explained all of that [to the group],” he continues. “This whole period of time has a lot of meaning to it, and we’re not taking that for granted, we’re working hard.” With everything that’s happened, Hot Sauce is a historic moment for NCT Dream, and that’s been reflected in their numbers — the album clocked over 1.7 million pre-orders, obliterating their previous record of 500,000 for last year’s EP, Reload.

Their familial bond and the success that has come with it is the culmination of years spent living, working, and growing up together. The members have collectively missed out on key experiences that most teenagers might take for granted, distanced as they are from normal life, and the group also benefits from an unusually loose adherence to traditional Korean age hierarchy. The result is a brotherhood that goes beyond just being colleagues. “What we have is pretty intimate, and it’s also genuine,” Mark says.

About his role, he is matter of fact. “I’m by far the most easily approachable punching bag for the team. I am not… complaining…” He laughs. “But all jokes aside, I feel like my role for this team… Yes, I am the oldest and I am the leader but I’m also… In Korea, in the culture, age is very important, but we’ve come so far that all those borders kind of just vanished and we’re all pretty much friends, and I guess I’m just a friend of theirs too.”

It’s true that, despite being the leader, his friendly personality and endearingly awkward mannerisms mean that he commands about as much authority as a small puppy. Instead, much like a puppy, he is showered with love and affection (fellow member Chenle refers to Mark as his son and his actual puppy Daegal as Mark’s little sister), but that doesn’t mean he isn’t a dependable leader figure. The opposite is true — in Renjun’s words, Mark’s presence unites the group in a way that makes him irreplaceable.

And while this may be the fifth year since their debut, in the grand scheme of things, the members of NCT Dream are still very, very young — by most standards, they would still be considered to have their entire careers ahead of them. Growth has brought them here, but where does Mark think it will take them in the future?

“Growing just never stops for us, I can see us growing continuously, endlessly,” he replies. “What the future holds is something that we will never know, but we always do try to prepare during the present, and so with whatever time we have currently and with whatever album, or whatever stage, or whatever piece of music it may be, we’re willing to make sure that we have the next one coming too.”

A final thought. “I’m glad that we’re striving for that, ‘cos we started off as…” Mark shakes his head, “…as babies.”

#nct #nct dream #Mark #nct 127

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baticorngirl · 3 years ago

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Title: Scribbles of Love

Rating: General Audiences

Relationship(s): Talia Al Ghul/Bruce Wayne (Brutalia), Talia Al Ghul & Unnamed Child, Bruce Wayne & Unnamed Child,

Characters: Talia Al Ghul, Bruce Wayne, Minor Original Character(s),

Summary: Miraculously, Bruce and Talia have been married for quite a long time now. In fact, their first year anniversary is coming around the corner, and it's suddenly dawned on Bruce that he doesn't have anything to give her. He soon decides he wants to give her a love poem, but there's only one problem: Bruce sucks at writing poetry. As the anniversary comes closer and closer, will Bruce manage to write a half-decent love poem in time?

A/N: This fic is for @brutalia-week Day 1: “I made it for you”. It takes place in an alternate universe where Batman: Son of the Demon worked out. I think that’s all you need to know before you begin, so... enjoy!

(The fanfic is under the line below, but if you’d prefer to, you can also read it on Ao3(x) and FF.net (x)!)

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Talia was training, as usual. Her feet were planted to the ground like a tree's deep roots, with her knees bent ever so slightly to get a good stance. The smile on her face was soft, but she made sure her strikes were anything but. Like Ra's has taught her so many years back, her moves were smooth and fast, a bit graceful… but powerful. The sword in her hand would've demolished anything in its path, as it zoomed around the room…. if she had been aiming for anything but an imaginary opponent, that is. Her hair flew into the air as she abruptly bent down (while still attempting to keep her feet as well-planted as possible) to swipe her "opponent's" feet. She pulled up and jumped, imagining that they were doing the same move back to her. Continuing to imagine each move, her arm twisted and turned to hit their sword back every time, getting faster and faster and faster and faster and…..

Knock, knock. Talia pulled herself up, mentally clearing herself from the perilous fight, at the sound of knuckles softly pounding on the door. "Come in," She called, slowly trotting over to the door. Just outside the door, Batman stood. His cowl was casually flung back to uncover his real face, and as he began to pull on his gloves and belt, it became clear he was about to get out of the vigilante gear. He sighed, neglecting to look at her as the pulling became more of just fidgeting and less of actually pulling them off.

"I… have to go." He began, his eyes still looking off into the distance. "It's just… a… small errand. I won't be long. Maybe an hour or two, but….. I can't keep watching the baby while I'm gone so I figured I should let you know." He immediately turned and began walking away as soon as he had conveyed the necessary information. Talia's eyebrow rose, noticing the odd behavior, but quickly shrugged it off. Her husband always acted secretive, so she doubted there was anything to worry about.

"Okay, Beloved. Farewell!" She quickly leaned in to kiss him on the cheek a moment before he left. Batman turned back towards her, his classic vacant expression turning into a smile for a moment. It only took less than a moment to go back to normal, though, as he quickly continued walking and went into a walk-in closet to get ready for his "errand". Once he was out of sight, Talia made her own way over to the baby's nursery in the opposite direction.

She swiftly picked the baby up, watching as the baby's eyes lit up in a giggle. The baby continued to smile and laugh even more as she kissed his small, round little nose. Talia rocked her child in her arms, ambling around the nursery. Soon, the high-pitched laughter had faded into the peaceful squeaks of a sleeping infant. The baby was slowly set back down into his crib. Talia patted his little head as gently as she could, before setting up the baby monitor and going to a nearby room to train a bit more.

Meanwhile, Bruce had just arrived at what he had told Talia was just an errand. He went into the front door, and was greeted by a friendly-looking person, sitting on a lounge chair just a few feet in. They smiled at him, and motioned for him to sit down at one of the many desks spaced around the room.

"Welcome. You're a bit early, so we'll just be getting started in a few minutes." They explained. He simply nodded in return. Luckily for him, they seemed to be unaware of his fame back in Gotham. Talia had still been doing some work under Ra's, and so they hadn't been in Gotham for quite a while due to where her father wanted her. Bruce had been enjoying the lack of fame and the dreaded paparazzi through their whole trip, and this was no exception.

Silence followed for a few moments. They both looked down their laps, unsure what to do or say. Awkwardness plagued them both, but eventually, the person in front of Bruce decided to start talking again to get rid of it.

"I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Riley, what's your name?" They asked, reaching a hand out to shake hands. Bruce put his hand out as well, and they shook for a few seconds before he answered the question.

"My name is B-" He quickly got interrupted by a flood of people coming in. The clock had finally ticked that it was 10:00, meaning it was the exact time to start. Everyone sat down quietly. Riley jumped up from their chair, rushing up to the front.

"Welcome to this poetry class, everyone. I assume all of you are here to improve your knowledge of poetry to a level beyond what you were taught in school, or possibly even to build up to a career as a poet. My name is Riley, and I'm your instructor." They explained, and a wave of nodding ran through their audience. Bruce nodded, but stared for a moment in awe of the fact that he hardly remembered even just what he had been taught in school about poetry. He looked down at the desk in front of him, the idea finally occurring to him that maybe focusing all his later teenage years on training to become Batman instead of paying attention to High School was a mistake.

But there was nothing he could do about it now. Poetry hadn't ever been necessary until this situation. But here he was, lying to Talia that he was just "going out on an errand", because there was absolutely no way he could write her a love poem without extra help. It was an embarrassment, really, but poetry just wasn't one of his strong points. It required so much emotion, so much expression of it, and expressing his emotions just wasn't something Bruce naturally did.

"Of course, this is more of a beginner class, so even though some of you may become poets some day, we'll be starting with the basics for today's class." Riley continued the class introduction. Bruce sighed in relief. Perhaps he would actually be able to follow what the instructor was talking about, and be able to give Talia a half-decent poem when it was over. "First of all, most good poems have a lot of figurative languages. These are things that stretch the literal meanings of the words you use, and create an image or effect using them. Some examples are how saying 'Your eyes looked like stars' is a simile, a type of figurative language. There's also metaphors, which are essentially the same thing, but without using the word 'like'."

Bruce thought about this for a moment, and got out a piece of paper to attempt to start his poem with some figurative language. "What's Talia like?" He mumbled, remembering everything about her that he loved so much. She was such a good fighter, and yet kind of graceful, which he was sure he could relate to something, so he took note of that. Her eyes were kind of jewel-like, shiny and beautiful, and her dark brown hair was like chocolate, so he wrote that down, as well.

But most of all, what he loved about her was how much she tried for love. Even though everyone would say that her fighting abilities are her greatest power, her secret weapon, Bruce knew none of those meant anything. Not without the love she used those abilities for, at least. He wasn't quite sure how to say this poetically, though, so he decided to get back to it later.

Eventually, the class ended, and Bruce came back home. Then, next week, he went back to the class and continued to work on his poem. Every week this continued, until their anniversary came around. By then, his poem was nowhere near perfect, but he had tried. There was no way he could back out now, after spending so much time working on it.

Bruce stuffed the poem inside his pocket, and went to their room to get Talia. She sat on a stool, brushing her hair nonchalantly. She had already gotten changed into a beautiful dress, going down to her ankles with embroideries. Bruce stared for a moment, thunderstruck. An embarrassingly goofy smile was on his face, but he quickly shook it off and returned to his default, impassive expression.

"Are you ready, Talia?" Bruce asked, reaching his hand out to help her up. Talia got up herself, but took his hand anyway, nodding. Both bringing along a present, the couple held hands as they made their way to the car. They were planning on going to a fancy restaurant for their anniversary, and exchanging gifts after dinner.

"I can't believe it's been a year since we finally got together, Beloved." Talia said once they were in the car, smiling, "It's been so happy. We were so sad, and we kept having to reject each other, but then this happened, and now… I don't think anything will ever get in between us again." She clutched her necklace, thinking back to the time, almost a year ago, that he had given it to her. For once, she could think about that kind of time with pure joy and hope, instead of longing.

"Yes… I don't usually consider myself cheerful, but you're right. I honestly don't think we could be happier." Bruce looked down at his lap, lost in thought. "That baby is going to have everything. Our love, a family, a home, and of course, happiness. We've really done it." He mumbled.

Talia nodded, right as they pulled up to the restaurant. She scooched out of the car, pulling Bruce along with her. They went inside together, got seated, and ordered their food. As they waited, they decided it might be fun to give each other hints about the presents.

"I'm going to give you two gifts, technically." Bruce explained, feeling his pocket for the poem, plus the earrings he was going to give her along with it. "One's just…. A fairly basic anniversary gift. But the other thing, well, it's a bit more from the heart… I suppose. I don't know, I tried to make it special." He sighed.

Talia smiled, "That sounds wonderful, Beloved. I can't wait to see it." Bruce gulped at the thought that he may have gotten his hopes up for his half-baked writing, but she didn't seem to notice his nerves. "I just got you something basic, too, but it's the sort of thing that's customized to be quite special."

"That sounds wonderful, too." He replied, reaching across to put his hand on top of hers romantically. She wrapped her hand around his in reciprocation. They both leaned in to kiss, smiling.

"Here is your food," They both got knocked out of their romantic moment by the sound of their waiter's voice. They both pulled out of the kiss, and leaned back on to their own chairs. "Oh, was I interrupting something?" The waiter asked with a chuckle, before setting down both their dishes in front of the one who ordered it.

The waiter left, and both Talia and Bruce ate dinner. They talked and smiled as they ate, both attempting to get the other one to slip up and tell them what their present was, with little to no success. Soon, both Bruce and Talia were finished eating, and they quickly got out their presents.

Talia picked up a bag that Bruce had noticed she'd been carrying along throughout the trip, and reached inside. Out she pulled a little box, wrapped in bright, colorful, wrapping. She pushed it in front of Bruce, grinning.

"Go ahead, open it." She insisted. Bruce slowly began to peel the wrapping off, and opened the box that was inside the wrapping. Inside was a beautiful pendant, covered in small gems of all kinds of shapes and colors. The jewels sparkled, almost like magic, and a smile grew on Bruce's face.

"It's… beautiful." He commented, flipping it over in his hands cautiously. He stared, mesmerized at all the jewels. His fingers clutched it tightly. Talia's grin only grew. He was even more happy with it than she thought he'd be, and he hadn't even opened it yet.

"Open the pendant, it's even specialer inside." She nudged, slightly impatient. Listening to her words, Bruce gently flipped the pendant open. Inside, there was a picture of their sweet little baby. Talia reached over, touching a little bump on the back. He flipped it over, realizing it was a knob. Talia turned it, and the image changed to a picture of herself. "There's quite a few different pictures in it, and the knob changes it. I tried to get all of your closest loved ones, plus a picture of yourself in case you're ever in the mood to be vain." She laughed.

Bruce pulled it closer to himself to see it better, and began switching the knob between them all. "I… I love it." He leaned over to her, quickly pecking her on the cheek. "It's perfect." Her smile grew even more than it already had as he opened it. Bruce adjusted the knob to be on Talia again, and put it on.

"I'm really glad." Talia reached over and squeezed Bruce's hand. "Now, would you like to get out what you're giving me?" She beamed with excitement, almost as much as she had beamed when he opened his own. Bruce pulled the earrings out of his pocket, and nudged them in front of his wife.

"I suppose I thought you might like those, but I put a lot more effort into my other gift." Bruce spoke cautiously, too focused to let himself smile anymore. Talia took the earrings, which were actually quite beautiful and expensive, and exchanged the earrings she was wearing currently with them. As she does that, he pulls his poem out of his pocket. "I wrote you something. I know you were probably concerned about how I kept going out at the same time each week without telling you where I was going, but that was just because I had to take a writing class if I wanted to make this even slightly decent."

Talia frowned, "You keep a lot of secrets, but it's nice to know that at least one of them was out of love, and not fear or mistrust. Either way, thank you for the earrings. They are more than beautiful." She let go of the frown quickly after getting it, and gestured for Bruce to go on. "Now, I'm more than excited to hear what you've made. Go ahead."

"When you are here, I can only think about you, But even when you are far, I simply do it with longing, too;

I love you all the time, Day… or night, In the ocean, ground, or even sky, And this why:

Your eyes look like jades, And your smile like beauty in a solid form; You hair looks like silky chocolate, Your entire body is something I adore;

You are stronger than you seem, But so very graceful, as well; You fight stronger than a demon, With an angel's good intent, and morale;

Yes, you move like a swan, But much, much, more than that:

You love deeper than anyone could ever know, Just something that you have taught yourself, Your intentions are more than just moral, But an emotion, in itself;

So with that much personality, It is my honor to be able to love you back."

Bruce spoke the poem as clearly as he could, trying not to stutter or chicken out. It felt odd, showing this much emotion, but in a good way. Once he was finished, he looked up from his poem, smiling. Talia was rubbing her cheeks, wiping away the tears that had formed. Bruce leaned over to kiss the unoccupied hand, desperately attempting to make the moment even more romantic.

Before he had leaned back on to his own chair, Talia quickly pulled him into a kiss, "I love it, Beloved. Almost as much as I love you." She took the paper from Bruce's hand, folding it up and putting it in her pocket. "If you don't mind, I want to be able to remember this moment. Forever."

"Of course," Bruce said, trying to pretend he wasn't surprised that she had liked his poem so much. Perhaps she was simply humoring him to spare his feelings, but if she was, she was doing an incredibly good job at it.

They quickly paid for the meal. Bruce and Talia both beamed as they rode off into the night, hand in hand.

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A/N: Okay, now that you're done, some disclaimers:

I am not necessarily saying Bruce's poem was actually bad. He views it as bad, and it's certainly not perfect, but... I'm not necessarily saying it's bad myself, if that makes sense, (although I definitely did purposely not spend too much time on it when I was writing this).

Also, I'm not sure where this fanfic takes place, lol. It's just not in Gotham, but the rest if up for interpretation.

Oh, and I'm aware this entire fanfic is quite boring. The plot isn't very interesting, I'm afraid, but... oh well.

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theimpossiblescheme · 4 years ago

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So one of my favorite musicals of all time turns forty today…

Funnily enough, my first exposure to anything even related to it was through a little magazine called Cricket. I genuinely don’t know if it’s still in circulation, but it was a children’s magazine full of short stories, poems, fascinating articles, and book recommendations. It was old enough that not only had some of my favorite writers as a kid contributed to it (I also owe my love of Lloyd Alexander to the magazine since he always wrote the “Old Cricket” editorials at the end of every issue), but my aunt had also been subscribed to it. One day, my grandma let me borrow an old Cricket record full of stories and poems being read out loud, and the last track on the second side was a poem by T.S. Eliot. The poem that would eventually become “The Song of the Jellicles”—“Jellicle cats are black and white, Jellicle cats are rather small…” I thought it was a cute poem, but I had no idea there was anything more to it than that.

A few years later—when I was about eight years old—I read that poem and a bunch of poems like it had been turned into what was once the longest-running Broadway musicals. As soon as my brain saw the words “Jellicle cats”, I immediately flashed back to that old Cricket record, and I decided I had to learn more. As luck would have it, my grandma also had a VHS of the 1998 Great Performances show. For a long time, I dragged my feet on watching it. What if it didn’t live up to the hype? What if they were really better off as poems and not songs and dances? How did you make an entire musical based on poems for kids, anyway? But one evening I finally broke down and put in the VHS. I still have all the previews on it memorized—one for the huge Andrew Lloyd Webber concert in Royal Albert Hall, one for Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, and one for the movie The Borrowers. Then after a moment of silence, the overture started and the first glowing yellow cat’s eye appeared onscreen. Showtime.

What followed was an honestly life-changing experience. I’ve talked before about Cats being pure fantasy and escapism, and eight-year-old me had never seen anything like that outside of Disney movies. These were real people in these fuzzy, colorful costumes doing these incredible dance moves, performing magic tricks in real time, and transforming themselves into these fantastical creatures who sounded like humans, but behaved like cats. Real people who did this for a living—who went to work every day and got to become something else for hundreds of audience members to see. Who could make you laugh and cheer and cry while wearing fluffy wigs and painted stripes on their faces, and you never questioned it for a second. I marveled at Victoria’s ballet solo, Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer’s double cartwheel, Mistoffelees’s sparkling coat, Jemima and Grizabella’s beautiful voices. And by the time the credits rolled, I decided I wanted to do this for a living. I wanted to be an actress and make this kind of magic happen myself.

For a few years afterward, I’m pretty sure I was “the Cats girl” to everyone I knew. I always talked about it, I had all the characters memorized, and I first discovered fandom and fanfiction thanks to dedicated websites (once I was old enough to have unlimited Internet access). I even tried to stage my own production of it in elementary school, starring myself as Grizabella and my best friend at the time as Victoria (it never got off the ground, and it wouldn’t have been legal anyway without the Really Useful Group’s permission). And of course, it was a gateway drug to the wonderful world of musical theater; I wouldn’t have found Phantom, Great Comet, or Man of La Mancha without Cats. It wasn’t until I was older that I learned what a strange reputation Cats had. People respected it, but no one really seemed to like it—it was just a weird, silly fluke of a show with a strange concept and no plot. Some even considered it the worst thing Andrew Lloyd Webber had ever written. It didn’t make me love Cats less, but it did make me feel more… self-conscious about it. Like it was something I needed to precede with an “Okay, hear me out…” or “I know, I know, but…” before mentioning it to anyone. So while I still loved the show, I talked about it a lot less.

Then, about a year and a half ago, the movie came out. And for better or worse, it got people talking about the musical again. I was absolutely dreading the amount of people who were going to come out of the woodwork and keep saying what I’d always heard—that Cats was a bad musical and its fans were deluded, and they were never going to give it an honest chance now because of the movie’s reputation. Hyperbolically awful reviews and video essays came out, all bashing the very concept of Cats, and I wanted the earth to swallow me whole. But then, a miracle happened. People started rediscovering the actual musical again. People started talking about how they’d grown up with the 1998 version just like I had. People talked about liking it—actually liking this funny little show with its poems and songs and elaborate choreography in service of a loose, highly metaphorical plot. Actual fans talked about how they loved Cats and saw multiple productions of it and cared about the dozens of characters just like I did.

And very slowly, I started talking to them. I started learning new things, like little bits of trivia and the names of different performers and exactly what a “non-replica” was. I made friends and talked about headcanons and favorite productions with them. I started writing again after a long dry spell. I rejoined my first fandom ever, this time with new people I could actually interact with instead of just leaving messages in a long-dead guestbook, and I had the time of my life. I’m still having the time of my life with everyone in the Cats fandom here on Tumblr, getting to share one of my oldest and greatest inspirations with people who feel the same way I do. So thank you guys—for liking my ficlets and headcanon posts, for introducing me to the Mexican and Italian productions, for saying such kind words when I needed cheering up, and for letting me be a part of it.

And thank you, Cats. For sparking my love of theater and everything it’s capable of creating. For being such a joy to watch and learn about even on my most depressing days. For being wild and unapologetic the way few shows are brave enough to be. And for holding a special place in my heart, now and forever.

#the schemer speaks #cats the musical #cats fortieth anniversary #I love this show and I don't care who knows it--it's been such a formative influence. <3

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rosereview · 4 years ago

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Top 12 Books of 2020

In this crazy year of 2020 I only read 32 books, but that doesn’t mean that I still don’t have too many good five star books that I want to share. But because I’m pretending that this is a top ten list with two honourable mentions, I had to narrow it down to only my top twelve. So let's get started.

12. Catharsis: Pain by Rowan Dugray

To start off, I wanted to mention this really amazing collection of poetry that I picked up. It’s not very well known but it is really well done. Since I’m not the biggest fan of poetry, I usually stray away or get very nervous going into a poetry novel, but this one was a nice surprise. I didn’t let myself dwell on the fact that I don’t always understand the intended meaning of the poems, and instead let myself take my own meaning from the words. In the end I felt like I really had gone through a process of catharsis and released a lot of built up tensions and emotions. A great read.

11. Vow of Thieves by Mary E. Pearson

This book is the second book in the Dance of Thieves duology and it was a treat to get back into the Remnant Chronicles world. It had been a while since I had read the first book so it took a bit for the character relationships and names to come back to me, but after they did this book was a great conclusion. I loved all of the big plot twists and the way that the story went, and couldn't have asked for a more well done novel.

10. Illuminae by Amie Kaufman & Jay Kristoff

This book was a surprise hit which I had been putting off for a while, so I was happy when I finally got to it. The way that the novel is written and presented intimidated me a bit, but I was surprised with how easy it was to read after I got into it. But the biggest surprise, which made for a wild experience, was that the book had a big plot line of a deadly virus. It was kind of scary cause it hit so close to home, but also made it relevant and somehow better. It was a great example of how reading a book at a perfect time in your life enhances so many things about it and that was definitely this one for me. So if you’re into sci-fi books, check this one out.

9. Ace of Shades by Amanda Foody

Next was my first experience reading a Amanda Foody novel although I’ve wanted to read her stuff for a while, and I was not disappointed. This book has some similarities with Caraval, where both have sort of game elements, although this one goes more in the direction of gangs and crime bosses which I loved. The whole book was very well done and fast paced where I just wanted to keep reading until I got to the point that I just couldn’t put it down at the end. Highly highly recommend it, and I can’t wait to get into the next one sometime this year.

8. A Crystal of Time by Soman Chainani

Again this is one that I had been putting off because I hadn’t read the other ones in the series for a while, but when I finally committed to picking this one up I was shocked with how much I enjoyed it. I thought that the book before this one in the School for Good and Evil series kind of repeated a lot of plot points from the previous three books, but this one took a whole different turn. It was nice to see the familiar characters again, but I felt that some of the newer characters were also just as intriguing and kept me wanting more. Now I’m just hoping I don’t take another crazy long time to pick up the last book, especially since it’s already out.

7. The Lost Book of the White by Cassandra Clare & Wesley Chu

No surprise that this book is on my list since it’s a Cassandra Clare novel, and it’s also filled full of Magnus and Alec. This one was super light hearted and fun and was a nice break from the rest of the world. All of Cassandra Clare’s books are just comforting and it feels like I’m coming home every time I get into one. There’s humor, friendship, romance, demons, and shadowhunters… What else could you ask for?

6. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

Finally we’re halfway and boy are we getting to the goodies! This is the second book I’ve read by Taylor Jenkins Reid and it matched and exceeded all of my expectations. I didn’t think anything of hers could top Daisy Jones and the Six, but this one did. I’m not saying that Daisy Jones isn’t amazing, but Evelyn Hugo is just a whole different type of moment. I don’t even know how to explain it. All I can say is if you love old hollywood stories with all of the drama and show biz it brings, then you will fall in love with this novel.

5. Beartown by Fredrik Backman

This book was my first Fredrik Backman read that I finished all the way back in January, so exactly a year ago, but I have to say that it is still stuck in my head. I frequently still think about this book and the story, and I badly want to read all of Fredrik Backman’s novels. His writing style is so unique and the way he fits every part of this story together is incredible. It’s actually the work of a genius! Beartown is all about a hockey town and the dark places it can go when too much pressure is put on young teenage boys.

4. Anxious People by Fredrik Backman

Unlike Beartown, this is a recent read for me, and I have a feeling it will stay in my head like Beartown but in a totally different way. It is written in Fredrik Backman’s same style that Beartown was written in, although it goes back and forth between timelines, which made it to be a wild ride. There were so many plot twists in this novel that I was jumping up and down in every chapter. It was crazy! I loved how this one shows the natural ways that life can suck which made it so relatable and probably why it beat Beartown in the end, even though I didn’t think any other Fredrik Backman book could.

3. I Would Leave Me If I Could by Halsey

Now in the top three we have my three favourite creators in the world!! First here we have Halsey, who I hadn’t expected to publish a book, but I’m more than happy that she did. Halsey, being a woman of many many many talents, did not disappoint in this beautiful poetry collection. Again, I’m not the biggest fan of poetry, but Halsey has made me rethink that. I think because I’ve been such a big fan for a while now, her poetry was that much more special for me. So many of her poems are where my favourite lyrics to her songs originated, so to see the way and form that they were first born was very personal. There’s nothing more to say than I just love it.

2. Chain of Gold by Cassandra Clare

Well since I wrote a whole long review about how much I love this book, it’s not surprising to see that it’s almost first on the list. This book was one of the best books I’ve ever read, and it is agonizing to have to wait for the next one. If you want a more concrete reason for why I love this book so much, then you can read my review for it which is on my post list. Besides that, I guess I just have to say that I love this book so much and everyone should read it and all of Cassandra Clare’s novels.

1. House of Earth and Blood by Sarah J. Maas

And now we have finally come to my favourite book of 2020, House of Earth and Blood. Sarah. J Maas is my second favourite author of all time, beaten only by Cassandra Clare, but at first I have to say that I was worried about this book. It wasn’t purely about the Fae or had a connection with the Throne of Glass or ACOTOR series. For those reasons I wasn’t sure I was going to fall in love with it as much. Oh how wrong I was. This book is an absolute masterpiece. There isn’t much more to say. It is filled with grief, romance, but has a very prominent theme of friendship at its core that was what really hit me hard. Everything about this book was amazing and every character was amazingly developed and interesting. I could not put it down and even though it was supremely long, I was never bored. Not one page. It was just incredible. If you are over 18 and like fantasy novels, read this book. You will be doing yourself a favour.

And that concludes my list of favourite books in 2020! I hope some of these spark your interest and become your favourites in the future.

Until next time!

~Rose Reviews

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thevioletcaptain · 4 years ago

Note

BELATED WRITER ASK. 9, 18, 23. ❤️

BELATED WRITER ANSWER! ❤️

9) what, if anything, do you do for inspiration

To blatantly steal the first part of your answer, I talk to my awesome friends about Supernatural (or insert fandom here). I read poetry and novels and fics and the news. I read interesting studies that catch my attention online, and look up old news articles from small-town local papers. I hit the “random article” button on Wikipedia and let myself go down a research rabbit hole. I watch TV and movies and take note of what works and what doesn’t. I listen to music and curate playlists that Feel Right. I collect visuals I want to emulate. In a non-pandemic year, I people watch in public, and when I have the ability to drive myself there, I spend time alone in nature or near a body of water—water really does the trick for me. Daydreams, nightdreams, nightmares, shower thoughts. I meditate and do the five-senses mindfulness exercise.

18) were there any works you read that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style? what were they?

Not consciously, but I think it’s impossible to read good writing and not have it influence you in some way. There’s a post that goes around from time to time where the writer talks about how they are a patchwork of all the people they’ve loved—they make ramen the way their friend showed them when they were a kid, and they love certain movies because people they care about loved them first, and so on. I think writing is kind of the same.

Every story that affects me in some way, however small, becomes a part of the way I write. So I guess my answer is just… all of them. Eek.

23) any obscure life experiences that you feel have helped your writing? So, this is probably going to make me sound like a real weirdo and/or enormous wanker, but I think that ship already sailed a while a go. So here goes: for a while in my early twenties, I wrote anonymous letters and left them for people to find on the train.

Sometimes it was poetry or a story, sometimes just a one-sided conversation or a series of observations about the other people on the train, or a long list of questions for the person who found it to answer. Sometimes it was written in code, with the key to the cipher on the inside of the envelope.

I’d write “a letter for you” on the outside, slip it into the gap beside the seat, and leave it behind.

I had an email address that I included in every letter for people to respond to—a hotmail address I can’t remember, long-since lost to the ravages of time—and sometimes people would write back. I left substantially more letters than I received responses to, but there were still enough replies that I kept doing it for a long time.

When people responded to the long lists of questions (which ranged from what’s the best movie you’ve seen this year? to describe what love feels like to you? to have you ever seen a ghost? to write me a haiku about pickles) it was like having a secret window into another person’s head.

The anonymity meant that most people responded with a level of honesty that is generally uncommon for anyone but close friends. A lot of them almost seemed to treat it like therapy, venting to a faceless stranger. It taught me a lot about the different ways that people think, and particularly people who I otherwise wouldn’t have an opportunity to get to know that well.

I also always included some version of this question: what compelled you to open this letter, and what were you expecting to find?

The range of responses was wide and fascinating, and I don’t think that anything else has ever helped me to write characters more. Because I think about it pretty much anytime I’m writing. If this character saw an envelope in a public place, would they pick it up? Would they leave it there? Would they open it immediately, or take it home and avoid it for a week like that one man who emailed and confessed that he’d worried that it was somehow crime related? If they found one of the coded letters, would they be excited about it? Freaked out? Would they pass it around the office like that woman who said she worked for the bank and needed something to make the day less dull? What would they do, and how would they answer the question, and what would that tell me about them?

So I often think about the answers people wrote, the poems they sent, the few emails that just contained photos of random landmarks. Incredibly, I never received a dick pic. It’s only just occurring to me now how surprising that is. There was a person who responded with a code of their own, though I’ve forgotten what it translated to. Actually I think there may have been a couple who did this. It was a long time ago.

There was another one who found a particularly depressed letter that I’d left, and emailed back a series of ISBNs. When I looked them up, the book titles put together spelled out a sentence, though I only remember two of them: [It’s A Lovely Day Tomorrow] [Dogs Everywhere]

There was a man who had been a doctor somewhere in South East Asia, then immigrated to Australia to be near his kids, and found himself unable to get anything but minimum wage work. There was a woman who had been so personally offended that I’d criticised The Da Vinci Code in the letter she’d found that she didn’t bother responding to anything else I’d written. There was someone who emailed to say “this is psycho” and nothing else. Oh well.

So. Yeah.

That’s probably the most obscure thing I can think of that has affected me as a writer. It just opened my brain up, I guess. Helped me to understand a bit more about how different people approach things, how they react to things. I try to hold onto that when I’m writing to make my characters feel more real. More flesh-and-bone than a collection of tropes and personality traits, so that they react to things, hate things, love things. Make choices that surprise me, and push against the story when it doesn't go their way.

[the get to know your writer ask meme]

#cass says things #cass writes things #ask meme #gravelghosts

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zeynepbal · 3 years ago

Text

Started cleaning home like 3.30 in the morning, after I woke up to a continuing talk with a friend on whatsapp at 3 am.

While tidying and cleaning the house I was thinking may be I was a bit harsh on him because after all he did not say anything bad and all he thinks is my good will - yet now after thinking an hour while tidying the house I am pretty sure it is not good for me

Society is a strange concept. You can never stay all free unless you go and start a life by yourself in the jungle. Otherwise you always have to be a part of it - even when you dont think so. My dad my mom always and still making me erase some posts which I think they are mostly right about their criticism because they are the only people may be who truely knows my way of thinking yet there is one more thing they know : how others may think and can understand my thoughts in a different way.I can clearly and confidently say that being a parent of mine should be really tiring. Dealing with a “child” for 37 years who mostly has a different point of view than the society.

Same is valid for my friends. I do think that it should be really haed to deal with me. When you make a dirty joke to your friend and when she does not get it constantly should be annoying. And think that when she gets it she just scolds you for being childish.

I dont understand how people connect certain images with certain situations. Kissing a cat video might be found “sexy” by people or wearing a short skirt can be thought as trying to be alluring. Throwing a birthday party for a friend could be understood as trying to steal him from his wife for example. Or I dont know how but being good friends with a male friend and telling here and there that you missed him can be seen as you two have something special. Or hugging a person can be misread as having something between.

I find these thoughts always so “not understandable”. I do like implies and I use them a lot only when I am broken or only when I have to tell some one to do sth or only when I need to reject someone. Because I dont like to hurt anyone yet I dont understand how people can think you imply something when you say you miss some one or love some one or like someone. These words are good words. These are full of emotion words. However howcome in the end all are connected to romantic relations I don get - even while writing here as “romantic relations” I struggled because a person can love a tree and it may be romantic in a way yet it is not the way generally people understands. I remember one certain memory: my mom telling my ex fiancée that I might write a poem for a freaking chair as if it is a person which does not mean that I am in love with anyone.

And now yeah we are there.. Lets return the beginning of this page. Yeah I was harsh on a friend and thought a lot during cleaning the home. Why I was harsh was because he thinks that I need someone in my life - which I surely dont think so , decided this morning. As I wrote him “ I do make talks about relationships, I do behave as if I am interested but I am not. I do have these “fake” standing because of my age. Because when I behave as if true myself people find it fake because up to society a 37 year old woman should be interested in the stuff like this. So they do not accept I dont give a damn heck about these talks.” And this is why I always act as if. Today I just though how unhappy I was when I was about to get married at the age of 26-27, was waking up in the middle of the night and thinking how I truely did not wanna get married : and it was the society in the first place making me say “yes” to a person that I did not wanna get married because up to society a woman should do this do that etc etc etc.

And now it is an another phase: the phase that in order not to be misunderstood or labelled I have to act as if I am interested in some men otherwise people or their girlfriends see you as a threat as if their husbands or boy friends are made up of gold and you are hitting on them. Hello! I am not interested. So first in order to stop these gossips about you you should behave as if you are interested in someone otherwise people dont get you may not be interested in anyone. I dont understand why it should be black and white in every situation and dont get why people are so blind to gray. Another point is in order people not to misunderstand your gender you have to show your interest to men. I dont care if they think I am not straight or so but they talk. They talk a lot. And in year 2021 people still think being a gay is something funny and not normal. I pity these people yet I am straight and it is the same rudeness calling a gay as straight when you call a straight person as a gay. So in order not to be misunderstood I do have to make “men” talk on social media or in my life because people dont get “how come you dont?! At a 37 person howcome you cant have any specific point on men you find sexy?! How come you cant have a type?! Oh come on you are lying!!” I actually dont lie yet in order to deal with these situations I learnt to lie. As I told my friend this morning “I seriously do some talks because otherwise is impossible for people and I just dont wanna deal with them”

And this is actually how society puts a pressure on you without knowing. Lots of friends trying to make me up with some one: and my honest opinion this is so “waste of time” meeting with someone for a date. I mean isnt it? You both know that you meet on a specific purpose to understand if you are compatible or not and to me being compatible doesnt mean “love”. They find me rude when I say “no” to these date offers or imply that I am not interested because to them we would be very good or they are wanting my goodness which I reject. And what they dont understand within all these years is, ME. How I see the things. I like things being in their natural way. If I ll have a relationship it should happen in a natural way. I should fall in love for example. But no! For the society as a 37 year old (up to them beautiful) woman should not be alone or if she is alone there should be something wrong with her. And may be something wrong with me because I do care about emotions rather than “shoulds”

So as a result today I decided that I wont be making the same mistake as I did years ago : letting the society shape me and letting myself go with the flow and I was about to get married with a man I did not love just because it was expected by my friends or the people around me. Today I remembered how down I was feeling on those days and I dont wanna feel like that again. I do want a child yes. And there are other ways to “get” one like stealing some other people’ child (lol jk ofc).

Oh just an another point. I am never the kind of person who is able to show her feelings to the guy she likes (became a big problem in one of my relationships because he was always questioning that I am very physical and touchy to everyone yet not to him. And yeah! If I am hugging you or touching you this means my flirting probabilty with you is 0%) yet I found something I find irritating is “although I like the man doing the first second third…10th move until I understand he is interested, I seriously turn off when he gets harsh on me and openly shows his interest” this is the thing I can say “weird” about myself,for example because this is “weird”.

But the other stuff, I dont think that the way of thinking I have is weird. I dont think having no interest in speaking about relationships, not wanting to listen your “bed time sexual problems or stories” with your husbands/wives or lovers is weird. Because it is not my business but when I say this you call me either rude or weird. So I tried to act in a way you wanted and faked a lot which made me exhausted and today I just bursted as “E NOUGH!”. Because the more I try to fake in a way society wants me to, the more weird my behaviors become.

So I wont be doing any more. This is me. I wont act as the society wants me to act. Do think I have issues because I am not interested in the “make up” dates you arranged? Then I have issues, your opinion. Do you think I am in love with someone just because I told I love him? Then I am in love, your opinion. Do you think I am hitting on you because I asked to meet for a drink? Then I am hitting on you, your opinion. None are the thoughts or feelings of mine. I remember a talk with marcos. He asked me “you use the word love for everything. It is open to misunderstandings” and I told him “for you. You k ow me now and you know I dont use that word as many people may understand”. Same here. When I say I miss a friend and wish him or her here with me etc doesnt mean that I love/loved him or her in a way you think.

#age #dates #relationships

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girlsluvbot · 5 years ago

Text

MATCHMAKER pt.1

pairing: roseanne park × fem! reader

genre: fluff, angst

about:

matchmaker /ˈmatʃmeɪkə/

noun

a person who arranges marriages or initiates romantic relationships between others.

"an enthusiastic matchmaker who continually tried to pair off the difficult bachelor with unattached ladies"

a/n: i'm back!!! hehe this goddamn thing took so long to write, i both despise and adore it with every fibre of my being. enjoy my blood, sweat and tears in the form of a fic.

You loved your job. Very few people are lucky enough to be able to relate to that statement, and you were thankfully one of them. Hell, not only did you love your job, you were extremely good at it.

Since you were a little kid, writing nas always been your biggest passion. Wether it was writing short stories, poems or essays about the french revolution, you were always happy when you were able to put your feelings and thoughts onto paper. This was the main reason why you became the manager of your local newspaper during middle school, high school and eventually even university.

You've won multiple writing contests and even people who had no idea what your name was knew one thing about you: you were an amazing writer.

Years of practice, your impeccable set of skills and a recommendation letter from your university professor secured you a job at Vogue almost immediately. After all this hard work, you finally achieved everything you were looking for. You were truly happy.

Until this very moment.

"Well, I don't know," the woman sitting in front of you made a disgusted grimace, "it just lacks any emotion whatsoever. I've quite literally never read something so stiff and akward."

And here they were. The first words of criticism you have ever recieved. You were so used to everyone praising your work, you didn't know how to react or respond.

Three months ago, you would have never gotten into a similar situation: simply because there was nothing about your work to critize. But a lot has changed in the past few weeks, and not exactly in the good kind of way.

When you first joined Vogue, you were the head editor and journalist of the spread dedicated almost entirely to interviews. Thats what you did, talked to celebrities and wrote about them. And that's what you were good at, almost too good.

Just a year after working in the magazine you got promoted. You were still the head editor, but now of a completely different part of the journal: one dedicated to a single topic. Love. This was bad news, very bad news.

Why, you ask? The reason was fairly simple but no less embarrassing. Even as the head editor of a spread all about love, you've never experienced it yourself. In other words, you've never been in love. And how are you supposed to write about something you know nothing about?

Your boss looks at you and shakes her head. She reaches for the stack of papers on the table in front of her and starts reading, "For example; 'His lips brushed against mine. They were soft. The kiss was short but sweet. I loved it.' What the actual heck? I kiss my cat more passionately than this." she took off her glasses and started massaging the crook of her nose.

"Listen, Y/N, I've read your previous pieces and they were simply wonderful. But this? I don't even know what else to say without hurting your feelings."

"I'm so sorry. I know, it's just that I dont have much experience in said area." you don't finish the sentence, hoping she somehow gets the memo. She doesn't.

"What area?"

"Love. I dont have much experience with love." you blurt out the words that have been on your mind nonstop since the day of your promotion.

"Oh, you poor thing" she leans back in her chair, her eyes scanning your every move, "Isn't that unfortunate."

You nod your head slowly, trying not to get offended at her words full of pity.

"How are you supposed to write romance stories then? This won't work." the woman grabs a post-it note

"Are," your voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, "Are you firing me?"

"Are you crazy? Of course I'm not," she hands you the piece of paper with a phone number, "We just have to improvise for the time being. Do you know Roseanne Park? She's the manager of our Matchmaker spread. You can be her assistant for the next few months, help her around, learn a thing or two. Hopefully your writing wont be so...bland after."

To be completely honest, you didn't handle changes well. Maybe that's why you were standing in front of your new, and hopefully temporary, bosses office, trying to build up the courage to knock on her door.

One of the reasons why you were so nervous was that Roseanne Park, the manager of the Vogue Matchmaker was insanely attractive. Admittedly, you did some online stalking the night before- okay, a lot of it. Here's the thing; you were a planner. Whether it came to your career, writing or even relationships, you liked to beprepared.

That's why after a few hours spent on the internet, you knew everything. The name of her sister (Alice Park), if the had a pet (yes, a fish named Joohwangie) and who her favorite band was (The 1975).

You weren't usually like this, so head over heels for a girl you haven't even met. But your writing, the reason you were here in the first place, didn't usually suck so after all, some things really do change easily.

Just as you reached for the dark wooden door in front of you, it opened before your hand could even touch it's sleek surface.

"Oh!" the tall woman stopped in her tracks. Thanks to your thorough internet digging, you instantly recognized her. Roseanne Park. Your new boss. A 'matchmaker' if you will.

"You must be Y/N! I've heard that you're going to be my assistant for a bit." your cheeks heated up for no apparent reason. Did she know the reason why you got transferred here so quickly? Every molecule in your body wished and prayed to every possible god out there that she didn't.

"Yeah, that's me!" you finally composed yourself enough to speak, but that didn't mean your voice didn't sound like one of a twelve year old boy going through puberty- high pitched and squeaky.

You examined her face more in depth, and realized quite a few things:

She was somehow even prettier in real life. How? you had no idea. Some people just really won the genetics lottery, you thought.

Her hair was red. Like undeniably, undoubtedly red. In all of the pictures you found yesterday it was either brown or black, so this change caught you off guard. You couldn't complain though, because this girl looked like a hotter version of Ariel with a much better sense in fashion (and music).

"Have you been standing out here for too long?"

"Oh no, I just arrived." lying has never been so easy.

"Great! I'm gonna go downstairs to grab a package but you can look around the office while I'm gone," she opened the door a bit to let you walk in.

You did as she told you and entered the room. The door closed behind you without you noticing, the only thing you could focus on was this girl's office. It looked just like you would imagine heaven to look like- full of light, white furniture and expensive looking leather couches.

There were pictures everywhere: a dozen of four young girls (one of them being Roseanne), a few more of her with famous celebrities and one of a familiar looking face- her sister.

You carefully walked towards the table in the middle of the room, not wanting to damage anything. You noticed quite a bit of unexpected clutter, and above everything a print of the brand new Vogue issue. A woman on the cover flashed you a beautiful smile as you picked it up. The headline stated: Kim Jisoo talks acting, NYFW and love.

You flipped the glossy magazine pages to find the spread dedicated to said interview and noticed just what you were looking for: the author of the article. The credits at the bottom of the page revealed a nice surprise- Author; Roseanne Park.

"Well what do you think? Is it a good article?" your soul almost left your body when you realized who was standing next to you. You quickly put the magazine down, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to touch your stuff. I just saw the cover and..."

"Oh my gosh, are you kidding? That's completely okay, I don't mind." she pointed to the journal, "That interview is actually one of the favorite pieces I ever wrote, and not just because it's about Jisoo. Plus, my friend took the pictures, so it was extra fun." She opened the spread again and pointed to a name credited right next to hers, Photographer; Lalisa Manoban.

"Oh wow. I've seen her pictures before, they're really good. I with I could take photos like that. Seriously."

Here's one thing to note: when you're nervous, you ramble. Like a lot. Some people would say its better than staying silent, but let's be honest- it's like stepping into a puddle instead of mud. Not a disaster, but there's still plenty to complain about.

Thankfully, Roseanne only giggled, "I know exactly what you mean. I hope you'll get to work with her someday."

You both stared at the magazine spread for a second before Roseanne broke the silence.

"But now, let's get to bussines. Sit down please, this might take a while," she pointed tkwards one of the leather couches you noticed earlier and took a seat at the other side of the table.

"So, as you probably already know, my name is Roseanne Park. As a manager of Matchmaker, my job is to read these letters," she grabben a handful of papers for emphasis, "and respond to them, give advixe basically. The title 'Matchmaker' comes from the fact that the majority of the letters talk about love. Any questions so far?"

When you shook your head no, she continued, "As my assistant, your job is fairly simple. You're going to sort and read through the hundreds of letters I recieve weekly and pick the most interesting ones for me to feature. And occasionally, you might accompany me to a few interviews. Sounds good?"

You slowly nodded, processing all the new information. Letters, answers, interviews and a hot boss. That doesn't sound so bad.

"Great. So Y/N," she suddenly stood up, "Would you mind going with me to Subway? I'm starving."

By the time you were finished with lunch, you had a new point to add to your list of realizations about your new boss:

She loves food, and by loves I mean LOVES.

The moment you arrived at the restaurant, food was the only thing she would talk about. She told you about what she had for dinner and breakfast, what kind of snacks she hid in the office and what kind of salad she was getting alongside a baguette.

After she actually managed to get a bit of calories into her system (thanks to a foot-long chicken turkey sandwich) the conversation finally got more interesting.

Don't get me wrong, you could listen to this girl talk for hours, no matter the topic. But after listening to a thirty minute long monologue about why pineapple pizza is the best thing ever invented, even you have reached your limit.

"So," you start, in an effort to break the ice, "how long have you been working at Vogue?"

She squints at the toast in front of her, trying to remember, "About five years? Yeah, it's gonna be five years in May."

"Oh wow, that's impressive."

She tilts her head, "Is it? I mean, when you work as often as I do, time just goes by. I don't even remember the last time I went out with my friends to discuss something that wasn't work related."

You pout, regretting the choice to ask her about work.

"But at the same time, I love what I do so I can't really complain. What about you though? Why did you decide to become a journalist?"

"Oh, I started just a year ago. And I studied literature, so I guess becoming a journalist made sense."

"Why did you study literature then? There's so many other better paying jobs out there."

"I don't think anyone works in such a field for money, that's for sure," you try to lighten the atmosphere, "Well, my mom wanted to become a writer, but she got pregnant before she could finish her book and she's been pretty much busy ever since. I guess her love for books kind of rubbed off on me."

Roseanne nods, to let you know she's listening. "I'm glad you and your mom have such an important aspect of your lives in common. My mother wanted me to become a lawyer, I doubt she's ever read even a single fiction book in her entire life."

"What does she think about your job now?"

Her lips tighten and she crosses her arms. "I don't know. I haven't talked to her since," her eyes seem empty, their signature spark gone. You can tell you struck a nerve. "I haven't talked to her since I moved out."

"Well, I'm sure that she's proud of you," you can't help but add.

Rosie lets out a dry laugh, "You don't know my mother then," she slowly pushes her plate away, "I think I'm full so I'm gonna head back to the office."

Sometimes it's better to keep your mouth shut. You learned this the hard way.

You head back after your lunch break ends, alone. Even though Roseanne walked you through everything she expects you to help around with, you know that your job doesn't start and end with sorting through letters.

You softly knock on the office door before heading in. She's already sitting there, behind her desk. Without looking up from her laptop, she scoffs, "You're late."

"It's just five minutes," you shrug, not taking her tone seriously. Finally, she raises her sight to meet yours. Even without her saying anything, you understand. Do not play around with fire.

You mumble an apology and quickly run to the small hallway at the other side of the room which leads to your own (significantly smaller) office.

"What makes you think I'm done?" Turning around, you notice that her eyes are piercing through your back. Unsure of what she expects you to do, you walk back in front of her.

"While you were out there doing god knows what for two hours," you resist the urge to roll your eyes, "I already did your job and sorted through the letters. You're welcome."

She walks around the table and pushes a thick stack of papers against your chest, "That means you'll be doing my job and write replies to them. Can you handle that?"

You try not to show her how terrified you are. You? Giving relationship advice? Sounds like a recipe for a royal disaster. Instead, you rise your chin and smile, "Yes ma'am."

She visibly winces at the formal title, but still nods and returns to her seat. You take this as a sign to head back to your spot and do your job. Well, her job for now.

You sit down calmly and shuffle through the papers, trying not to look too freaked out. What the heck are you going to do now?

A quick peek at your boss reveals that she's either busy with work or just flat out ignoring you.

Trying to remain collected, you pick out the top letter from the pile. The first paragraph reads:

Hi Rosie! I'm a huge fan of your Matchmaker spread :) I never thought I'd be the one writing you a message but here we are hahaha. (Let's hope this gets featured!)

You roll your eyes but continue reading,

Me and my boyfriend have been dating for just about two months and I would describe our relationship as 'lowkey'. We first met at a bar a last year but we surprisingly didn't immediately hit it off.

With a raised eyebrow you skip over a page full of sappy descriptions and relationship stories, before getting to the end of the letter.

So what should I do? He's really sweet but I'm not sure if I'm ready to meet his family just yet.... please help! Love, Courtney.

You fold the paper back to it's original state with a quiet gulp. What on earth did you get yourself into?

#blackpink #blackpink scenarios #park chaeyoung #rosé #rosé fluff #rosé angst #rosé smut #rosé x reader #girlfriend rosé #blackpink rosé #blackpink rose #rose angst #rose fluff #blckpink fluff #blackpink angst #blackpink smut #roseanne park #rosé park

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doomedandstoned · 3 years ago

Text

Shepherds Crook Doom the Moonlit Sky in Latest LP

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Album art based on a painting by Remedios Varo

I've been enamored SHEPHERDS CROOK from the moment I chanced upon 'Black Lake' (2018) some years gone, which inspired an impromptu review. Here is a band that should be, in my mind, every bit as familiar to aficionados of doom metal as Dopethrone, Bongzilla, and Cough. This opinion is founded on more than the strong emotional connection the music has made with me over the years. Every sludge lover I've had occasion to introduce the Trondheim duo to has taken to them immediately. Who can deny the appealing backwoods grit of "Uteseler" or the celebratory toke of "Smoke Diver"?

While their road game has yet to start, their track record in the studio is flawless with two stellar EPs and four highly regarded LPs notched around the belt already. The principal drivers of this project are multi-instrumentalist Ole Hell and vocalist Nestor. Together, they're a force to be reckoned with in the heavy underground, with Ole's penchant for composing dank rhythms and forlorn guitar leads that touch a nerve every time. Nestor completes the picture with characteristic gravelly crooning that carries more evil, hissing ire than a den of pissed off vipers.

Before us lay the latest long-player of the lot, 'Mat For Månen' (2021) -- or "Food For The Moon" -- which is such a brilliant title when you consider how suitable this music is for humid summer nights full of barbeque, beer, and self-loathing. If the dog's fabled bark at the moon could be rendered in relatable terms, it might end up sounding like Shepherds Crook.

"The Narrow" cracks the bottle on the recording with an irradiated strum. This becomes the song's central theme, with bass and drums joining in, followed by Nestor's gruff, caustic strains. This dirge of doom is unrelenting, with the riff simultaneously establishing the melodic core and rhythm. It's a tight track with no room for fat, not even for one of Ole Hell's trademark guitar solos -- though the woeful axeman does drop an ominous footnote during the song's closing seconds.

The titular "Mat For Månen" is next in queue and dons quite a downcast mood, with guest artist Stian Sumstad's basswork carrying the song to several emphatic moments that border on epic. The guitar has an opportunity to really shine on this one, with a melodic lead midway through that seems to be telling us secrets buried in the woods 'neath these mysterious moonlit skies.

Photograph by Magnus Olsen

Though I'm far from an angry drunk, "Barfight" has me feeling the rage that comes along with imbibing a bit too much and making enemies at the table before the night's all said and done. The song sets off a nasty blues vibe that makes me feel braver than I really am, inspiring a swing at my enemies -- real or (in this state likely) imagined.

Our four-song excursion grinds to a finish with "Ingen Morgenkvist" which does sad as only Shepherds Crook can. Though I'm uncertain of the precise meaning ("morgenkvist" has no English equivalent), my best detective work has me believing the song title could be approximated "No Morning Seen." This number has a certain weight to it -- and not merely because of its 16-minute runtime. Despite the familiar joshing about how long doom bands are prone to playing ("I just got here, what did I miss?" "Nothing yet, they're still on their first song!"), it takes strong songwriting and a steady hand of musicianship to pull off low and slow in a way that works convincingly for the listener. Here, the song has a balladic feel (it's based on a poem by poem by Jørgen Nygard) that builds gradually, layer upon layer, with Mr. Hell's guitar doing the kind of singing that defies words, yet somehow succeeds in rendering meaning.

Overall, Mat For Månen is a welcome addition to the Shepherds Crook oeuvre. It succeeds in delivering the unique sound of the band with a depth that gives it staying power. Perhaps it will find a welcome home in your playlist, to. Releasing July 2nd (at which point it will be available for purchase here), the record is presented in its world premiere courtesy of Doomed & Stoned.

Give ear...

LISTEN: · Shepherds Crook - Mat For Månen (2021)

Shepherds Crook: The Rundown

Interview with guitarist Ole Hell Photographs by Magnus Olsen

How did Shepherds Crook get its start?

It started out as some kind of experiment back in 2017 when I (Ole) rented this little studio room in a larger studio space of a friend of mine.

The first track we did was "Outlaw Speedking", based on a riff I made on the spot when I found my acoustic guitar after many many years of not playing. I got myself some new gear and just started to record.Nestor heard it and got hyped, wrote some lyrics and recorded the vocals in one take, first try. We knew that we had to do more songs and about a month later we released Black Lake. We did five releases from 2017 to 2019. I do everything from recording to mixing and mastering, so it's been a learning process for me as far as making heavy music sound good, with every release I think it sounds a little bit better.

Where did the name Shepherds Crook come from?

Actually I thought it was a fascination for walking sticks from hiking in the woods or whatever, but Nestor reminded me the other day that the name came from a dream I had years ago where I was going to make a band called Shepherds Crook. I can't really confirm that as I don't remember. Blame the beers.

How would you describe your "sound" to someone who hasn't yet listened to your records?

We're all over the place as far as I'm concerned. We started out with more of a stoner vibe and kind of mixed in elements of doom and sludge. The vocals might be weird for a lot of stoner rock fans, and the riffs might be too boring for everyone that is into "metal" but likes the vocals. This is our impression from people anyways. But back to the sound; it's heavy riffs, moody melodies and mean vocals. I think we kind of got our own thing going at this point, we care less and less about these "doom" and "stoner" labels these days to be honest.

Walk us through each track on 'Mat For Månen' and tell us about what the songs mean and/or how they originated.

We do like the idea that the listener can interpret and make up his own mind what the tracks mean. But, basically the general idea for the album is the moon and how it connects to organic life on earth. Mat For Månen is norwegian for "Food for the moon" and is based on the same concept laid out by the mystic G. I. Gurdjieff (and to some extent Ouspensky and others), I won't lay the whole thing out here, but if anybody is interested they could check that out.

The tracks touch on this topic in various ways like lunacy, the saturn connection, no dawn, wizards and shit, lol. The songs are also pretty varied on this one, from that stoner doom thing to a more heavy blues vibe, doom and stoner metal.

As a side note, we recorded the album at a place called "Månen" (the moon), the place of a buddy of ours. Cool thing is he joined on vocals for two of the tracks and It sounds awesome. He might be joining us on bass and co-vocals whenever we get our asses on stage.

Speaking of stagework, has Shepherds Crook had a chance to get out and tour much?

I mean, not really. In the beginning it was just me playing all the instruments as a studio project. Then after a while we had a couple of drummers come in and a bass player. We started rehearsing to play live then some of us couldn't make it due to different reasons, etc. We still have plans to make it happen at some point in the near future.

Give us an overview of your discography so far.

Black Lake (2018) Uteseiler (2018) Evil Magician (2018) Carved In Smoke (2019) Dauseiler (2019) Mat For Månen (2021)

Black Lake by Shepherds Crook

Uteseiler by Shepherds Crook

Evil Magician by Shepherds Crook

Carved In Smoke by Shepherds Crook

Dauseiler by Shepherds Crook

Are there any records or songs that you are especially proud of?

I know we're both pretty happy with Uteseiler as a whole and the last track of Dauseiler: "Serpent Ropes". Also, Mat For Månen is pretty decent I would say.

What does the future hold for Shepherds Crook?

I'm in the process of writing riffs for another album, but have no idea when it will be finished. It could take a while. We have other projects going as well.

Nestor (the singer) is now in this black metal band and I'm doing my other thing Vandrer (instrumental doom), you can check it out on vandrer.bandcamp.com.

We also got a new drummer: Trollhammer aka Jan Olav, an old childhood buddy. We were in a death metal band together in the early-mid 90's and he's been in many death metal bands since then.

He will be doing the drums on both Shepherds Crook and Vandrer from now on, bringing that extra punch to the face (and groin area).

What is your philosophy of life? How do you see the world, your place in it, etc.?

Well, we got all kinds of crazy renegade ideas. While we wait for that book, just insert any Lemmy quote of choice!

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#D&S Debuts #Shepherds Crook #Oslo #Norway #doom metal #sludge #metal #death doom #HeavyBest2021 #D&S Interviews #D&S Reviews #Doomed and Stoned

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deans-mind-palace · 4 years ago

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Nähkästchenplauderei

For those who didn’t know, that’s German. Normally it would be “aus dem Nähkästchen plaudern” which literally translates to “to talk out of the sewing box”. It’s a common phrase in Germany. Means something like “to spill some beans” or “to catch up on all the gossip”or “to share private information”.

Reason why I’m telling you this?

It’s me, Elena. This is a new part of my blog now. I want to involve all of you more in my daily writing and and the related funny stories, problems or ideas and inspirations. Maybe that’s interesting for you. Maybe it’s just a therapeutic exercise for me, when I’m (not) in the mood to write. Not sure yet. xD

I’ll call it “Nähkästchenplauderei” because I talk about me and writing fanfic but not really about their content. I’ll give you some insider stories about the fanfics I wrote/will write. Funny things. What happened to me during writing it, what gave me inspiration and how I do my research or what is important to me about a certain story and why I’m writing it. The daily life (cough *and struggle* cough) of a writer. If you’re not interested in these pieces of information, then you’ll see just the heading and you’ll know ‘Aaaah, that’s not a story I can read so that’s not interesting for me’. So it’s easier for you to skip. But I thought this could be interesting for you. I want to get to know you more and you can always laugh with me or smack your forehead because of my craziness. This could be fun and I am encouraging you to discuss themes or to tell me your opinion or own experiences. Of course, I hope that many of you take part. ❤️

I’ll tag you all only in this part, afterwards you can tell me, if you want to be notified. If you don’t drop a comment, I’ll automatically take you off my taglist for “Nähkästchenplauderei”. I don’t know how many parts this will have. I’ll write one every time I’m in the mood for it.

*oOo*

Nähkästchenplauderei - A blog about my blog.

A new passion - Or the story of me buying a guitar on Amazon at 1am

I always do a lot of research for my stories. I know some authors hate it, but I love doing research. It’s like playing detective and investigating while educating myself further. I always do Pinterest boards (I can share them with you, if you want) for my series because looking at the pictures and the links inspires me during writing. The ‘Simple Man Series’ is Set in an alternative universe where Jensen is a Country singer. I had no idea about country music, to be honest. I got all my knowledge about it from watching ‘Walk the line’ but that’s it. Obviously, I needed to do research! I created a Spotify playlist for the series (which I will link as soon as it’s uploaded).

When I wrote Suspirium or collected pictures for my Pinterest boards I always listened to it. Somehow I fell in love with this kind of music. I never played an instrument because I didn’t have the patience. I played to flute in fifth grade, because it was part of the Music class. We even got grades for playing it. Let me tell you, it was a disaster! Always got Ds. Although I got an A one time. Every time I practiced the flute, my dog started to howl. You see, it really was awful. I believe that’s why I lost the interest in playing an instrument. I still went to the choir, though, because I loved singing (still do). I always said, if I had the patience I’d love to learn the piano or the guitar, because these are basic instruments and you can play everything on them.

Guess what? I sat there and was writing Suspirium when an idea started to from in my head. There are dozens of Corona online lessons for the guitar, beginner models of guitars aren’t that expensive and you can still sell them or use them as decoration. Normally, I overthink everything. I need ages to make an decision, normally weeks or months till I lost the interest. So I did my research. Which model? Acoustic, western or concert? Which size? Guitar scale? How do I identify a quality product? Best YouTube channels? Best apps?

Found a black one and I immediately fell in love with it. And guess what? It’ll arrive by tomorrow afternoon! :D I really did it and I’m a bit proud of myself for not overthinking it! I’m looking forward to learning every song of artists I love. Adele, Pink, Ed Sheeran, Sam Smith, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Linkin Park, Train, Oasis, James Arthur, Tom Walker, Lewis Capaldi, James Blunt, Bruno Mars, Coldplay, Shawn Mendes, John Legend, Common Linnets, Lumineers and thousands more. Of course, some of my new Country faves, too.

My first song will either be ‘Simple Man’ because the story was inspired by it and it was the first song that I’ve heard Jensen sing or ‘Hey there Delilah’ because I love that one right now. It’s my current catchy tune.

These will be followed by ‘The One that got away’ by Pink and ‘Bonfire heart’ by James Blunt. If these four aren’t too difficult, of course... I’ll keep you updated. :D

*oOo*

The story behind Suspirium - Or as I like to call it, the story of reviving a more than dead language.

I have that idea since I’ve started this blog some time ago. I wasn’t sure if I should make it a Dean, Sam or Cas story, so I brought my arguments up and you could decide which professor you want, remember? As soon as you chose Sam, I knew that he would be a Latin Prof. That’s based on the canon in the series and my preferences. Sam is the best in Latin in the entire series. And I am able to read, translate AND EVEN SPEAK Latin, so it’s something I can relate to. A great subject, although I know that the opinions on Latin are different.

I can speak five languages (German - my mother tongue, English, Spanish, Dutch and Latin, I’d like to learn French soon) and I personally think Latin’s a beautiful language. Of course, it doesn’t sound as beautiful and elegant as French (although French has its origin in Latin). But a language is a lot more than the emphasis. In one of the first chaps of Suspirium Sam and Reader discuss the beauty of Latin.

“Latin is the language of law, architecture and engineering, the military, science, philosophy, religion and - of particular interest here - the language of a flourishing literature which for centuries served as a model for all Western literature. The Latin of literature speaks of love and war in hundreds of masterpieces, reflects on the body and soul, develops theories about the meaning of life and the tasks of man, about the fate of the soul and the nature of matter, sings of the beauty of nature, the meaning of friendship, the pain of losing all that is dear to one; and it criticizes depravity, ponders death, the arbitrariness of power, violence and cruelty. It creates inner images, puts emotions into words, formulates ideas about the world and social life. Latin is the language of the relationship between the one and everything.” Suspirium, Chapter 3

Roman poets are more than two millennia dead, BUT the themes they wrote about (Love, pain, friendship and braveness, also sex...) are still actual in our society. They stood the test of time. A language where no ‘thank you’ exists, just a ‘to be thankful’. This language is mysterious, its culture unbelievable nowadays. It’s like an enigma that wants to be solved - or not, depends on you and if you learn your vocabulary. Trust me, I had to learn that the hard way in seventh grade. ;)

Sam is basically my old Latin teacher. He uses the same methods and tells the same things. He makes jokes, adds additional information and makes his students question the meaning behind the poems and stories. Sometimes I even used words my teacher said to us. I looked up some of my Latin notes and use that for the lectures. It’s a lot of fun and that’s where I get my inspiration from. A big thank you to my teacher. This story would not work out without him always encouraging me and explaining everything to me, even if he had to do it three times. Gratiam habeo, magister. :D

Questions for you, only if you want to:

Do you play an instrument? Which or would you like to play one?

What’ your favourite genre and who’s your favourite artist and which song?

How many languages do you speak? Which? Which would you like to speak (in addition)?

Wanna tell me your name and origin?

-> Next post will probably be about how I make my covers, choose GIFs, find inspiration on Pinterest and Spotify and my first friendship ever on Tumblr some years ago. And how I got in touch with SPN.

Tags beneath cut:

@ashthefirefox @rintheemolion @fortheentries @vexhye @traceyaudette @vicariouslythruspn @crazybutconfidentaf @zizzlekwum @outofnowhere82 @myopiamystical @vicmc624 @imaginationisgrowth @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @shypickleghostsuitcase @intoomuchfandoms @angeltardisbow @ayamenimthiriel @still-a-demon-very-ineffable-de @mimzy1994 @everyobsession9023 @tokiohearts483 @butterscotchseventeen @aberrant-annie @autumn-blessings @aberrant-annie @lust-for-pan @screechingartisancashbailiff @readsreblogsfics @akshi8278 @hobby27 @thewintersoldierswife @squirrelnotsam @transparentfestivaltiger

#about me #nähkästchenplauderei #my blog #fanfic writing #fanfiction #daily problems #the strugge is real #writers on tumblr #get to know the writer #get to know each other #fanfic authors #spn #supernatural

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just-jammin · 4 years ago

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The Girl in Red Glasses

Word Count: 1168

Summary: A self-reflecting thing I wrote that pretty much gives away the plot twist almost immediately.

Nevertheless, it’s also painful. For me, at least.

Huh.

They’ve been staring on the bathroom mirror for a while now. A concerning amount of time, actually. Either way, they were in there for a longer time than usual this morning.

The person is hunched over the sink, examining their sleepy face through the mirror. Or, well, it seems like they are.

But what they’re actually doing is... reflecting.

Reflecting for what? The mirror is right in front of you, sure it’s reflecting on you.

...Gods, you’re such a dumbass.

They’re racking up their mind, back to... five months? Wait, more than a year? Yeah, that’s more like it.

So, more than a year ago. June 2019. Five teenagers seem to be chasing around an indoor trampoline park. What are they here for? Isn’t this advertised for kids only? And why are they running?

Oh, wait. There’s the answer to that last question.

Apparently they’re running away from a toddler, who’s throwing a bunch of foam cubes at them.

Ha, how pathetic. It’s just a boy.

Well, if you only knew how the boy betrayed all of us when we threw those cubes at each other.

Fine, fine.

The person then focuses on something. A girl in red glasses, running along with the others. She looks scared of the boy, yet enthusiastic in the situation at the same time. How strange.

She looked... happy.

They watched the girl for a while until they got off the trampolines, only to see her shouting at the boy for trying to steal her socks. At least her friends were there to restrain her from beating the shit out of him.

However, the person knew what she knew. And both are not even sure if she’d see them again.

That’s unfortunate.

Their mind fast-forwarded to a couple of months later. October 2019. The same girl was sitting on the floor in a hallway, near a classroom door. Along with eating her food, she was tapping away on her iPad, applying the finishing touches to her written work.

At this point of time, they knew she had created many works. Drawings, poems, & even pieces of music. They also knew that she couldn’t show it to anyone. Maybe to her friends, yes, but not anyone else who doesn’t ask from beside her or behind her shoulder.

Speaking of friends, she hadn’t moved on from her friends back there. She couldn’t bring herself to socialize in school in the first place, other than for academic purposes or to buy some lunch.

So, why didn’t you use up your courage, huh?

My form wasn’t made up yet, how would I even do shit?

Still, you could’ve done that through me. Also, didn’t you mention doing something about the boy?

...Fair point.

The girl lets out a breath before closing up her iPad, leaving herself to bunch up her knees to her chest. The skirt felt unnecessary to her, but she had to deal with it.

Somehow, looking back, they seemed to... relate to the girl. Both of them had the lowest point of their time right after having their happiest.

It sucks.

Then they saw the girl again. May 2020. This time, she’s a little bit older, but never wiser. She’s sitting on a stall, labeled “JustJammin”. Clearly, she’s trying to make her work a bit more known one way or another.

She’s looking back at the large slips of paper she was given. There were only a few, which were all from people who chose to remain anonymous. She was told that these were asks, and she held onto them for safekeeping. They were the very first of their kind in her stall, so far.

Then another mind shift. It was a little bit later, when the girl stood on the table of her stall and shouted out to the crowd nearby.

“I WANT A SWORD!!!”

...Really?

Hehe, I was new that time. I’m sure they didn’t notice...?

The crowd probably did, it was that they didn’t care enough to interact with it.

Which made her shout it out again.

“I. WANT. A. SWORD!!!!!”

This continued for a bit, especially when she spots people around her being sad and all that. It was those times when she yelled the loudest. It was also the most desperate, since she looked up to most of those people, after all.

The person chuckled to themselves. They remember one moment when that happened, but they weren’t sure if that happened before or after the sword-calling.

Sword-calling... that’s weird, even for them.

Anyway, the shift happened again, but this time it went on for longer.

June 2020. The girl had collected some reblogs & spread them out on the stall table when she had received another ask. It was late in the night, sure, but it wouldn’t hurt to answer one more. Heck, she’s pretty much ecstatic.

That ecstasy increased when she realized from whom the ask was from.

And so, the person watched it unfold. How she called out to the person who asked, how she joined a group, and how she made friends & considered the group as her second Family.

A glimpse then went by the sight of the person. Being known as the Protector. Chaotic shenanigans. Meeting new acquaintances. Introducing people to friends. Numerous moments of trying to comfort people.

On those times, she figured more about herself. Yet her clouded judgement... let’s say it got the better of her.

They felt something breaking. The slithering yet abrupt pain crawled upward. Along with that, a cold wet touch. It grew along with the cracking, with spikes appearing & sometimes seeping through the gaps.

Uhhhhh, you got... something on your arms.

GET THEM OFF YOU FUCKING BI—

Shhhh! Wait. Something’s happening.

Somehow, the person wasn’t... phased by all of this. They’ve had these cracks & thorns before, even though these were only realized for a month. Still, they know.

Then they focused a bit more on the mirror. Their heart feels warmer than before, with the heat spreading through their veins. Fire spreads through the cracks on her arms, burning down the thorny vines that flourished in them. After that, they felt the gaps closing up, leaving the flames to rest & disappear.

Later on, they’re now out of the bathroom, having washed their face after minutes on the mirror. The person still felt tired, but at least they’re refreshed.

They walked towards the nightstand, where a round rectangular black case laid idly beside their iPad. When it was opened, an iconic yet essential accessory of theirs was snugly contained inside.

The red glasses.

Picking it up, they approached the dresser & put it on. The glasses seem to be in a mostly good condition, other than the partially bubbly melted plastic on the sides. Or is it sweat, who knows? It is... fitting for them, maybe a bit too small for their head. It does feel comfortable, though it might be better to get new ones soon.

Nevertheless, they shrugged that off & admired their look on the mirror.

And they, no, she is now ready to face whatever the fuck today offers.

#as much as i hate posting this #i really want every single one of you to see this #i don’t know why #jam’s left brain #jam’s right brain #the protector #protector of chaos #just writing some bullshit #that was stupid #idk anymore

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lhne · 4 years ago

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Prophecy in Reverse

I am about to become a 2020 graduate of an MFA program in photography, and like every 2020 MFA graduate, like every 2020 graduate pretty much everywhere, I witnessed Covid-19 go through my last semester like a wrecking ball. Last residency, cancelled. Thesis exhibition, cancelled. Physical installation, forget about it. Graduate critique and thesis defense via Zoom. People critiquing my work by looking at jpegs, produced according to the conventions every 2020 MFA graduate must by now have committed to memory: 2000 pixels on the long side, 72 ppi, 01_LastName-FirstName.jpg, etc., etc. etc. Let’s be honest, taking everything into account—140,855 deaths in the United States and 40 million Americans unemployed as of this writing—this is small beer. It pales in significance to losing a loved one or a job. It pales in significance to the death of George Floyd. It pales in significance to the systemic racism that will, until it is finally eradicated, call into question the value of any art I or any 2020 MFA graduate makes that does not address itself to racial injustice. Nevertheless, it’s the particular room you are in that rocks when the world underneath it shifts. Art school, like everything else, came to a full and obliterating stop. But in the process, it taught me something important about my own work.

For about a year, I had been working on a project in which I photographed strangers during the morning commute in Grand Central Terminal. The work was rooted in the traditions of street photography and much influenced by Philip-Lorca DiCorcia’s Heads. I had been drawn to Grand Central because the light, particularly in the morning, is so extraordinary there. The idea for the work was inspired in part by a poem by Walt Whitman:

Painters have painted their swarming groups, and the centre figure of all; From the head of the centre figure spreading a nimbus of gold-color'd light; But I paint myriads of heads, but paint no head with- out its nimbus of gold-color'd light; From my hand, from the brain of every man and woman it streams, effulgently flowing forever.

—Walt Whitman, “To You”

No head without its own nimbus of light, no individual who is not the protagonist of his or her own narrative. “The living presence and beauty of a glorious and luminous light has no enemies,” Emmet Gowin has written. “Our shortcomings forgotten; we are all for a moment its children.” That was what the light in Grand Central seemed to me to do when we walk through it, make us its children, and that was what I was trying to capture in my work there. And then the pandemic came.

Theorists like Roland Barthes and Susan Sontag have long ago pointed out how vexing photography’s relation to time can be. It has a kind of immediacy that is rooted in its function as an index, the fact that it points to something that left a trace of itself on a light sensitive medium. The problem is that while what the photograph captures may endure, our sense of what it means does not. A wall of photographs taken by someone else simulates a kind of dementia: we know these people and objects existed, but it is as if we cannot remember why they were photographed. And so, in the absence of that memory we supply our own, a kind of understanding, based on everything we know has happened since those photographs were taken. We look at a photograph of our mother taken thirty years ago, and while we may not remember the occasion, we know everything that has happened to her since. This is what Barthes meant when he famously wrote in Camera Lucida that photography is “prophecy in reverse: like Cassandra, but eyes fixed in the past.” Old photographs more often than not authenticate what we have lost, instantiating a space in time between what we know now and what we thought we knew then. Taking into account what we know about time—I looked so young then!—and what we know about mortality, photography’s narrative structure resolves itself into pre- and postlapsarian, before and after the fall, with the photograph usually supplying the “pre.”

These theoretical arguments always seemed convincing to me, but only in application to “older” work, with spans of years intervening between the present and when a photograph was actually taken. They could not possibly be relevant to my own work, to photographs I took a few months ago. The Covid-19 pandemic has taught me how wrong I was. My last session in Grand Central was on February 21, 2020, nine days before the first reported case of virus in New York City. Without a cloud in the sky to block the light reflected off nearby buildings and into the Main Concourse, conditions there were perfect. I photographed hundreds of New Yorkers on their way to work. On the train home I scrolled through the photographs and exulted in them. This is exactly what I was trying to capture: no head without its nimbus of gold-colored light. A month later, New York City had become the epicenter of the pandemic in the United States, if not the world. People were dying at a horrific rate. The city went into lockdown. People who did not lose their lives lost their livelihoods. And whatever I thought the photographs I took on February 21 meant, they could not possibly mean that any more. Their meaning now was generated by the questions they relentlessly put:

Did this person lose her job?

FIG 1. Ned Walthall Grand Central Terminal 02/21/2020

Did this person become seriously ill?

FIG 2. Ned Walthall Grand Central Terminal 02/21/2020

Did this person lose a parent?

FIG 3. Ned Walthall Grand Central Terminal 02/21/2020

Did this person lose a business?

FIG 4. Ned Walthall Grand Central Terminal 02/21/2020

After looking at a photograph of his mother when she was a young child, Barthes shuddered over her death, “a catastrophe which has already occurred,” and concluded, “Whether or not the subject is already dead, every photograph is this catastrophe.” Every photograph, by being rooted irrevocably in the past, even a very recent past, becomes an emblem of what , when it was taken, we didn’t know was waiting for us around the next corner. And so, in the midst of a pandemic, had mine become.

Ned Walthall is a photographer and member of the LHNE Collective. He received his MFA from the Institute of Art and Design at New England College (formerly The New Hampshire Institute of Art).

https://nedwalthall.com

https://www.instagram.com/walthallphotography/

About the LHNE Collective

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