#sorry just me rambling about music analysis and poetry

[la-muerta]

Xiao Shunyao 肖顺尧's performance of his original work, 《山 (Mountain)》

Look, I'm not kidding when I say this song changed my entire brain chemistry. It's such a perfect fusion of old and new, both in terms of musical style and lyrics.

So the lyrics first. Co-written by Yang Haolong and Xiao Shunyao, it also incorporates two poems: 《满江红·怒发冲冠》 (often attributed to legendary Song Dynasty general Yue Fei, although the authorship has been contested) and 《七律·长征》 ...which was written by Mao Zedong 💀 so I'm not really going to talk about that bit lol other than that it's an interesting juxtaposition of poems since the Mao Zedong poem is about the Long March (military retreat by the CCP).

But since 《满江红》 is in 词 cí form, it's meant to be sung. Instead, he does the first verse of the poem as a lyrical recitation (0:23 to 0:37) and the second verse (1:55 to 2:25) in the 高拨子 gāo bō zǐ singing style of Beijing Opera, which is usually used by warrior characters. Honestly my favourite part of the whole song because the resonance and clarity of his voice is just *chef's kiss*.

And the combination of Beijing Opera, rap, lyrical recitation, and that rockstar growl?! Insane, what a vision. I also love that he used the 韵白 yùn bái style of narrative speech for the beginning because it reminds me of 说书人 or storytellers you see in c-dramas (used for the backstory exposition in the beginning of both The Untamed and Mysterious Lotus Casebook).

[nyctophile-moi]

intro post:

(dividers by the incredible @saradika)

★nyc ★(she/her) ★19 ★bookworm ★love enthusiast

✰got lovesick all over my bed✰

hello hello hello! welcome to my little corner of the internet on this hell site (said with all the love i swear <33). this blog is essentially a dumping ground for all my scattered thoughts and rambles, along with things I find relatable. well, it's mostly about things i find relatable tbh. i'm very sentimental and a little bit mentally unstable so.. okay who am i kidding? very mentally unstable so some breakdowns might be in order. also f**k jkr!!

➟ basic info :

•asian •19 •bilingual •funny (please let me have this) •scorpio (still skeptical with my belief) •"love" lover •adhd haver(?) •anxious always •oversharer •flirt •coffee addict •eldest daughter •gifted kid burnout •trying to be a woman in STEM •overthinker (just give me a degree in that atp) •sarcastic af •you'll be surprised to know how much stuff i have not watched •will read anything except non-fiction •queer •cannot deal with confrontation •may oftentimes make inappropriate jokes •procrastinator (another degree right there) •easy to please •gets obsessed with things pretty easily •will shit talk with you all you want •overanalyser •pinch of grammar nazi sometimes •pathological people pleaser who doesn't want anyone to see her •may get over shit quite fast •has a new crush everyday •23 wives and counting •if we're mutuals we're besties already

➟ interests :

•people ��music •books •playing guitar •making people listen to songs i like •ranting about anything and everything •making my own theories about stuff •character analysis •poetry •classics especially •rewatching the same four shows over and over again •keysmashing •eating food •making playlists •scrolling on pinterest/tumblr •sleeping •researching random shit on the internet •maths •computer science •hating physics (i'm sorry it sucks) •plotting revenge (which i'll never be following through with) •spending a tonne of my time looking at expensive aesthetic clothes that i can never afford •looking at pictures of renee rapp and asking them (read: her) to marry me over and over •collecting wives (okay i'm sorry wifeys that sounds very objectifying ilysm) •going over conversations that have already happened in my head and making myself sound better •yearning

➟stuff i love :

»music

•taylor swift •maisie peters •lana del rey •gracie abrams •niall horan •julien baker •phoebe bridgers •lucy dacus •boygenius •the 1975 •olivia rodrigo •renee rapp •arctic monkeys •lizzy mcalpine •hozier •chappell roan •ed sheeran •the neighbourhood •cigarettes after sex •billie eilish •the national •bon iver •sabrina carpenter •girl in red •lorde •ariana grande •5 seconds of summer •conan gray •ricky montgomery •the lumineers •bleachers •shreya ghoshal •arijit singh •ar rahman •shankar-ehsaan-loy •mohit chauhan •sanam •md rafi •kishore kumar •lata mangeshkar •asha bhosle •mukesh •pankaj udhas •jagjit singh •pritam

»books

•book lovers •beach read •happy place •people we meet on vacation •the picture of dorian gray •pride and prejudice •emma •sense and sensibility •wuthering heights •the diary of a young girl •the murder of roger ackroyd •and then there were none •the fault in our stars •i fell in love with hope •the harry potter series •the seven husbands of evelyn hugo •heartstopper •boyfriend material •murder on the orient express •the mysterious affair at styles •the kiss quotient etc. etc.

(can you tell i have a versatile taste? also, emily henry is my auto-buy author and agatha christie is the queen of crime. hercule poirot is the better detective. argue with the wall pls.)

»movies/shows

•brooklyn nine-nine •friends •never have i ever •love, victor •fleabag •dead poets society •the theory of everything •bridgerton •poor things •derry girls •barbie •la la land •harry potter movies •red, white and royal blue •enola holmes •mean girls •legally blonde •the princess diaries •emma •pride and prejudice •heartstopper •little women •k3g •any srk movie basically •badhai do •shubh mangal zyada savdhan etc. etc.

➟DNI - racists, ableists, ED-promoting blogs, pedophiles, people younger than 13, empty/untitled blogs (y'all might be bots idk), jkr supporters/anyone affiliated with jkr, haters, zoophiles, anti-palestinians, misogynists/misandrists, fatphobes, homophobic people, transphobes, xenophobes etc. and anyone else who fits into that majority!!

(thankyou for reading all of that, can't believe i wrote it <33)

[mapsareforbraindeads]

for the ask game.

jasmine, sage (woo it’s my name), orchid, and cactus. i wanna know u about u bestie 🫶😻

jasmine: do you have a movie or book you loved but will never watch/read again?

hmm, i don’t really have anything that comes to mind other than “the gilded ones” by namina forna. i just finished reading this book and its sequel a few days ago. i LOVED the first book, but the sequel, “the merciless ones” was absolutely horrible and kind of tainted the universe for me sadly :((

sage: what medium of art is the most touching to you? why do you think that is?

POETRY!!! reading, writing, whatever… i really like psychoanalyzing the shit out of stuff and poetry almost always has some deeper meaning and i love it. all of the poetry i read and write always comes from the root of some emotion or memory and that just makes it mean so much more in my opinion

orchid: what’s a song you consider to be perfect?

okay, i have a few.

phantom love - zach callison: my #1 vent song lmao, i love it so much and the lyrics connect with me a lot. i am a bit biased, though

drive - the mad ones: this musical is where my url is from, actually! i have been obsessed with this musical for three(?) years now and almost every song from it is perfect, but this one always stands out! my mutual @anordinarysenioryear (sorry for the tag) did an amazing analysis on it and i recommend checking it out!

there are lines - death note the musical: who would i be if i didn’t put a death note song here? i always have and always will be infatuated with this song. it’s such a perfect portrayal of the yagamis and how much of a BITCH light is. we all need a hero also applies for the same reason.

cactus: something you’re currently learning (about)?

i would list the numerous languages i’m working on learning, but i haven’t been on duolingo in literal months (my family is safe dw) so that doesn’t really count imo. i guess i’ve been doing some medical research for my fics? both mental and physical. my search history is probably very incriminating…

tysm for letting me ramble 🙏🙏🙏

[britneyshakespeare]

Sorry I can't stop talking about that ex-mutual who went off on me last night (well really I only made that one, really long and rambly, pretty over-repetitive post about it) but it's been like just running through my mind because of how hurtful that was from someone that on some level I did consider a friend. Not like a close friend who knows everything about me, in fact as I stated to exhaustion in that post I made earlier, the part that really got me was how much they were illustrating that they DON'T really know about me, how much they just ASSUME without ever having heard or seen confirmation from myself. And how unkind those assumptions were. But I did like them (do? I still have sympathy for them as a person and don't wish them any ill...). I cherished the thought of our online friendship we shared around the time I was 18-20ish or so, and even if we never kept in constant conversation (in fact, before I replied to their message last night, we hadn't chatted through DM since early 2021, if that's saying something). I'm sure they still did/do feel that way about me and this isn't easy on them, that they feel hurt by my posts in some way, etc. I did not go on a rant to them, though, attacking their moral character, calling them a coward who can't take criticism and refuses to learn and grow. I told them I think it's ok if we grow apart and though I still hold my differing opinions from them, it's ok to be upset at me for that. But don't bring it to me.

I would've seriously just preferred it if they unfollowed and left. All I keep thinking about these past couple of hours of marinating on it is: entitlement. I've crossed a line because I don't post about issues in the way they would like me to, and ultimately I still will be voting for Kamala Harris. They maintained that much very firmly even after I replied to their first message saying that they were putting a bunch of words in my mouth and not acknowledging how little they actually know about my views and actions in the real world, off of Tumblr; that I might have ways of caring about and engaging with things that are specifically not on my personal blog because of how toxic some zealous communities on this website can grow to be. They still felt the need to attack me at length for all the things I, in their opinion, "support" because I choose to vote for "a fascist" (meaning Harris). Their opinion that both sides are truly the same is the only logical answer and I'm not trying hard enough to be a good person if I don't agree with that. But that's what makes them presumptuous. That's not what makes them entitled.

I feel like the fact that they really did think well of me at one point, that we shared emotions and kind words with each other, that we talked about music and poetry and all sorts of matters of sensibility together, is why they felt the need to bring that to me. When we feel an attachment to someone, even someone we may be lacking a lot of information about, but there's that mutual sympathy there... we feel that we are invested in them. They (and I) felt that the two of us, as friends, reflected each other's values and sense of self. To be honest I was getting annoyed at some of their posts, too, that were basically fatalist about the US Democratic party and how nothing has ever actually changed since Tr mp left office. I simply don't agree with that analysis, and I didn't know how to sensitively bring that up with someone who I did respect and care for as an individual. They were asserting things that basically implied our views were irreconcilable; and yeah, I basically agree that if you're going to call me essentially a g n cide apologist, I don't really know how to reconcile that with you. I don't think that's what I am; they do. They discussed that because they felt that way they were no longer open to a dialogue (one which I never had brought up to them personally) in their reply to my response to their ask, and blocked me afterward. Well, I think it's ok to not be open to a dialogue. In that case, I really don't know how to defend myself. We're on two entirely different levels of interpretation if mild support of Kamala Harris's presidential campaign is seen as akin to me denying g n cide to you. If that's the angle you're approaching me with, I don't want to have a dialogue with you, either. I don't think one in good faith is possible at that point.

They got angry at me though not just for my differing opinion, but for the disappointment they felt in me for it. I ruined the Diana they had so much respect for. Their initial message reminded me so much of when fans hound celebrities to speak on particular issues they may not know anything about. But at least if you're, like, asking the lead singer of your favorite band to speak about a currently topical issue, you probably are falling back on the argument of thinking they have a higher status to their audience that they're neglecting to use for good. Or maybe they've seemed to do and say things in the past that make their current silence seem hypocritical. I don't particularly agree with the former argument, that every celebrity should use their "platform" to raise awareness for certain causes. There are some times when I think calling on a celebrity to speak on this or that specific thing is just kind of silly. I tend not to proclaim instances where I feel that way publicly, because I don't want to trivialize the issue or the fans' feelings. But there's also the parasocial hurt I've seen some people display when they suddenly interpret a person's silence, or (in their perception) 'inadequate' statements and actions, as genuine indifference. That tends to make fans actually angry, the disappointment that this person they admire could be 'doing better' but isn't. I was told by this person that I'm 'not even trying to do better' when we had never had a conversation about what I'm actually 'doing' or thinking or feeling, even a single time. They let their impression of me fester in silent resentment before finally snapping at me about all the things I never actually said to them.

I'm sure they felt like they had reached their limit of tolerating me, and reaching out was only so they could feel like they had some closure. That they had said their piece to a person they cared about but could no longer associate with. I don't think they actually considered what use their message would actually have to me. That it would be hurtful to be accused of all these moral failings by someone I used to just talk about Jane Austen books with. Someone I shared my poetry and feelings with when I was younger. They must have been feeling 'betrayed' at me for not living up to the expectations and standards they set for me, for not being the idealized friend that I must've seemed when we were in our late teen years. But I am feeling shock and confusion at the sudden void of sympathy or benefit of the doubt being directed towards me from someone I once mutually regarded somewhat highly and rather affectionately.

It didn't have to have been a deep friendship, where we shared all aspects of our life with each other, for this to be hurtful to me or for my words to have been hurtful to them. I'm sure they felt so angry at me because they do think I'm a smart and sympathetic person that they expect 'better' from. But I'm really not your confirmation bias friend. None of the sweet but somewhat shallow memories they once respected me for has to be null and void now because I'm not sufficiently radical in my politics for them. And again, I do think that they were under the impression that they knew my current thoughts and personal philosophies a lot better than they do, because of how much more of an open book I used to be on this website when we first started following each other. I never made some announcement that I was going to start being more reserved about certain things, guys, so, like, don't act like you know everything about me. Because should I have to? I don't have a "platform" or really any meaningful social status on this website. But they still thought I wasn't doing "enough" with it because they interpret my blog as being more intrinsically linked to my actual life than it is. My social status to them was the good opinion they had of me, that I soiled by disagreeing with them in principle about electoral politics.

I'm not less smart or kind than I used to be. That's really not how I make sense of people I mostly like, but who have done or said something I deplore and that disappoints me deeply. You don't have to abandon all faith in the individuals you love. People do not always make sense with your own moral compass, but you can still tell when they're not evil. And I don't think they think I'm evil. I don't think they're evil. None of the sympathy I ever had for them is gone. I'm just honestly hurt and confused. I don't understand why they thought it was appropriate to take up their issues with me in the way that they did.

And again, in every single timeline, I would rather have just been disappointed to see that a once-respected mutual has unfollowed me, after some years of growing apart and changing, than I would to be hurt by someone dramatically going off on me about how they can't be friends with me anymore because I'm just not good enough for them.

[juniorgman187]

Serpent of Eden (Part 1 - Reid Series)

Maybe he stole her innocence. Maybe she never had any . . .

Summary: Reader’s one night stand with Spencer turns into a year-long semester. (yes, for all you PLL fans, this is largely based off of Ezra and Aria don’t @ me)

A/N: Strongly suggest listening to “From Eden” by Hozier while reading 😌 Couple: Fem!Reader x Professer Spencer Reid  Category: Fluff, Angst, Series Content Warning: allusions to teacher/student relationship, age-gap, allusions to penetrative, public sex Word Count: 3k

BIG BIG BIG THANK YOU TO @andiebeaword​ @inkstainedwritergirl​ @thelovelyrose​ and @imagining-in-the-margins​ for their help with the title!! 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

Babe

There's something tragic about you

I’d been absentmindedly humming the song as soon as I heard the opening tune, giving the song more attention than the impatient bartender in front of me who had to wave her hand in my face to bring me back to earth. 

“Hello?” She set her weight on one hip, clearly annoyed with me. “What do you want to drink?”

“Oh, right, sorry. Just a water please.” 

Mild humiliation manifested on my face, earning the concern of the stranger beside me. 

“You okay down there?”

I laughed softly to mask my shame. “I’m a bit jet-lagged. I just got back from Europe.”

I hadn’t noticed him sitting there before, probably because I practically slept-walked into this place by happenstance, but once I answered him, my eyes naturally drifted in his direction. Consequently, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. 

Something so magic about you

Don't you agree?

He was charming in the most peculiar way. His hair was a mess of curls, that I positively adored for a reason I couldn’t quite figure out; a stark contrast to his clean suit that targeted my insatiable desire for sharply dressed men. 

“Where in Europe?” He asked with genuine curiosity, sipping from a mug with steam floating out of it. 

“Iceland.”

He raised his eyebrows in earnest surprise. “I heard it’s beautiful there.” 

“It really is. The waterfall we visited was insane. Here, lemme show you a picture,” Pulling out my phone, I leaned over the seat between us to show him a photo I’d taken of the waterfall, not even realizing how close he was until I smelled his cologne. It was such a unique scent that I knew I could only ever associate it with him, even if I were to never smell it again.

There's something lonesome about you

Something so wholesome about you

Get closer to me

I brushed aside the nervousness I felt from his close proximity and slid back into my rightful spot a seat away. “You should definitely go if you’re considering it. I’m planning on going back this summer.” 

“Yeah, I’m, um, I’m definitely considering it.” He grinned, displaying a pair of dimples that made me weak. I let myself wonder if I was the reason he was considering going. 

Unconsciously, I turned my bar seat fully towards him, showing that he had my undivided attention, and asked, “So do you go to Hollis?” Referring to the college just nearby that I attended. 

“No, no. I graduated ages ago, but um, I work at Quantico.” 

“Quantico? Like FBI Quantico?”

“That’s right. I’m, uh, I’m a profiler for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We specialize -”

“In building profiles for unidentified criminals. No, yeah, I totally know what you do! At the law firm I work at, the prosecutors use profiles all the time. That’s so cool that you do that.” 

He wasn’t even mad that I’d interrupted him, no, he was glad. He smiled, looking almost proud of me. 

No tired sigh, no rolling eyes

No irony

“So you work at a law firm?” His mouth hidden behind the rim of his cup. 

Doing my best not to look at the way he licked the taste of coffee from his lips, I had to consciously keep my eyes steady on his as I answered. “Yeah, I do. There are like generations and generations of lawyers in my family, so I’m just continuing that tradition, I guess.” 

The conversation paused for a moment again, while his stare lingering on me too long for comfort that I had to look away. 

No "Who cares?", no vacant stare

No time for me

“I love this song.” I muttered under my breath, simply bringing it up to find a reprieve from his overwhelming gaze. From my peripheral, I caught him smirking, still staring.

“From Eden. B-32.”

Him simply knowing the jukebox number for the song felt like a sign.

Honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago

Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword

“Hozier wrote it in a tongue-in-cheek way from the point of view of the devil looking at something innocent and seeing it as a missing part. The song tries to woo a woman while admitting that the relationship would be deeply flawed.” He informed me.

“Wow, that’s beautiful. Almost makes me want a forbidden kind of love.” 

Oh, had I only known the irony of my sentiment.

“He’s so good with his prose and poetry. It’s actually what inspired me to go to Iceland. I thought a change of scenery might be good for writing. Not much here in Virginia that’s quite like the beauty of Iceland,” I rambled, catching myself and consciously slowing down the rate of my words. “But um, I don’t write anything really good, just stuff that’s for me mostly.”

“I’m impressed.” 

“Why?”

With the utmost nonchalance, he stood from his chair, sliding his drink down the bar with him as he took the empty seat closest to me. I tried not to let my vision drift from his face to his actions, in the same way that he kept his gaze firm on him while he spoke. 

“Well, I tried writing, but I didn’t get very far. You’re lucky. If you’re writing for yourself, it’s true passion,” He paused to glance at his empty glass, like he was debilitating whether or not to say this next part. “Maybe you’d let me read some of it?”

"Yeah. Sure. If you really want to.” 

“Yeah, I’d love to,” He chuckled. “You’re smart, you’re well-traveled - great taste in music. I’d like to know more about you.” 

Innocence died screaming; honey, ask me, I should know

I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

Maybe the flattery got to my head, but I couldn’t help the sudden surge of confidence bursting through my veins. 

“I’d like to know more about you, too.” I confessed. 

Needless to say, we didn’t waste another second getting to know each other. 

Well, as much as you can get to know someone after you fuck them in the bathroom of a bar. 

Babe

There's something wretched about this

Something so precious about this

Where to begin?

. . . 

“And where have you been, young lady?” Holly asked, acting more like my mother than my roommate upon my return to the dorm. 

“The Hollis Bar and Grill.” 

“Doing what exactly?” 

I would be remiss not to take up the opportunity for witty banter. 

“Spencer.” 

She rose from her seat at an ungodly speed to chase me down and force me to explain everything. 

“Who is he?”

“Some guy.” I blankly answered, not finding it in my jet-lagged heart to recount every last detail. 

“So is it just Spencer? No last name?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you usually ask your one night stands for their last name?” I shot her an accusatory stare. 

“Oh, is that what we’re calling this? A one night stand?” 

My agreeing nod was interrupted with the ear-splitting squeal of joy that erupted from Holly. 

“You had your first one-night stand!”

“Say it any louder, would you?” 

“Sorry, I’m just so proud of you! My baby’s growing up.” Pretending to wipe tears from her eyes, Holly pulled me in for a hug. The only way I could manage to get out of it was if I promised to tell her every little thing in the morning when I was well-rested, and fingers crossed, less jet-lagged. 

As promised, in the morning, I revealed to Holly all the details of the night before, including, but not limited to our thought-provoking discourse, his appearance, and his performance.

“At the end, he told me, ‘I will never forget you.’” I gushed to Holly. 

And he definitely meant it, because after tomorrow, he most certainly would not. 

. . . 

The first day back from Spring Break is typically the hottest day of the year, and today was no exception. It was breaching the three-digit-degree mark, which is how you know it’s hot, but we were still forced to endure the cruel and unusual punishment of wearing a uniform anyway. One that consisted of a white button-up, a plaid pleated skirt, and some type of University cardigan over it. 

Usually, this didn’t pose a problem, and I would comply, but we’d recently been hit by an ongoing heatwave that didn’t look like it was stopping anytime soon. 

Even as I got ready in the morning, with my windows shut and the air conditioning blasting, I was sweating like a pig. I had a paranoid feeling that my makeup would melt and run down my face by the end of the day, so I sat in front of the fan to cool myself off. I struggled with my hair - not that I didn’t normally struggle to style my hair every day because my kinky curls weren’t exactly manageable. But I had no interest in straightening it because I knew the humidity would just return it to its naturally curly state anyway, so I settled for letting it run wild. I’d probably work up a sweat trying to style it at all, honestly. 

As I packed the last of my things into my backpack, I finally slipped on my Uni cardigan over the rest of my uniform to complete it. I’d been delaying this part for the better part of an hour because I knew exactly what would happen the second I put it on. And just as I anticipated - I felt faint. My cheeks grew pink the minute I stepped out of my dorm; exposing myself to the sun that was visibly beating down on everyone in the courtyard. 

“Y/N!” 

Behind me was Christina, who was jogging to catch up with me. To be considerate, I stopped walking, giving me the opportunity to look at her wholly. She was only wearing the skirt and the button up, with her cardigan wrapped around her waist. 

“Are you allowed to wear your cardigan like that?” I asked after she finally caught up to me. 

“No, but I’m going to do it anyway. Stick it to the man!” She threw up her fist into the air with a proud grin plastered on her face.

Ah, yes - stick it to the man. One of Christina’s favorite five-word mantras that she stuck by. The other being - we do what we want. 

But, see, it was easy for her to say that because she never once faced repercussions for her actions. Take her hemmed skirt, for example. She shortened it by an inch - not allowed, by the way - but here she was, donning her hemmed skirt and receiving no punishment for it, not even earning a second glance from the campus security we just passed. 

How she managed to get away with as much as she did was beyond me. The only way I could describe it was that she had this magical gift of invincibility - she could never get in trouble for breaking the rules, completely untouchable. But for me, I knew the second I acted out, I’d be sitting in front of the whole school board, begging them not to expel me. My luck was just that bad.

“You don’t always have to do what they say, you know?” Her words were tempting fate.

“Yes, I do.”

“Why do you always have to be such a goody-two-shoes? Why can’t you just let loose? You’ll have so much more fun.”

“But that’s just it - I’m not here to have fun, Christina! I can’t afford to mess around every day and break the rules. I’m not like you, okay? I actually had to work to get here.” My voice had taken on much more anger than the situation warranted, which I instantly regretted. 

Her head cocked to the side in shock. “You don’t think I had to work hard?” Christina’s voice now matched my previous level of rage.

“I’m sor-”

“It’s fine. I’ll see you after class.” 

Great. 

I watched in lamentation as she briskly walked away from me, clearly upset. 

As if today wasn’t bad enough. 

Though I knew she wanted me to chase after her and beg for her forgiveness, I had much more important things to attend to. Plus, I trusted her word - she’d see me after class and I could apologize after then, but as for right now, I was going to keep my priorities in order. 

As per usual, I was the first to arrive, and the following class, I was, too, and so on and so forth. Christina would’ve rolled her eyes at my timeliness, but I preferred being early than being late.

By lunch time, I hadn’t seen Christina since our minor altercation in the morning, but to my delight, when I reached our lunch spot in the grass, she was right there waiting for me, just like she always did. 

“Hey, Chris. About earlier -”

“No need to apologize. I shouldn’t have pushed you to break the rules. Come sit.” She patted a spot on the grass under the shady tree for me to sit on, but not even the voluminous leaves above could mask us from the sun. 

It was noon now, probably the peak of heat, and I felt like I was being baked alive. Even the wind that passed through was a hot breeze, merely amplifying the humidity. 

And perhaps I was compensating because I had a suspicion that Christina hadn’t truly forgiven me, but I started to peel my sweater off my body with the guise that I was doing it because I was burning up, and not because I was trying to get back on her good side.

She was speechless at first, but then she hit me with a cheerful, “Yeah!” While she clapped in approval, I took off my cardigan and unbuttoned the top few buttons. 

I was almost enjoying myself and how rebellious I was being. It was very unlike me, but it felt nice not to care so much, but then I heard a voice too distinct to misplace. 

“Ms. Y/L/N!” 

Mine and Christina’s head both whipped around hastily to see Mrs. Whitman, who looked furious. 

“That is against the dress code. You will report to room R-412 after school for detention. Do not be late.” 

Lest I forget to mention, Christina was breaking the dress code, too, but again - her power of invincibility protected her - a power which I did not possess.

My jaw hung low in shock. 

“Oh my god,” I turned to Christina, with my hand covering my mouth. 

“I am so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

I shot up from the grass, replacing my cardigan where it should be on my shoulders and buttoning the top few buttons of my shirt to regain some dignity. 

“Where are you going?” Christina called out after I abandoned her at the table.

I didn’t answer, out of pure rage, not that it was Christina’s fault, but that I’d actually foolishly broken the rules - and enjoyed it. 

The rest of the day was spoiled after that thanks to the impending doom of heading straight to detention after school was over. 

Christina texted and called repeatedly to apologize, but it would be no use. I wasn’t necessarily mad at her, although it wouldn’t have been completely untrue to say that I was, but I was madder at the situation. 

My humiliation was reinforced when after the final bell rang, I had to go against the grain of students, who were desperately filing out of the classes to return to their dorms, while I was headed for yet another “class.” I normally would’ve been one of those students, briskly shuffling out of a classroom with a million other people, trying to cram through a tiny door to leave, but now I was an outlaw, and I wasn’t sure that I liked it.

I found the room in no time, having studied the campus map until I knew it as well as the back of my hand. I even recognized the room number from when I asked my counselor for an application to audit Dr. Reid’s Criminology class, but I was declined acceptance, giving me all the more reason to hesitate to enter. I clutched onto the doorknob and lingered in the doorway, trying to find the nerve to walk in and commence my punishment. 

With one exasperated exhale, I swung the door open and marched in with my head down and my tail between my legs. Taking a cursory glance, I didn’t see a teacher anywhere.

“Hello? Dr. Reid?”

My small voice ricocheted off the high ceilings and reverberated back to me, instilling me with the chills of being alone in this large, empty classroom. 

I hadn’t yet taken a seat, mainly in case I needed to run for my life, I’d just need to pick up my feet instead of get up from a seat, but more so because I expected someone to be in here to instruct me on where to sit. I was more surprised that it was just me here and not anyone else, which made me reflect even harder on the idea that maybe I was the only one here because everyone else in this school had more discipline than me. But I also had to consider that the kids that were troublesome enough to land themselves in detention probably had no intention of suddenly abiding by the rules and showing up to detainment as they should. 

Out of nowhere, I heard the clunk and thump of shuffling footsteps. 

"Dr. Reid?”

From the stage I saw a figure emerge, briskly walking with a satchel crossed over their body and a coffee cup raised to their lips. 

Those lips. 

I’ve seen them before. 

Flashbacks of the night before began replaying in my head at a million miles per hour. 

“You okay down there?”

“Iceland.” 

“Quantico? Like FBI Quantico?”

“B-32.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Maybe you’d let me read some of it?”

“I’d like to know more about you.”

I felt the ground sway beneath me when the source of his familiarity became glaringly apparent. 

We simply stood there, gaping at each other like we couldn’t believe this was actually happening, totally, and completely speechless. 

“Spencer?” 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

PART 2 HERE!

comment to be added to taglist!

[followerofmercy]

Disclaimer: Writing poetry is hard and I appreciate the technical skill and whatnot that goes into it. I also appreciate the technical skill that goes into music genres I don’t like.

My first writing assignment for world literature is not on the coolness that is Mayan creation stories we’ve read, nor on something dope like, I dunno, literally anything except English poetry. I’m supposed to do a critical analysis from a whopping list of two poems. Both of them are English.

Like I get it’s this way so it’s a way to ease into doing these kinds of exercises because English poetry is familiar. It makes sense as an instructional thing. It’s just so. fuckin’. boring. 

A lot of that’s because I just don’t like poetry. I know it’s forbidden to say you appreciate literature and not like poetry but I don’t. I have never understood why it’s so popular. I’ve been to poetry readings, I’ve read friends’ poetry (and nodded along supportively, because they worked hard on it and I’m not an asshole). I’ve had professors and literature nerds ramble on and on and on about how great poetry is and I’m just like :|  I don’t want to diss on others’ good time but for fuck’s sake, if I never have to read a poem for class again it’ll be too soon.

Maybe it’s because I don’t have special voices in my head when I read? Maybe it’s because my internal monologue is super monotone and I rarely visualize? Because I don’t like ‘still’ works? That’s my thing with music and art, too. I can’t comprehend people listening to music to relax. Why would I relax that’s what sleep is for. Hell, I prefer active dreams even when I’m sleeping. I’ll take a low-level nightmare over a boring sleep any day. LIFE IS TOO SHORT TO SIT STILL WHY AM I READING ENGLISH POETRY ABOUT GRASS AND SUNSETS AND ~~wind whispering through the willows~~ AGAIN

This is unrelated but also bothers me: all the non-English works in this anthology are beautifully translated! the Mayan stuff read like it was written originally in English. There was enough form and everything from the original language that it sounded distinctly Not English, but I could understand it! I didn’t struggle trying to figure out wtf was going on! But for some reason, modern Shakespeare and shit translations aren't good enough. I’m sorry but if I legit do not know what is happening after the third time re-reading a paragraph, it’s time for a language change. I read the entirety of Much Ado About Nothing unaware that there was a masquerade, who was talking at any given time (with the exception of Beatrice and Benedict), who people were talking about or where people were. 

[theepitomeofamess]

It Takes Two pt 6

sorry y’all, had some severe writer’s block since I got home and my parents put me to work around the house. So anyway this is kinda a bs scene, but y’know what, it’s something.

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

high school au, theater au, Logince, 2264

An orange glow set into the atmosphere over the Target parking lot. Cars came and went with honking horns, screeching tires, and rage-fueled middle fingers. Children screamed and giggled at their parents, people almost got run over because they were distracted by their phones, dogs barked across the lot where the Pet Smart sat.

“Blue one,” Logan gestured to the blue mustang revving across the lot with the Blue Moon in his hand. Roman added another tally mark under Logan’s name on the pizza box lid, refusing to take his eyes off the lot. It had been Roman’s idea to play the game Russell and Carl played at the end of Up, and he couldn't stop smiling.

When the two of them had left rehearsal that night, Logan stopped at the exit. Roman asked if he wanted to go with Virgil, Patton, and the others to Cookout, then go home with Virgil after. For a minute, Logan had just stood there, and Roman wondered what was going through his head. When he finally spoke up, his voice was soft, to the point of sounding plush.

“Let’s go to Target.” Roman hadn’t spent a lot of time with Logan, but he remembered what “going to Target” meant between him and Virgil, and that muted smile and matte fog in Logan’s eyes screamed of the subtext.

“Let’s not go home. Let's not go to my house or your house or Virgil’s house, let’s go out and pretend that we don't have anywhere else that we have to be except with each other. Let’s wander around a store that has a little bit of everything and pretend we have money to buy the things we like and just wander and look and laugh and pretend reality doesn't exist because it really doesn't in Target.”

And that's what they'd been doing for the past few hours. They'd circled around the store around three times, stopping at different things each time, talking to each other and laughing and letting time slip away into the odd obscurity that comes with places like Target. After a while, they bought a six pack of Blue Moons from an older woman who trusted Roman and never asked for IDs, and a pizza from the Pizza Hut inside the store, and gone out to the curb to watch for blue and red cars.

“Red one,” Roman pointed with his pinkie, the rest of his hand still wielding a pizza crust.

“Roman,” Logan deadpanned, “that’s a decoration.” Roman looked from the red ball cemented in front of the entrance to an unamused Logan.

“Yeah, but it’s red, isn’t it?” Logan scoffed at the rebuttal, rolling his eyes in an attempt to hide his smirk.

“Fine. In that case,” Logan pointed to the label on his beer, “blue one.” Roman laughed at the gesture, throwing his head back and using his entire body to laugh. Logan smiled, chuckling at the ground while Roman smacked his knee with his free hand. Roman’s laughter rang in Logan’s ears and warmed him to his core, filling him with more warm and fuzzy feelings than beer ever could.

“You’re fantastic.” The comment was off-hand, spilled without meaning to be spoken. Logan smiled, ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat at the comment. Swirling the beer in his hand, Logan watched the sky, orange glowing on the horizon and pink cotton candy clouds blushing against the darkening blue sky, his gaze too intense to be apathetic and too careless to be intent. He seemed to be watching something far beyond the colors of the sky, beyond the parking lot, like he was looking through the particles of reality to watch something happening in the next dimension.

Roman swallowed hard as he forced on himself the truth that he had no clue what was happening in Logan’s head.

“You okay,” he finally asked, trying to snap Logan from his trance-like state. Logan hummed before answering.

“Thinking.”

“What about?” For a long moment, Logan didn’t answer. Roman almost thought that Logan hadn’t heard him.

“What’s your favorite flower?” The question caught Roman off guard. He couldn’t quite tell what Logan meant to convey with the question. Was that what he’d been thinking about? Was he just asking to change the subject? Was he actually interested, or was it a new game?

“Roses.” Logan snickered at the answer. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just,” he sighed, “I should have seen that coming. A classic symbol for passion and romance, I don’t know how I didn’t expect it.”

“That’s the beauty of it, though,” Roman defended calmly. “You’re only thinking of the red rose, which symbolizes courage in addition to passion. I love roses in all colors and meanings. Yellow ones symbolize friendship, pale peach is modesty, yellow with red tips is falling in love, orange is desire and fascination and creativity and enthusiasm, burgandy is unconscious beauty, blue is,” Roman’s voice caught when he noticed how Logan was looking at him as he rambled, a ghost of a smile on his lips and the fog almost cleared from his exhausted eyes. “Blue is the unattainable, the impossible. Roses of all colors are beautiful and have their own unique and beautiful meanings, and they’re just in general lovely flowers. Anyway, what’s yours?”

“Mine?” Logan asked, turning his gaze to the ground as he thought. “Dandelions.”

“Really,” Roman smiled. “I had you pegged for more of a lily or lilac kind of guy. Why dandelions?” Logan shook his head, smiling to himself.

“They symbolize a lot of things, from intelligence to healing to survival. The message being conveyed when they’re given is to not give up, even when those around you keep trying to get rid of you. That’s what I really like about them, I think. They’re resilient. Most people call them stubborn, but that’s just annoyance at their resilience. People only call it a weed because somebody decided it was growing in the wrong place. They’re jealous of its resilience, its ability to thrive whether it’s growing in rich soil or breaking through concrete to reach for the sun. Once its life cycle is up, it becomes this beautiful little dainty thing, and allows itself to be carried into a hundred next lives by either the wind or someone who believes in wishes. Most flowers need exactly the right conditions so they can grow for a few weeks and be at their peak for maybe two days before they start wilting. Dandelions can grow anywhere, and for half their life they look like the sun and the other half they’re a beautiful puffball that rides on wishes.”

Roman watched and listened to Logan in awe. He remembered Logan mentioning having an appreciation for poetry, but at the time he’d thought that that was all it was - an appreciation. The way Logan spoke, though, the way the words spilled from his lips so eloquently and effortlessly, Roman felt a smile quirk his lips at the realization that the connection was so much more than just academic fascination. Glancing at the bottle in Logan’s hand, Roman told himself that Logan had to be at least a little tipsy to talk so freely about this kind of thing. He usually rambled on forever about facts and science and analysis, not the symbolism and sentiment of flowers.

“Sorry,” Logan’s smile faded as he bowed his head. “I’m rambling, I know it’s annoying. Next time, just tell me to stop, okay? I don’t want to-”

“You’re not being annoying.” Roman’s words were much harsher than he’d intended, as though he were offended at the notion. He was, but Logan didn’t need to know that. “I will personally fight anyone who told you that you’re annoying when you’re talking about something that you are clearly passionate about. I love listening to you talk, and if you ever think otherwise, you just point out the one who planted that thought in your head.” Logan huffed a laugh through his nose, sending a half smile up at Roman.

“My knight in shining armor, you are,” Logan mumbled into the bottle as he took another swig.

“I should hope not,” Roman replied. “A knight in shining armor hasn’t done anything, hasn’t been anywhere. If anything, I’d be your knight in dented, rusted, dirt- and blood-stained armor. That way people can know that I’d protect you from anything that tried to hurt you.” Logan kept his eyes trained on the ground in an attempt to hide the smile he couldn’t quite hold back.

“You’re too good.” Roman smiled at the comment. He couldn’t remember the last time someone called him good. Not fantastic, not spectacular, not anything on the other side of the spectrum, just good. That was probably the greatest compliment Roman could dream of receiving. Taking a swig of the beer sitting next to him, Roman’s mind raced, trying to come up with a way to continue the conversation.

“What’s your favorite Disney movie?”

“Big Hero Six. You?” Logan’s answer came too easily for Roman’s liking. Roman had a hard time choosing his favorite Disney movie, as all of them had worked together to form his childhood and him as a person.

“Currently, I’d have to say Hercules, but I can never choose an all-time favorite. I love them all equally for different reasons. I could never choose.”

“Well, I have to agree that Hercules is a good choice. The art and music style were daring, and Greek mythology is always a good choice. That’s probably my fourth favorite.” Roman hummed.

“What’re your other top four?” Logan continued to stare at the concrete as Roman watched him think on the question.

“Big Hero Six, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Lion King, and Hercules.” Roman hummed at the list.

“Why those?”

“Why are you asking me so many questions?” Logan looked back up to Roman, eyes squinted with suspicion.

“Just curious. Besides, you and I still don’t really know each other that well.” Logan watched Roman’s expression for any ulterior motive, only to find sincere curiosity.

“Big Hero Six, the protagonists use their brains instead of brawn to defeat the antagonist.” Logan turned to watch the concrete again, eyes following a lone ant looking for any speck of food. “Hunchback, firstly because I have a soft spot for Victor Hugo, and secondly because it has my favorite songs and some of the most relatable and interesting characters. Lion King, mainly because it has some of the greatest quotes, including my favorite. You know Mufasa’s speech to Simba?”

“The ‘everything the light touches is our kingdom,’ one,” Roman asked as Logan picked a crumb from the pizza box, setting it in the path of the ant. Both of them smiled as the ant picked up the crumb, happily starting back toward its colony.

“No, the one about the stars and the great kings of the past watching over us.” Logan’s head tilted up, the sky turning inky where it had been orange moments ago. The stars were invisible due to the street lamps everywhere, but Logan smiled nonetheless. He knew they were there. He was comforted by the knowledge that they were watching over him.

Roman smiled at the stars glittering in Logan’s eyes. He might not be able to see them in the sky, but he could always marvel at the galaxies in Logan’s onyx eyes, at his soft smile.

Logan just about jumped out of his skin when his phone started buzzing madly in his pocket. Taking it out, his eyes widened at the number. It didn’t have a contact name, but Logan clearly recognized the number. Thumb hovering over the green phone icon, Logan took in a deep breath.

“We disappoint, we disappear,” he mumbled, the words barely audible to Roman, “we die, but we don’t.” Swiping the red icon, Logan slipped the phone back into his pocket. Roman almost asked who that was, what was wrong, but something made him hold his tongue. Maybe it was the way the stars had faded from Logan’s eyes, maybe it was the way his shoulders were starting to collapse in on themselves, maybe it was the way his hand moved up to grip at his hair.

Roman wasn’t quite thinking when he laid a hand on Logan’s back. He felt Logan’s back tense under his palm, but he didn’t pull away, rubbing at the tension in his back and shoulders.

“So, you like Victor Hugo, huh?” Roman hoped to whatever God there is that his voice was level enough to seem nonchalant. “Is Les Miserables included in that?” Logan finally seemed to relax as he went on a tangent about Les Mis and Victor Hugo’s other novels and poetry and everything he could think of. He didn’t seem to feel himself leaning closer into Roman as he talked, relaxing into Roman’s side.  

They stayed there, talking until the sky was black and Target closed. By the time they were back in Roman’s car, Logan was half asleep and the clock read 11:08. When Roman asked where Logan wanted to go, Logan didn’t respond beyond a grunt when Roman suggested Virgil.

“11:11,” Roman announced softly when he checked the clock at a stoplight. “Make a wish.” Roman expected some kind of scoff or eye roll from Logan, but there was nothing. Silence filled the car, the red light turned to green and Roman started driving again. Something in the back of his mind wondered if Logan’s wish had been anything like his own.

I wish we could spend every night like this. 

Tag list:

@individual-charlie @ab-artist @fandoms-n-ship @iamtrashcans@jazzyb11 @lucifer-in-my-head @romanssippycup @pendragonqueen09 @margarethx @angst-patton @nienna14