#this poem is from over ten years ago i forgot i wrote it but it showed up when i looked for another post of course
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they found a girl at the beach
her words all washed away
still feeling waves against her legs
and whale skin at her touch
foam in her hair, salt in her veins
so
they tell her about the sea
#poetry#haiz writes#REPOSTING because the format of a quote post made in 2013 just. breaks! fun#this poem is from over ten years ago i forgot i wrote it but it showed up when i looked for another post of course#the tumblr search function is broken in very interesting ways#the original was in norwegian and the translation needed some editing#but that's the beauty of it isn't it. a piece of art is never really truly finished. you can change it forever. and it will change without#i have a hankering to get back into actually writing poems again. it was a part of my daily life as a teen#but i dont... know how to get into that kind of space anymore. probably because it doesnt exist in the same shape#so i gotta carve it out again and it's hard!#also this is not what the poem is About but i can tell i wrote this after i watched Whale Rider (2002) for a school assignment
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Guysss! To pursue my (maybe) dream of becoming a journalist, I started a blog page just for reviews of various media! And then I forgot to tell Tumblr! So far I've done several album and song reviews--mostly k-pop but we did throw Hannah Grae in there. I also did a multi-part series on the book BTS released for their tenth anniversary, and two film reviews (one of them is very pink!) Anyway, you can find most of the reviews through the links below! If you're looking for somewhere to start, I suggest Screw Loose, Social Path, and The Moment: Bounce. These are the most recent and therefore most well-written, but feel free to check out anything else that interests you!
#writing#writer#teenwriting#teenwriter#studentwriter#studentwriting#review#reviews#journalism#writing reviews#writing journal#writers on tumblr#writers of tumblr#writerscommunity#writing on tumblr#writingoftumblr#writingcommunity#reviewsontumblr#reviewsoftumblr#reviewcommunity
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Kindness Week Poem
Every year at the school where I teach, our on-site social worker organizes a kindness week event to encourage students to, you guessed it… be kind. This year, the student advisory committee, which helps run events on campus, asked me to talk about kindness at the kindness week assembly. I had an Anakin Skywalker starting his podracer moment when I thought to myself, It’s working! Years of working to be kind have come to fruition. So. I’d like to thank the student advisory committee for inviting me to speak. I wrote a spoken word poem about the impact of kindness in my life and it sounds like this. I wasn’t always kind. When I was a teenager, I was real tough. I grew up in a place where you had to be hard or people would hurt you. So after getting beaten up for being new to the school. And after getting beaten up for my lunch money. Or for getting beaten up for being the only white kid in the housing project where I was growing up, I learned to be hard. I got really excellent at resting mean face. I spiked my hair into a big purple mohawk that told people from across the room: Don’t talk to me! I’m not your friend! I’ll hurt you! And that worked for me for a long time. But then after awhile, it really didn’t. This poem is an attempt to capture the moments that helped me understand why I needed to be kind. 1. When I was 14, I walked into the diner in the neighborhood I went to high school in. As I walked in, a small child, probably about 4, pointed at me and started screaming. She literally dove under the table and started crying. I could hear her telling her mother that I was scary, asking her mother to protect her from me. My whole body went cold. I felt absolutely devasted. And I thought to myself… I don’t want this. I don’t want to be a person people are afraid of. I didn’t understand it yet, but that was the first moment I realized I needed to be kind. 2. My first tattoo is a cover up. It doesn’t cover another tattoo. I got it on the inside of my left forearm, right over the wrist. It was important to me that it go there because I had long scars there from the greatest unkindness I ever inflicted upon myself. The last person I learned to be kind to was myself. And one day, when I knew I wouldn’t need to hide my pain anymore, I made a decision to get a tattoo of the person who taught me to be kind. This is her story. 3. My first tattoo is a portrait of a little girl named Alex that I knew when I was 15. My first girlfriend was her babysitter when she was about 5 years old. I met Alex exactly one time, and I discovered that she could do the most incredible little magic. If she held out her hands, Monarch butterflies from all around the park would land in them. I thought this was the coolest thing ever, so naturally I told her it was incredible and that she should be proud she was all shy about it in the way that only tiny children can be and that was the whole story, Except, that ten years later I ran into that first girlfriend of mine and she told me that after we broke up, Alex would ask about me constantly, and did again, when she’d seen her just a month ago: she asked “Whatever happened to your old boyfriend, Griffin?” Then she told me that Alex had been badly abused and generally torn down and insulted by her parents all the time. She told me that Alex never forgot someone who had something kind to say to her. I was stricken that a single act of kindness, Something so simple as giving a genuine compliment to someone, could have such an impact on them that they would remember for ten years. 4,
So that’s the story of my first tattoo. I put it in a place that would remind me forever to be kind to myself. I keep Alex’s portrait with me, her hands full of monarch butterflies to remind me to tell people about their goodness. You, listening to this right now, are full of goodness. When you let it out, when you share it with others, we call that kindness And when we act with kindness, Another world is possible. A better world. A world we’ve never known, But a kinder world can be yours. A kinder world can be ours. Together. One choice at a time. My friends, we can wake up in the morning and not be scared. We can go to bed at night and not feel unbearably sad. We can feel safe and warm together. But it’s up to YOU. You’ve gotta be kind.
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Just over a month ago I wrote and published my J2 AU fic 'The Book'. The fictional book within 'The Book' is 'Love Poems from the Hinterland' so I designed the cover but forgot to add it to my original post.
So this is the cover, featuring a beautiful vista of the Montana countryside.
THE BOOK
Rating: Explicit
Chapters: 23
Word Count: 70463
Jensen Ackles has been living on the streets since he was 13 years old; ten years of fending for himself in a world whereby he became just another forgotten homeless young man in need. From the moment he left his broken family home, Jensen was on a personal mission to find the one thing he felt he deserved; happiness.
The Book playlist on Spotify
#j2#j2 au#j2 on ao3#j2 alternative universe#j2 fanfic#j2 fic rec#j2 fan fiction#the book#smack the devil
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Before I disappear due to exams, little emotional thing I had earlier that I need to get out of my chest.
So, I was looking through some old stuff earlier, like really old stuff because we were rearranging some of our rooms, heck I even came across my kindergarten ID and that was over way-too-many years ago. This isn't about something I found, earlier more of something I didn't find.
Basically, I wrote this really cute poem when I was like, ten. It was one of my best works, mind you, and I love it to this day. It was for some sort of a school assignment, create a poem/literary piece and all that, you know. Of course, being the tiny bookworm nerd that I was, I ended up pouring a great portion of my heart into that poem.
Long stanzas short, it was about a flower, some form of allegory for a girl or whatever, yes, real unoriginal but sue me, I was nine lmao. Anyway, within the poem I narrated the cycle the flower went through. From being praised and loved for its colors and beauty, people would flock from different corners of the globe just to watch her blooming beauty.
The flower loved it, filled with joy and euphoria from everyone around her and how much they loved her.
But eventually, like many things, beauty fades. Its colors began to wane, beauty began to falter, petals begin to wither.
It had changed so much, lost so much and altered so many things, the flower was almost unrecognizable.
It's been a while now, since the time the flower was so dearly loved by all, but now? She was alone. The flower was alone.
And after that, I basically don't rememer a single inch of what I wrote. No, I mean it. Literally. Nothing. Na-da. Zilch. Empty.
I've been wracking my brains for who-knows-how-many years at this point, trying to remember what those few final lines were because I cannot, for the life of me, remember.
Haunts me to this day, honestly.
But yeah, I was looking for the old journal I had where I noted my several failed attempts to replicate what I wrote before. Guess what? I couldn't find it.
And even if I did, it would basically be useless, right? It doesn't contain the poem I want to read, it doesn't possess the few stanzas that sent little me into a field of writing euphoria I'm quite sure I'll never reach again.
And while thinking about that, I thought, what did I, or well, little me, actually mean with that poem?
It was about something whose beauty was beginning to falter, who watched the consistency in her life slowly blur as everyone completely forgot about her.
I'm pretty sure nine-year-old Ess wasn't thinking of anything like that, so I really couldn't understand. Why did I write that?
And then I realized why. Why I couldn't figure out what the last lines of the poem were. Why I couldn't figure out the meanings and reason of why I wrote that poem. Why I couldn't get into the mind of Little Ess and ask her why.
Because I was the flower. Yeah, you can probably stop reading at this part because I may go on a tirade of making myself sound self-important over an ancient (well, at least for me) piece of writing, but still.
Anyway, I feel like I've changed so much. Lost a lot, gained a little, discovered a bit, forgot a few. So many things have happened and I'm positive the girl I was once when I wrote this poem isn't the same girl writing this awkwardly long tumblr post.
I could never be the girl I once was, I could never imagine myself in their shoes again (I think I may have grown a few sizes), I could never think, see, and feel the same way that little girl did.
Maybe the poem was a message from Little Ess so that Future Ess (technically me) wouldn't completely hate the person she'd become. Because knowing sweet, nine-year-old me believed and cared about the person I'd become, no matter how different that is from now, makes me feel a little better about who I am.
...that or Little Ess was just really excited over a literature assignment.
It just made me feel happy, emotional as I said, to think about it like that. The future may be bleak but it never hurts to love a little portion of yourself because the past you was willing to love that part without even knowing what it would become.
I still don't know the final lines to that poem and I'll probably never make it public if I do, but it makes me glad to feel that way and honestly? I don't even want to know.
I'm content being the fading flower with only a lingering feeling of the euphoria I had once before, but knowing I have a lot more ahead of me too, and maybe, just maybe, like Little Ess, I should trust and love Future Ess a little bit more.
#ess' spam#ess is a mess#also please no one reblog i'm uncomfortable with this going anywhere out of my blog#kshdjdhd what do u call this?? positive venting?? idk anymore#also everyone can block ;ess is a mess; too so u dont see my emotional crap
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7 Ways of Looking At You || Shawn Mendes
Description: the seven ways you’ve looked at Shawn since the first time you met
A/N: This takes place over the course of about a year and a half. we had to write a poem in my creative writing class about the 7 ways of looking at something and I thought it’d be pretty cute as a fic idea. I was going to make it angsty but I honestly didn’t have any energy for that
Word Count: 3.5k
i. at first glance
For the first time in days, it was sunny in Chicago. Living in an apartment just a few blocks from the studio you worked at was a blessing with weather like this. You slipped on a pair of sneakers instead of heels today and decided to walk. It’d be faster anyway in traffic like this.
The fresh air hit you, and you practically skipped out onto the sidewalk. As you walked, you checked your phone for today’s schedule. Team meeting at 9:00 and a radio interview at noon. It wasn’t too bad of a day, and maybe, if you were lucky, you’d get out of work a little early.
You pushed the door open to the studio and waved to people as you passed by. You made your way to your office and sat down to work on interview questions and editing your newest story.
You made your way to the team meeting and sat towards the front, waiting for your turn to go over what was in store for your team.
“[Y/N], the floor is yours,” your boss said before sitting down.
“Alright guys, we have a local band coming in at 11:00 today to play their song live on the radio. They’ll be in studio C, so whoever is in there today, make sure they have everything they need,” you explained before glancing down at your notes. Your heart jumped a little bit as you saw who you’d be interviewing today.
“Then, we have…” you read it one more time, making sure it was true, “Shawn Mendes coming in at noon for my show. He needs to have someone with him at all times to make sure he has everything he needs, so Kaylee, I want you on that,” you said as you wrote your assistant’s name down on the sheet.
“He should be here around 11:30, hopefully, get a photo with the local band for a little publicity for them, then have him in Studio A by 11:45. I’ll hopefully meet you a little earlier than that,” you said. Kaylee nodded her head as she wrote the times down in her notebook.
“And that’s it for today. I’ll be in my office until 11:30 if anyone needs me,” you said before gathering your things and making your way back to your office before the meeting continued with information that didn’t pertain to you.
You sat at your desk and rested your head in your hands for a moment. You had just received this promotion a few weeks ago, and you were finally getting comfortable with it. You’d interviewed some B and C list celebrities and had done a lot with local bands and musicians trying to make it big. Shawn Mendes was way out of what you were comfortable with.
You took a deep breath and gathered yourself before prepping the questions for the interview. It shouldn’t be too difficult since he just released a single a few days ago, and he had a show tonight and tomorrow in the area. Everything would be fine.
You glanced at the clock and noticed it was 11:30. Shawn should be here. Oh shit. You glanced at your reflection in the glass on your door before straightening your dress and making your way to the studio.
He wasn’t there yet, so you got comfortable in the booth and looked over your notes a few more times. There was a gentle knock on the door before Kaylee peeked her head through and gave you a look. You nodded your head quickly and stood up as she let Shawn and his manager in.
You swore he was radiating. You don’t know what it was, but he was most definitely glowing. You needed his skincare routine. You plastered a smile on your face, which wasn’t too difficult, and walked towards him.
“Shawn, it’s so great to meet you, I’m [Y/N],” you said as you stuck your hand out. He smiled at you and shook your hand as he glanced around the studio.
“You’re shaking,” he said. Your smile dropped as his manager sighed, and Kaylee tried to hide her laugh.
“To be honest, you’re the biggest celebrity I’ve ever interviewed, and I’m freaking out,” you said just above a whisper. He laughed at you and patted your shoulder lightly.
“Trust me, this’ll be great. You’ll be fine. You had to do something right to get here,” he said before moving to sit down.
This man had just met you and was already calming your nerves. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
ii. at the second meeting
The red carpet was buzzing and flashing with lights at this year’s Video Music Awards. You were situated somewhat near the end as you gripped your microphone as tightly as you could. After your interview went incredibly smooth with Shawn, you were interviewing A list celebrities whenever they were in Chicago. You were somehow the go-to person now. You were still trying to wrap your head around that.
Somehow, that led to your boss choosing you to go to LA for the award show. Radio interviews were one thing, a red carpet interview was a whole other thing.
So far, you’d interviewed a boy band you’d barely heard of, an actress who’s starring in an upcoming Netflix original and the hosts of the show. It was going fine, but not as great as your expectations were. The pressure was on.
You took a deep breath as you looked down the carpet to see if you could get someone else to talk to you for a little bit.
You glanced back and forth before seeing him. Shawn posed for a few pictures in a maroon dress shirt paired with black slacks. He was still glowing. He finished his last photograph and looked down the line of reporters before meeting eyes with you. He instantly lit up, and you felt your stomach drop.
He be-lined straight for you, ignoring people from networks that were far bigger than yours. Before you could react, he was pulling you into a tight hug. You reacted as quickly as you could and wrapped your arms around him. He pulled away with a smile on his face.
“You upgraded!” He practically yelled. You couldn’t hold back the laugh that came from your chest.
“I did! All because of you!” You exclaimed as grabbed his arm.
“That was all you, dear. I knew you had it in you when I barely knew your name.” The nickname made your heart skip a beat.
“Would you want to spare me another interview?” You asked with a smile on your face as you waved the microphone around.
“Anything for you.”
iii. as friends
“I’ve been waiting for ten minutes,” you said as Shawn finally walked into the coffee shop you planned on meeting at. He rolled his eyes at you before sitting across from you.
“My Uber was late,” he said as he glanced down at the menu.
“Excuses, excuses,” you whispered just loud enough for him to hear. He pulled your menu down as he gave you a look.
“You’ve been in LA for a week, and it’s already changed you, tragic,” he said, a little overdramatically, closing his menu. “And to think I was going to give you a tour of the city.”
“You promised!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, calm down.”
You both ordered your coffee to-go before making your way out onto the sidewalk.
“I can’t believe they transferred you to LA. That’s like top tier for this shit,” he said as you walked. You nodded your head and took a sip.
“Yeah, I’m still trying to wrap my head around it,” you said with a slight shake of your head.
“Are you finished unpacking yet?” He gave you a look as you avoided his gaze.
“Sure,” you said quickly. He lightly pushed you.
“You’re such a liar,” he laughed out.
“I’ve been busy!”
“Everyone here is busy. You still have to unpack, or those boxes will sit there for months.” You rolled your eyes at him as you turned the corner.
“Yeah, I’ll get to it,” you said through a sigh. The two of you stayed quiet as you continued walking.
“Thanks for meeting me,” you finally said. He looked down at you with a confused look.
“What are friends for?” You gave him a look.
“Are we friends? I thought I was just some girl who interviewed you sometimes.” He laughed and shook his head at you before bumping his shoulder against yours.
“We’re definitely friends.”
“Good.”
iv. as best friends
You could smell the popcorn burning the instant you stepped inside your apartment, and you already regretted giving Shawn your spare key so he could start movie night early.
“Are you serious, Shawn?” You yelled as you kicked off your shoes and made your way into the kitchen. There stood Shawn, fanning your stove with a towel. He smiled sheepishly at you as you opened the windows and started all the fans.
“I tried to do that thing where you pop it on the stove because it tastes so good, but I forgot about it while looking for a movie,” he explained as quickly as he could.
“Microwave popcorn tastes just as good,” you say as you look at him with your hands on your hips. He feigns offense as his hand goes to his chest.
“You have no taste buds. I can’t believe this,” he exaggerated. You rolled your eyes as you grabbed the pan from the stove and tossed it in the sink. You ran the cold water and let it soak before turning around to look at Shawn again.
“So, how was work?” He asked as he threw the popcorn in the microwave this time.
“Good, nothing out of the ordinary,” you said as you made your way into your room to change into something more comfortable. You slipped on some shorts and Shawn’s sweatshirt you’d stolen from him last week.
“Did you ask your boss for a raise?” He yelled from the kitchen. You bit the inside of your cheek and didn’t respond.
“[Y/N], I know you can hear me.” You slowly emerged out of your room and glanced at Shawn as he looked at you with that disappointing look you hated.
“I’ll do it tomorrow?” You say with a slight question in your voice. He shook his head slowly as he made his way into your living room.
“You deserve a raise,” he says as he holds the popcorn in his lap on the couch. You settle down next to him and grab a few pieces.
“Yeah, I know. I just hate the asking part,” you said. You grabbed the blanket from the back of your couch and draped it across your lap.
“Want me to ask for you?” He asked with that dumb look on his face.
“Shut up,” you grumbled as you lightly pushed his shoulder away from you. He laughed at you before grabbing the remote and bringing up Netflix.
“Mamma Mia?”
“Duh.”
v. as maybe possibly more than friends
You leaned against the wall in the airport and tried your hardest not to fall asleep. Shawn’s flight had been delayed a few hours, and you were definitely regretting telling him you’d pick him up.
Your hometown airport was fairly small, and at this time of night, there were maybe five other people in the airport. You really wished you weren’t one of them.
You glanced up at the board and released your breath when you noticed Shawn’s flight had landed. You moved closer to the entrance and waited for him anxiously. It had been just over a month since you’d seen him, and it had been the longest you’d gone without being together. Luckily, he was able to get a few days off to fly to your hometown for your birthday.
People started streaming out of the terminal, and you glanced at everyone while waiting for Shawn. You finally found him, and you were instantly awake. His eyes met yours, and you both couldn’t contain your smiles.
He set his bag down as you sprinted towards him and into his arms. He held your head to his chest as he rested his head on top of yours. You swayed back and forth as you held each other as tight as possible.
“We’re never going this long without seeing each other ever again,” he mumbled into your hair.
“Agreed.” You finally pulled away and grabbed his backpack off the ground and handed it to him. He followed you to your car and threw his bag in the back seat.
“Are you sure your parents are fine with me staying with you guys?” He questioned for the tenth time.
“Of course they are. They’ve been wanting to meet you since the first time I interviewed you. They nearly died when they later found out we were actually friends.” You started your car and made your way to the main road.
“Are any of your other friends in town yet?” He asked. You nodded your head.
“Becca and Parker flew in this morning, and Han drives up tomorrow. Everyone else still lives here,” you said as you continued to focus on the road, begging yourself not to fall asleep.
“I can’t wait to meet them,” he said with excitement in his voice. You glanced over at him and smiled. He really was genuinely excited to meet your friends. You felt your heart speed up as you kept glancing back at him as he scrolled through his phone. You shoved the feeling to the pit of your stomach and tried to forget it.
The feeling crept back up and was rather persistent no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. You looked over at him once more and admired the way he looked in the moonlight. You were screwed.
vi. as definitely more than friends
You didn’t plan on actually getting drunk. In fact, you promised yourself you’d have one drink, but five or six drinks later, and you definitely abandoned that promise.
Shawn’s album release party was in full swing. The room was packed with important people, family, and friends. His fourth album was going to be a huge success. Even in your current state, you still knew that.
You swayed to the music as you talked to Shawn’s sister and sipped at your drink. You could barely remember what she was saying as you watched Shawn talk to some executives from his label. He laughed at something one of them said. This crush definitely wasn’t going away, and it definitely didn’t get better when you had a few drinks in you. You downed the rest of your drink before excusing yourself to grab another.
“Hey,” a voice said behind you as you felt their hand rest on your lower back. You glanced and noticed it was Shawn as you half smiled at him.
“Hey, buddy,” you said a little too loud as you lightly pushed his chest. Shawn looked at you with a mixture of confusion and delight.
“What happened to one drink?”
“That was out the window within the first five minutes of being here,” you said as you sipped at your newest drink, missing the straw the first time.
“Pace yourself, hun,” he said as he ordered a beer.
“I am perfectly fine,” you slurred as you smiled up at him. “You’re so pretty,” you said like it was the first time you noticed it.
You didn’t notice the blush creep on his cheeks as he grabbed his drink and looked down.
“So are you, [Y/N].”
“But not as pretty as you. Look at that hair, those arms, that smile, no wonder everyone’s in love with you,” you said as you pushed a hand through his hair. He laughed and backed away from you a little bit.
“Maybe switch to water after this drink,” he said as you stumbled into him a little bit.
“We’ll see,” you taunted. That was the last thing you remembered. You definitely didn’t switch to water.
You woke up with a pounding headache and groaned at the sunlight peeking in from the window. You glanced at the table, and there sat a glass of water and some Advil. It was then that you realized you were definitely at Shawn’s house. You took the medication and slowly pulled yourself out of bed, slipping on the nearest sweatshirt.
You trudged down the stairs to go and find Shawn. He sat at the island in his kitchen with his laptop, probably reading album reviews as they started to pour in. He glanced up when he heard you. He smirked slightly as he took a sip of his coffee.
“You look like you got hit by a bus,” he said. You glared at him as you poured yourself a cup of coffee and sat next to him, looking over his shoulder to confirm he was reading reviews.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” He said as he glanced over at you. You thought for a moment and laughed at the irony.
“You telling me to switch to water. I didn’t listen,” you said as you hung your head.
“That’s it?” You expected Shawn to taunt you, but instead, he just sounded disappointed.
“Yeah, why?” You asked. He shook his head and looked back at his laptop. “What’d I do last night?” You questioned.
“It’s not that important,” he said, still not looking at you.
“Apparently it is because you won’t look at me,” you said as he finally looked over at you, this time turning his chair to face you head-on.
“Do you have feelings for me?” If your head was pounding before, now your whole body was feeling it. This is why you weren’t supposed to drink.
“Why would you think that?” You said as your throat dried up, and you quickly took a drink of your coffee.
“That’s what you told Brian last night around drink eight,” he said quietly. You nodded your head slowly as you thought about how you should handle this.
“What do you want my answer to be?” You finally whispered. You looked each other in the eyes as you both breathed heavily, waiting for someone to speak.
“I want it to be true,” Shawn finally whispered. “I want you to have feelings for me.” He held his gaze steady with yours. You released the breath you were holding as you smiled slightly at him.
“Then, yeah. I do,” you confessed.
The album reviews were long forgotten as Shawn leaned in to kiss you.
vii. in love
You could feel Shawn’s leg shaking against yours. You pressed your hand against his leg as you tried to make it stop. He grabbed your hand and let out a deep breath as the car pulled up in front of the theater.
It was the first award show that Shawn’s fourth album was nominated for something. To say the least, he was freaking out. He poured his everything into this album, and as much as he said he didn’t need awards, he still really wanted them.
Neither of you moved as the car stopped. You turned to face Shawn and grabbed both his hands, forcing him to look at you. He finally made eye contact with you, and you could see the panic in his eyes.
“You gotta breathe, honey,” you said quietly. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath in before letting it out slowly.
“I’m so damn nervous,” he finally said. You nodded your head and ran your thumb across his hand.
“I know, but there’s nothing else you can do at this point. You wrote a kick-ass album that deserves endless awards in my book, but beyond that, the rest of this is out of your control. You’ve just gotta trust what’s meant to happen will happen,” you explained to him as he looked at you with a blank expression.
“You only think it should win because you’re my girlfriend, and there are four songs about you on it,” he said as he finally smiled. You smiled back at him and laughed.
“Yes, that may be partially true, but even when I didn’t know they were about me, I still thought it was amazing. Even before we were dating, I knew this album was going to make an impact. Even if it doesn’t win, you can be comfortable knowing that it made an impact on countless people, me being one of them, of course,” you finished your speech of encouragement as Shawn started looking more relaxed.
“I love you.” The world seemed to stop after he said that. He looked at you, and you could see the panic setting back in as he waited for your response.
“I love you so damn much,” you said through a quiet laugh. He held your face in his hand before pressing a longing kiss to your lips. You pulled away before either of you could let it get too far.
“Are you ready?” He nodded his head and finally opened his door.
“Let’s go win some awards, my love.”
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Ballroom In The Sky.
Gazing with his mouth wide open towards a sullen evening sky dotted with jet black clouds
Geoff Wild weeps.
He was on his knees on this grass-strewn, unkempt graveyard.
Two years later and her memory still lingers.
The sudden passing of his loved one had left this middle-aged man gaunt, ashen faced and skeletal. Wild’s troubled expression had become a haunted house of uncanny notions and strange secrets waiting to flow from his water-logged eyes. Those circumstances surrounding Violet’s death were never clear.
Velvet Heart was Geoff’s courtship name for Violet.
Was it a death wish or an accidental fall from their elegant townhouse?
Death through misadventure was the colourful term used.
“Cherish all those wonderful experiences we had. Whichever one of us dies first.”
Violet actually said.
Almost as if she had some premonition.
This was six months before she passed away. .An endless see-saw of creepy dawning’s convulsed him.
Yet Wild fondly recalled when they first met at the Skyline Ballroom.
The Skyline was a battered tumbledown barn whose allure was its availability.
The chipped hardwood floor and the dusty pale cream walls with paint flakes that peeled off only confirmed its tenement status. It was known locally as the “Creaking Beam”” due to its ghostly acoustics and flickering lights. Here in this spooky venue Geoff and Violet had their earliest encounter. Wild remembered her radiant smiles.
The ripples of long dark hair, her apple blossom cheeks and of course her angelic aura..
On that night she wore a polka dot ruche dress, amethyst ear pendants, whilst sporting satin moccasins.
“Have I the gumption? The courage.
A faint heart etc.” Geoff could hear his heart flutter as he did his tightrope walk toward her.
“May I dance with you?” Geoff asked.
Velvet heart’s hands formed a lazy arch and her dainty fingers curled inwards.
“Of course. I would be delighted.” Violet spoke in that pear drop tone which beguiled everybody.
Geoff, the local journalist and writer was in seventh heaven.
They never forgot that enchanting song they first danced to, “Ballroom In The Sky.”
The song was performed by Valerie And The Blue Skies.
They weren’t very big but had a cult following..
Geoff could see how similar Violet and Valerie were.
They were mirror images of each other.
Even in speech and humour.
Valerie was based in a remote enigmatic area.
She used to refer to songs as role plays.
“You feel as though you are a member of the audience.” Valerie remarked.
Violet did admit to meeting Valerie casually and for autograph purposes but not otherwise or so it seemed.
It was amazing how “ Ballroom In The Sky” with its airy ascending rock chords and jaunty jazz lines could draw Violet, Valerie and Geoff into a peculiar triangle.
The sudden moody breaks, abrupt silences built a momentary cocoon.
Valerie’s top sideman....well, he was known as Silent Sam.
He had a track record of sorts.
Sam’s blue attire was appropriate.
He wore a large trilby hat tipped over his forehead sheltering his pointed face and pencil slim physique.
He, Sam, was short-sighted when it suited and eccentric.
Practical jokes were his forte and the impish grin.
“Yep ..Yup....or Sure.“
These were the only asides from this oddball sidemen for the most part.
He was accident prone.
Valerie had to indicate where things were. Theirs was a sign language of its own complete with slanted facial squirms.
One wondered if there was a deeper relationship between them.
Those Blue Skies airs were fillers without Sam.
Every time “Ballroom In The Sky” was played Valerie, Violet and Geoff were sharing unwittingly a secret.
The startled looks were part of this outlandish ritual.
Wild recalled now.
“Valerie could croon in a real hypnotic fashion. Everyone in the dancehall was enthralled. People would sway like ice skaters one moment, waltz in a swan-like manner the next and just as often rave in the isles like end of term teenagers.”
Geoff whispers in the graveyard.
“JUST A PASSING DREAM...........STILL SO VIVID.......DANCING IN HEAVEN...... KISSES ALL AROUND....MAGIC HAND........A LITTLE BIT BLIND, and of course “BALLROOM IN THE SKY.”
Geoff and Violet would swing religiously to those fantasy songs every Sunday as their courtship blossomed.
“Ballroom In The Sky “ was always the highpoint.
This constellation of events occurred in a scenic nineteen seventies spot.
Despite its haunting vistas and backdrop of panoramic hills it resembled a ghost town. Openings were few against an infinite spiral of closing factories, bookstores with half-empty shelves and shopkeepers peering out of doors.
Ten years earlier it was a beacon. “I shudder to think…...A jigsaw puzzle.”
Geoff surveying the cemetery.
Such memories could have been taken directly from some movie script. “Yes .. it was a hub that Skyline. Like homeless drifters, the folk who attended.”
Geoff again.
They were fugitives.
Escapees from that heavy-handed dole queue void.
Suddenly something happened.
“What the heavens is? Snap….a branch.” Momentary jitters engulfing Wild.
He shook in concert with the overarching colonnade of brown edge green leaf trees.
An eerie rustling dewdrop tiptoe now caressing Geoff’s ears.
”Up there somewhere Velvet Heart?
Dancing in the heavens?”
Nervous laughter now relief road to that traffic jam of sentiment about to speed off.
Glued to the spot that macabre sixth sense of Violet hovering above evaporates due to an illusory late evening sun shaft.
Wild could no longer hide from Valerie and Velvet Heart’s identities.
“Oh those comic jibes and piercing glances. Some ethereal intrigues were passing through the air.”
Geoff recalls with forensic clarity.
Poor Silent Sam would do his usual u-turn into the shadow.
Two months before Geoff's and Violet’s parting, an incident occurred.
Memory is a lodger which steadfastly refuses to surrender its keys.
Valerie and the Blue Skies were in flying form as the tunes morphed into each other.
Valerie and Velvet Heart were magnets for men.
Violet caught Geoff off guard.
“Guilty conscience, there Geoff?”
Having fantasies about Valerie.
Focus on me.
As for that eternity ring remember?”
Those penetrating peepers of Violet knew how to vet a body in a flash.
“Oh no .....not at all.” Geoff with a looping
smirk.
“Just those mystical melodies working their spell.” He said.
“You came into my life like.... a new dawn.” Wild poetically.
“You honey tongue you. Geoff our song. Ballroom.” Violet mutters.
Valerie nodded towards Sam.
Her expression was a hard to decipher veil and deep code command.
“Get those fingers flying, Sam.”
In a tone almost identical to Velvet Heart.
Sam didn’t always act immediately.
“Yep.. Yup ...Sure.” Sam’s stock retort.
“Ballroom In The Sky” now strong as ever cast its bewitching spell throughout the venue.
A medley was included tonight.
“SOMEONE FOR EVERYONE” ( Sam looked at Valerie), “A LITTLE BIT BLIND” ( Sam staring vacantly at both Valerie and Violet), “MIND YOUR STEP( Sam winking at Geoff while scrunching the mouth at Violet).
Violet edged toward the stage.
A dim-lit silence ensued.
Ballroom started again. Valerie and Violet now singing this tune. An eerie vacuum filled this dancehall.
A triangular crush of people occurred near the stage with Geoff in toe.
Valerie handed Violet a letter.
Sam was now talking tersely to Valerie.
A misted over photo gallery memory blur in place.
“Pst...Pst. Your Velvet Heart is back to haunt you.“ Violet’s lofty twang.
“What in the name….I can't phantom…..fathom.” Geoff shudders.
Violet’s voice a wet whisper stretching over twigs that simultaneously tap against windows.
She pulled back an orchard pattern duvet covering Geoff.
“Fell asleep at your favourite film, The Passing Of A Velvet Heart. All those graveyard scenes shot in our small town remember?
We know Silent Sam wrote the soundtrack for the film along with Ballroom. He sings on that one.” Violet recounts.
“Incredibly you chose Velvet Heart as your courtship name for me based on the film.
The film was never a huge success but did get our area limited publicity.
Sam earned extra royalties from the soundtrack.
Valerie and Sam tying the knot next Sunday of all days.
As for that love letter you mumbled about.
It’s an invite to their secret wedding.
Very private. As Sam is.
What a time and place he chose for the invitation.
During that ethereal love song which brought us together.” Violet observes.
“Poor Sam’s a little bit blind a
on occasions or is he?
I was upstairs on the flat roof today.
Six months ago I fell off it.
You’ve never liked me being up there since.”
Violet continuing.
“Guilty secret must confess. I used to be onstage instead of Valerie.
Well, sometimes.
She was dating you pretending to be me.
We never knew each other that well but it was a dare worked out between us.“
Geoff shouted. “Hoodwinked.”
An incredulous look ripples over Wild’s pale face.
Violet’s eyes now ablaze.
“You never noticed did you? Deep down.”
The tease in Violet surfacing..
Geoff was thunderstruck.
Violet strolled towards their CD player on the mahogany table.
“Think you’ll like this one. Our song.”
Violet stated.
“May I dance with you?”
Geoff smiled. “Of course. I would be delighted.
And relieved!”
Silent Sam’s voice weaves in his own inimitable shy way a song usually sung by Valerie, his wife to be.
And sometimes Violet, or Velvet Heart.
A number that united three people in the most curious and otherworldly manner!
“Yep….Yup ….Sure.”
As Sam was in the habit of saying!
mantrabay Photograph and Prose Poem Copyright Protected
#creedatelier #blog@creedatelier
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Fluffuary - The Sky Turns Blue
A LAMP oneshot! Roman has a really bad start to his day- that may attribute to why he doesn't remember what day it is.
AO3
Roman was having an absolutely shitty day. He’d nearly been late to work, which meant he’d nearly forgotten the lunch Logan had put together for him. Then, he’d been snapped at for no reason by the stage workers because Avery had hid his goddamn props and slowed down rehearsal by thirty minutes! Then Avery had trapped him in the bathroom stall, which caused him to be ten minutes late back from the first break, which put Avery onstage in his place. Then the director had chewed him out for returning to rehearsal late in front of everybody!
Roman was wishing he’d never quit his job at the restaurant just to return to the theater. Then he sat down for lunch and opened the little back Logan had lacked for him. He slid the food onto the table in front of him, and paused as he spotted a neat folded up index card on top.
The sun is shining,
My beloved, just for you.
You dazzle the eye.
Your smile is blinding,
The light, it pales, beside you.
I wish you the best.
Roman melted on the spot, squealing the whole time. God, leave it to Logan to be the best boyfriend from a distance when he can’t even fucking kiss him silly.
Roman made a mental note to do so immediately upon his arrival back at the apartment. Or rather, whenever Logan returned home.
The rest of the rehearsal went poorly as well, but at least he had Logan’s haikus floating about in his head, keeping him absolutely giddy with the words. He couldn’t stop smiling- which in turn reminded him of the haikus. Your smile is blinding indeed.
When he returned home, he was practically floating on his toes, spinning in a circle as he crossed the threshold. “I’m home! Which of my lovely boyfriends is here?”
He heard Patton giggle in the kitchen and let out a delighted exclamation. A perfect pitch B note. “Patton, my dearest, did you know what Logan wrote me!?”
Patton grinned at him, even more beautiful than Roman’s, he was sure. “You’re in a wonderful mood, I bet it was beautiful.”
“Ah, but ‘twas a lovely pair of haikus that he penned for me! He called me dazzling, and said the sun shines for me! He said the light pales beside my blinding smile!” Roman cried out, leaning backward over the counter and draping and arm over his forehead dramatically.
“Oh, that sounds just like Logan,” Patton said. “He wrote me something similar a few days ago, he compared my eyes to the ocean.”
“They’re beautiful oceans,” Roman proclaimed, and Patton let out another giggle. “They make up for the absolute shit pile my day has been.”
“Oh no, what happened?” Patton asked, frowning.
“Avery happened! You know all about his jealousy of me winning the lead, remember?” Roman pouted.
“Oh yeah! Well that’s too bad that he spoiled your day. I was almost done making some cookies, but if you’re too upset-”
“Too upset for cookies!? Patton, that’s not like you to suggest at all!” Roman gasped, placing his hands on his heart. Patton grinned.
“Well, go get Virgil out of his room. Logan will be home any minute and we can all share the cookies, okay?” Patton offered. Roman grinned.
“Will do, Patty-cake!” Roman assured, and he hurried through the apartment. There were two bedrooms, and all four of them usually piled into Roman and Patton’s room to sleep. However, Virgil and Logan sometimes liked to have their alone time more than the other half of their relationship, so they tended to return to the empty bedroom rather frequently.
Their room had the two separate beds apart, rather than squished together like Roman and Patton’s beds. When Virgil went into his room, it usually meant he was working through a problem, or working on a project.
Virgil was seated on his side of the room, underneath his purple fairy lights, with his keyboard on his lap and his headphones over his ears, plugged into the board. Ah, a secret project then.
“Hey, Dark and Stormy, whatcha playin’?” Roman asked.
Virgil glanced up and pulled off his headphones. “Just making sure it sounds good. I’ll play it for you guys when Logan gets here.”
Roman let out an amused breath through his nose. “Is today something special I forgot about?”
“Maybe,” Virgil said evasively. Roman blinked, as his third boyfriend walked past him towards the living room.
“What do you mean maybe? Is it a birthday!?” Roman cried out. He held up his right hand. “January, November, December… no, no birthdays. Virgil, what’s going on? What’s today!?”
“Not telling!” Virgil teased. Roman dashed after him, but before he could demand an answer, the front door opened and Logan came inside.
“Logan!” Roman cried. “Oh, your poems made my day! I was having a rough time before I read them.”
“Lovely to hear,” Logan chuckled, as he hung his bag on the hooks by the door. “Happy anniversary, Love.”
Roman blinked. “Anniversary?”
Patton poked his head through the counter top window. “It’s the fifth anniversary of the day you confessed your crush on Virgil and I to Logan!”
Roman’s cheeks burned. “You guys kept track of that, I- I didn’t even remember! Our actual polycule anniversary isn’t until Valentine’s Day!”
“I made cookies!” Patton piped up, showing off a tray of heart shaped chocolate chip m&m cookies. Roman’s heart felt full to bursting.
“And, uh, it’s not as impressive as Logan’s way with words, or Patton’s talent with sweets, but. I made a more uplifting version of the song I played the day we met,” Virgil explained, as he set his keyboard onto it’s stand in the living room.
Roman’s eyes watered. “You rewrote a cheerful version of Lost Love in Blue?”
“Yeah. I’m thinking I’ll call it Lost and Found in Rose,” Virgil explained. His cheeks turned red, and Roman immediately sat on the couch.
“Oh, I have to hear it!” Roman proclaimed. Logan and Patton sat on either side of him, and Patton placed a plate of heart shaped cookies on the coffee table in front of them. As Virgil’s fingers danced over the keys, Roman let himself bask in the bond between he and his boyfriends.
And years and years ago, the same song in a minor key was played in an empty high school choir room.
“Hey! Are you okay? That song is really sad!” A young teenager called, and the boy at the piano froze. “My name is Roman, who’re you?”
“…Virgil.”
“Well, what’s this song?” Roman asked.
“I wrote it. It’s called Lost Love in Blue,” Virgil explained. “It’s about my dad.”
“Well, that’s sad. Come meet my friends Patton and Logan! Talking to them is gonna be way better than spending lunch playing sad songs!” Roman offered with a grin. Virgil only hesitated a second. Bit he nodded and grabbed Roman’s hand. The two of them went hand in hand to a lovely future they couldn’t even imagine.
@tsshipmonth2020
#roman sanders#patton sanders#logan sanders#virgil sanders#LAMP/CALM#sanders sides fic#sanders sides#tsshipmonth2020#glorified pigeon writes
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Complainers (A MHA fanfic)
Midorya x Fem! Reader
(A/N : So this is my first fanfic EVER and I've really been into MHA for a while now and I LOVED reading all the fanfics, and I saw this particular ask to a blog if the reader had a writing quirk and how would Midorya and two other characters would react (I am so sorry I forgot the blog who wrote that) but I wanted to put my spin on it and make the reader be into slam poetry and let their tongue be their weapon. This particular poem is by Rudy Fransisco!! Not my original poem!! Hope y'all enjoy!)
youtube
When you write, it's like the whole world around you finally goes silent. You live out the daydreams in your own head feeling the words on the page a safe space. This was your quirk. Even if it didn't seem as great to be in combat fighting villains, at least it's something to fight your inner demons. That to you was enough.
Midorya was well use to the song and dance of getting you to snap out of your world when the bell rings, apologizing in advance. In truth he hates breaking your concentration, he knows full well that he hates the feeling being separated from writing his notes. But he knew you would sit there for hours on end just writing in your book, even if you finish it all in one go you wouldn't notice that you were writing on the desk. (And yes he had to get you out of there and insisted to clean it up for you). Even after all of this he still admired your quirk no less.
The bell had rung for lunch and everyone stood up and packed their books away and walked out one by one. You feel a tap on your shoulder not a minute later, and a familiar soft spoken voice breaks you from your concentration. " Hey, Y/N, I-Its time for lunch" He says with a smile and you close your book and packed it into your bag, walking with him side by side to the lunchroom.
"So what was today's story in your book?" He asked with a smile looking to you.
"Not a story today, I've been into poetry for a while. So I figured I might try something different. " You say smiling back.
"Woah, I didn't know you were into poetry. That seems really cool! What was it about? "
You were always so surprised that he was interested in your work. Since it was such a personal thing to you and you haven't really shown off your work due to self consciousness, he was always very supportive even from the beginning. Later on you realized that he also loved writing. That was one of the many things that formed a great friendship between you both, besides from your love of heroes and nerding out with each other of course!. You both carried out your conversation while getting your lunches. Sitting down on the table along with everyone else smiling and joking you all causally eat your meals. You pull out your notebook, sliding it over to Midorya to take a look after you promised him too. He smiles and opens to the bookmarked paged, but a soon as he does a hand flashes and snatches the book out of his hands.
"Please tell me you don't think your sorry excuse of a quirk would get you into the top ten!" Bakugou loudly exclaiming with a smug look.
Well shit.
While he was chuckling you were about to stand and get it back, but Midorya beat you to it trying to pry it off of his hands, but Bakugou only lifts it up higher. "What's your deal nerd? Trying to stick up for your little girlfriend?" He says chuckling louder.
"S-she's not my girlfriend kachan! Give back her book! It's not yours!" Midorya says with a blush forming on his face. But Bakugou shoves him away and faces you.
"What makes you think that writing fairytale lands and princesses would make you pro hero? That's not going to save you from the real world. What's going to happen if a villain comes in and starts destroying everything around you? You're gonna write him a love story with a happily ever after!? Give me a break! " He says with a laugh.
"Kachan! You need to stop this" Midorya says stepping back up to him. "Not everyone's quirk is perfect!"
"Heh! If you really think she could handle the world on her own-" He says before holding out the book "Let's give her a chance to prove me wrong! "
And just like that, your notebook, your work your safe haven was blown up to flames. Bits of burnt paper flown into the air, your book quickly into ashes. You didn't notice midorya quickly moving to get his water and put the fire out, your eyes was fixated on Bakugou. A smirk had formed on his face that made your heart sink into your stomach. A lump forming within your chest as you fought the urge to cry. He moved his arms and raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to make the next move. But you felt a hand around your arm.
"Y/N, you don't need this now. Let's just go-"
"No... " You say stepping up to Bakugou. Taking one last look at your destroyed book you turn your head back to him. "It's a shame, because the poem I was just writing... Was about you. " You say with a sad smile and a nod. He blinks back in surprise, his smirk growing larger than before. "That's not a good thing.. " You later say. Even though it was still in the works, even if you didnt get to finish it you felt your tongue burn. An unfamiliar sensation forming in your mouth. Usually you would feel it within your hand as you write, a soft glow transferring onto the words you'd write on the page. But now that feeling had made it's way from your throat and to your mouth.
And it's telling you to speak the fuck up.
You took a breath, looked him deep in the eye and let your mouth took the wheel.
"The following are true stories.
May 26th 2003 Aron Ralston was hiking, a boulder fell on his right hand. He waited four days, then amputated his arm with a pocket knife.
On New Year’s Eve, a woman was bungee jumping in Zimbabwe. The cord broke, she then fell into a river and had to swim back to land in crocodile infested waters with a broken collarbone.
Claire Champlin was smashed in the face by a five pound watermelon being propelled by a slingshot.
Matthew Brobst was hit by a javelin.
David Striegl was punched in the mouth. By a kangaroo.
The most amazing part about these stories is when asked about the experience they all smiled, shrugged, and said “I guess things could have been worse.”
So go ahead.
Tell me that you’re having a bad day.
Tell me about the traffic. Tell me about your boss. Tell me about the job you’ve been trying to quit for the past four years. Tell me the morning is just a town house burning to the ground and the snooze button is a fire extinguisher. Tell me the alarm clock stole the keys to your smile, drove it into 7:00 AM, and the crash totaled your happiness.
Tell me! Tell me!
Tell me, how blessed are we to have tragedies so small it can fit on the tips of our tongues?
You see, when Evan lost his legs he was speechless. When my cousin was assaulted, she didn’t speak for forty eight hours. When my uncle was murdered, we had to send out a search party to find my father’s voice.
Most people have no idea that tragedy and silence have the exact same address!
When your day is a museum of disappointments hanging from events that were outside of your control, when you find yourself flailing in an ocean of “Why is this happening to me?”, when it feels like your guardian angel put in his two week notice two months ago and just decided not to tell you, when it feels like God is just a babysitter that’s always on the phone, when you get punched in the esophagus by a fistful of life, remember that every year two million people die of dehydration so it doesn’t matter if the glass is half full or half empty, there’s water in the cup.
Drink it, and stop FUCKING complaining.
Muscle is created by repeatedly lifting things that have been designed to weigh us down. So when your shoulders feel heavy, stand up straight and lift your chin – call it exercise. When the world crumbles around you, you have to look at the wreckage and then build a new one out of the pieces that are still here.
Remember, you are still here.
The human heart beats approximately four thousand times per hour.
Each pulse, each throb, each palpitation is a trophy engraved with the words “You are still alive”...
You are still alive...
Act like it."
When you felt the sensation cool from your lips and the tip of your tongue, Bakugou's eyes were wide. His smirk had fallen. Silence filled around you, even from Midorya. Everyone has seen and heard the whole thing. Just as you were about to walk back to your table to grab your things and leave, you hear a slow clap. Then another. Then another. You turn your head to see everyone clapping and cheering. You smile a little. Bakugou steps back and walks off with a smack of his teeth.
"Tch, whatever weirdo.. " He mumbles under his breath.
You walked over to Midorya smiling and he quickly gives you a hug. "That was amazing! The way you kept firing words at kachan was incredible! I never seen him so speechless like that! " He pulls away with a smile and a blush.
"Oh hehe! It was nothing really" You say forming a blush yourself, looking away shyly.
"I'm really sorry about your notebook though. I could buy you another one and bring it to you tomorrow! "
"Oh no it's okay! I have extras at my house-"
"Nope! It's my treat." He smiles and the bell rings again, making everyone pack up and ready for the next class. Midorya grabs his bag and hands you yours. Making your way back into the building he stops you for a second. "Hey, speaking of treat, d-do you think we could both head out f-for some ice cream after school? " He says with a heavier blush and fiddles with his tie. He always did looked cute when he blushed. You smile and giggle a bit.
"I would love to.. "
(Woah hey! First fanfic done! Hope you all enjoyed that!! 🤣💕)
#my hero academia#midoriya izuku#poetry#slam poetry#deku midoriya#mha fanfiction#mha#izuku x reader#mha bakugou
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bloom
pairing: peter parker x reader
warnings: angst in the beginning but it is fluff!!!
word count: 3.4k, it’s a little long but i love love.
plot: Everyone deserves flowers once in their lives.
A/N: i wrote this for @lovelyspidey and @thelazypangolin’s writing challenge and my prompt was fluff, number 19: “Aw, you got me flowers?” I hope it doesn’t suck and you like it <3
not my gif
Every single second your heart drops lower. Every single second you’re resisting the urge to look towards the door. Every single second your vision become more and more blurry, tears threatening to cause a scene. Every single second you want to melt into the ground and pretend that you didn’t do this. That you didn’t spend hours over agonizing over the perfect outfit and talking about this day to anyone who would listen. Every single second, hope seems lost.
He should be here. He said he would be here. He would meet you at this small cafe that would mark your first date with him. He told you that he was looking for an actual relationship and how serious he was about it. And you believed it all. You believed that your eyes would meet his and everything would fall into place. You believed that you would somehow fall in love to the scent of coffee and the acoustic music that surrounds you. But he isn’t here and love feels fake.
Your attention goes back to your phone that lays face up, illuminating with another text from MJ and Ned. There wasn’t any energy in your body to respond to them, the only text you wanted to read was the one that read Jonah. Of course, it wasn’t there. He was just another guy you met at a random event, who seemed decent enough for you to pursue.
Your phone buzzes again, your friends empty threats at Jonah weren’t comforting at this point. You just feel so stupid, you should have known that he was some asshole who wanted to mess with your head. Yet, you fell for his simple text messages that made you blush through the screen. You ran your mouth about him to your friends, the excitement in your eyes visible to everyone. MJ would roll her eyes, Ned would excitedly support you, and Peter would just smile. The tables have turned and all they can do is comfort you and drag Jonah through the phone that illuminated the time 12:37, making him an hour and thirty-seven minutes late from what should have been a magical day.
Something kept you tied down to your chair even if you know you should leave. It was like your pride was holding you down, your mind in refusal that this wasn’t happening. You were delusional, half-expecting him to stroll in with a perfect excuse. He wasn’t even answering his texts. But you held your ground. The poor waiter you had was too kind to kick you out yet and would occasionally ask if you wanted to order, but each time you denied.
Your eyes were trained onto the fake flowers that divides the table in half. They were screaming color, way too obnoxious for the atmosphere that surrounds you. Noises subdue to the point where you feel out of your body and all you can do was stare down the flowers. You’ve grown so dead to your surroundings that you didn’t even notice the chimes by the door jingle or the footsteps approach you. What you noticed was a voice that cut through your thoughts. The voice that said “(y/n)?”.
Your hands fly to your face, hastily wiping away the stray tears. Your posture instantly straightens out at the sound of your name, relief washing over. Then it hits you, that voice was too familiar. It wasn’t an unknown voice, it was a voice you know time and time again. “Peter?”.
“Hey,” he says. His focus was on the ground, allowing his unkept hair to flop forward. His hands are behind his back and he’s rocking back and forth on his heels, a slight pink undertone dancing on his skin if you aren’t mistaken.
“Uh, hi. Um, what are you doing here?” you ask. As much as you love Peter, you weren’t fond of the idea of him seeing you in this condition. Though there was this sense of comfort knowing he was right there.
Peter still doesn’t pry his eyes off the ground, but he grows a shade brighter. “I, um, well you know how you, you sent out the texts. I didn’t want you to be, to be lonely.”
Your heart melts, he was here for you. “Peter-“
“Here,” Peter says thrusting his hands forward. He was holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers that were filled with life.
“Aw, you got me flowers?” you exclaim. You reach over to take them from him, your hands brushing past each other as he hands them off with the lightest touch. The bouquet was abundant with fragrant, whimsical flowers that brightened up the room.
“Do you like it?” he asks with the softest voice.
You close your eyes, breathing in the aroma of spring. Your cheeks were straining from the smile that manages to grow. The flowers made your heart blossom that it forgets about the heartache. He brought flowers. “Of course I love it, no ones ever brought me flowers before.”
Peter wishes he could capture this moment forever. His heart was swelling in size as he realizes he did that. He made that priceless smile appear on your face that he could see despite the orchids and carnations that block the bottom half of your face. Your eyes give it away, they are crinkling in the corners and sparks of joy were dancing in them as you clutch the flowers close to your heart. “Really?”
“Really what?”
“That no one has, um, brought you flowers?”
“Mhm, no. I always thought getting flowers was the sweetest thing someone could do. It’s just so classic and romantic, you know? I guess it isn’t that common.” You peer up at Peter who was glowing. He was a god-given gift. “You should sit,” you say nodding to the empty chair across from you.
If that’s the way you felt about a simple bouquet, Peter wants to shower you with flowers every day so you can feel that same warmness that made you smile uncontrollably. The love you have for the flowers made Peter want to shield you from the world. You were laying them so cautiously to make sure none of the buds get crushed, it was so pure he can’t handle it.
“So, um, how are you?” he says as he slides in to the seat.
You bite your lip considering the question. You should be disappointed and hurt, which you understandably were. It was like a punch to the gut knowing that Jonah wasn’t going to show up and how the world you built in your head crashed and burned. But then Peter shows up here. He didn’t erase the scarring of the date, but everything seemed to relax back into place like this was always meant to happen. He made the tears dry up and the pain to go away instantly. His presence lifted up your entire mood that you would have forgot about Jonah. “Not sure actually.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, I was on the verge of a breakdown like ten minutes ago, but then you show up here. Then I’m just so happy and content.”
“Oh? I make you happy?,” Peter says wiggling his eyebrows.
You pick up the menu you’ve been staring out for the past hour to hide the growing blush. You laugh as you kick him underneath the table. “I guess? I don’t know, leave me alone.”
Peter can’t leave you alone though. That’s the whole reason why he stopped patrolling to buy some flowers and went to find you at this cafe. There was no way he could go about his life when you were hurting. You deserve so much more than disappointment and heartache. You deserve the entire world for all he cares. He needs to let you know that there are some amazing, wonderful people out in the world. The world wasn’t just filled with assholes who would leave you hanging. Part of him wishes that he was originally the one going on the date with you, but that’s besides the point. Even if he wasn’t the guy on the other side of the table, he just has to know that you’re smiling.
Peter was all butterflies and blooming flowers. He always was around you. He swears that your words sound like the greatest poems ever written and that you were sunshine that could make his days better. He can see the stars in your eyes and he wants to promise you that he’ll always be there for you. He could never get tired of you. There was something about you that made him act like a confident fool. Peter finds himself not caring that he’s embarrassing himself around you, he just wants to see you smile.
And you were. The aching in your heart disappears with each laugh leaving your lips. Peter just knew what to do to make everything smooth over. It was his stupid puns to making up ridiculous stories for every stranger that walks by to buying you the most luscious flowers. Part of you knew he was putting up his best front to put you at ease, but that didn’t matter. All that matters is what was unfolding.
What was unfolding was something Peter would love to do over and over again. Time was only marked by the food growing cold and the stream of customers leaving and entering. He was able to make joke about Star Wars and ramble about his theory of Mjölnir. Maybe he was overthinking it, but he couldn’t get enough of the dynamic between the two of you. The conversation flows easily, no awkward pauses and there was endless topics to discuss. He just knows that the two of you would work out. Peter wishes that you could stay here forever but lunch has to end eventually.
You weren’t oblivious to the sparks flying between one another, but you convince yourself that it’s all in your head. This was just Peter, he was the Peter whose been your friend for years. Whatever was happening, you drown out the thoughts and bask in the moment.
The flowers are back in your hand as you and Peter navigate your way through the crowded streets. He insisted that he would walk you home for a proper ending to this day and you can’t help but smile at his offer. It was a beautiful ending to a tragic start.
The wind whips around your hair as you ask him, “Hey, why’d you buy me flowers?”
“Going full circle huh? Starting the day and ending the day with flowers,” Peter says with a laugh.
“I was just wondering.”
Peter looks over to see you using your arm as a shield against the wind to protect your precious flowers from flying away. All he can think about is how adorable you are and he wishes he could do more. “Um, I thought they would make you happy. That’s what they do in the movies too, buy flowers.”
“You’re the sweetest.” A warm buzz fills you up, but that’s what Peter does. He just makes you unexplainably happy. “Hey, turn here.”
“I heard everyone deserves flowers one in their life,” Peter says with a shrug. When he turns the corner and the apartment comes into view, a part of him deflates.
When you look over to Peter to see him with his hands in his pocket and his face flushing with color. He was precious, he could melt the coldest hearts with those words. He deserves something, he deserves the world. Maybe flowers could be a start before conquering the world for him. “Has anyone ever give you flowers?”
Peter squints his eyes, partly because of the wind, partly in remembrance. The technical answer would be yes. He’s received dozens of roses and lilies that May would proudly display in the middle of the kitchen. But that wasn’t him. It was Spider-man who got all the praise for saving the city and the reward tended to be a shower of flowers. No one has gotten him flowers for being Peter Parker. “No.”
“Then it’s decided, I’m going to buy you the prettiest flowers ever,” you tell him beaming.
Peter could feel his body start to burn up at your plan. “You, you don’t have to.”
“Mhm yeah, but I want to.” The warm air engulfs you as you walk through the doors of your complex, but not before you bump Peters shoulder while he opens the door for you.
Peters heart lurches. “Well, um, I’m just saying you don’t have to get me flowers just because I got you some. I’m not, I’m not expecting anything in return.”
“I know, but I really love the feeling that it gave me. It made so happy and mushy and stuff. I just want you to experience the same feeling because it makes you so warm and fuzzy and everything in the world seems right.”
If Peter wasn’t enchanted already, those words would have made him fall for you and you weren’t even aware. “Just from a bouquet of flowers?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of specific and weird, but it just does. It makes you feel so appreciated and loved. You’ll understand once I buy you some.”
When the elevator opens, Peter wishes he wasn’t standing there. All the sides reflect him becoming red from your innocent compliments that made him was to burst. “You don’t have to-“
“Somebody once told me that everyone deserves flowers once in their lives.” You rub your shoulder against him, completely unaware of the spell you cast on him. However, you were aware of your heart picking up the pace every time you touched.
“I guess it’s too late to take it back?”
“Yup. I’m going to buy you the most amazing flowers and you’re gonna love it.”
Peter can’t help but face you, even if his face was the same shade of a tomato. “Why would you buy me flowers?”
Peter was too humble at times, he could save the world and just shrug at it. He never realizes the magnitude of his actions. But you did. You know there was nothing forcing him to show up to the cafe, but he did. When he did, everything fell into place. He just has this aura about him that made you forget about all the bad things and appreciate life for what it is. “For being an amazing person who deserves the entire world.”
“I’m pretty, um, sure that’s you.” He closes his eyes grimacing at the hesitation. If words flowed beautifully out of his mouth, he would never shut up about the beauty in everything and everyone.
“I thought these flowers were to make me happy.” Involuntarily, your heart starts to race again.
“Well, I’m going to, going to buy you more flowers.”
“More flowers?” Maybe it was the enclosed space, but the air disappears.
Peter shrugs, not noticing the way though start to blush. “Enough to fill your entire apartment.”
“That’s a lot of flowers Parker.” Whatever was happening to you, you didn’t like it. You didn’t like being showered in endless compliments and how Peter was being sickeningly sweet. It felt like your heart was going to explode and every time you looked at him, it made you feel fuzzy. You want to punch him in the face for it. There was no way you can see him in a different light, he’s your friend. A friend that saved your day with flowers, but he’s a friend and all he should be.
“You deserve more really, you deserve every flower that’s ever existed.”
Can he just shut up with the compliments? There is no way you can fall for him, but if he keeps talking you just might. You can’t afford falling for Peter, but you know you’re close to it. He’s always been so caring and kind since you’ve met him and you would be lying if you didn’t think about kissing him one or twice or twelve times, but this time you were dangerously close to falling into him forever. It was different before, they were just random thoughts brought up through teases by friends, but you see it now. You see how you could end up dating him and what the relationship would hold. It would hold sunshine and happy days and endless support. There might be faults, but you didn’t care because you can see it clearly. You can see the good and bad and every time it becomes clearer, the closer you get to the edge.
The only way to escape this trap, was to stop giving him an opportunity to praise you. So you suck in a breath and switch the conversation around to him with “Well, you deserve those flowers and every single flower that’s going to grow.”
“That’s way too much flowers.” The elevator doors part and he doesn’t want this day to end.
“Well, I can start out by buying you a single bouquet before conquering that.”
“Why would you want to buy me flowers though, like um, why me out of everyone?” Peter asks as you fumble for keys. You lead him to your door, but he would know your apartment without your help.
You look over your shoulder as you turn your keys to see him cocking his head and his eyebrows scrunched like he had no genuine idea why someone would do that. Your heart goes out to him. “For being you. You don’t see it but you’re the most considerate, caring person I’ve ever met. You’re the embodiment of everything good and right in the world and you have no clue. Who would even show up to my failure of a date with flowers?” As the words leave your lips, you’re both equally shade of red.
“I, um don’t know?”
“Exactly.” When your door swings open, you don’t want this day to end you realize. That’s the only thought ringing through your head. Then, you know.
You’re hopelessly falling for him against every aching bone in your body. He pushed you over the edge and now you’re going be free falling right into him. Maybe it was unconscious before, but now it isn’t. It was brought to the surface against your will, that Peter had your heart. Something was telling you to run away from your feelings, but you can’t. It’s refreshing, like breathing in the scent of spring after a long, cold winter. In retrospect, you should have seen it coming, you simply can’t think about kissing someone and get over it, but you didn’t see it. It hit you out of nowhere. Now the truth runs wild in your head and everything turns in butterflies and summer days. Everything was so good and real. All you wanted to do is hold him and never let go.
“(y/n)?” Peter says cutting through your thoughts.
You shake your head, snapping yourself out of your daze, but the epiphany lingers. Something holds you back from entering and it was undoubtedly Peter. Peter who has your heart. “Thank you for the flowers and- everything.”
“It was nothing,” Peter says with a shrug.
You turn around, for one more look, one more glance. “It really meant a lot.”
Peter wants to do something more for you because that’s what you deserve. All he did was buy some flowers. “I did nothing.”
You can blame this on the adrenaline later you tell yourself as you lean over to kiss his cheek. He needs to know that this wasn’t nothing. This was everything. “You mean a lot to me.”
“I-, you-, um,” Peter stutters out but with a goofy smile placed on his face. His heart was through the roof because you were there and you kissed him. Maybe it was on the cheek, but god help him. You would think he just got married with all of the excitement running through him.
You laugh as Peter tries to organize his thoughts, but nothing comes out of him. Part of you is wondering if that was the right move, but you know it is. His smile was contagious. It was a smell step, but it was something. “I’ll see you soon Peter. I’ll have flowers when I do.”
The next time you saw him, you had flowers in hand and a blooming heart.
tagging some mutuals who may like this:
@tomshufflepuff @hollandsosterfield @theamazingspiderlingg @honeyccoated @marvelousmorales @poetrypeter @princeofsassgard
#peter parker#peter parker oneshot#peter parker one shot#peter parker oneshots#peter parker one shots#peter parker x you#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker fluff#peter parker imagines#peter parker imagine#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker fic#tom holland#lafebwc#marvel#marvel imagines#marvel imagine#marvel fanfiction
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Postage
Another Brittana attempt to keep writing. Also on FF.net.
The recesses of the half-open curtains did let the golden glimmer of mid-afternoon sunlight into the room. Bright roads where flecks of dust flew, fluttering in a circular dance, over the scene that was unfolding in that room, where a blonde, blue-eyed woman, sitting on the floor in the Indian style, reviewed belongings and junk surrounded by cardboard boxes and souvenirs.
Brittany, 29, struggled to focus on the mechanical task of pick-examine-save/throw-repeat, trying not to think about why she had to do it, or the consequences of recognizing the reality that lived in the form of memories between those papers. Her aunt Stephany, the woman who had raised her after her parents' death, had passed away after a long and painful illness; and it was Brittany's job, as the only family she had left, to take over her belongings; the one who had the job of determining what was going to the trash and what was left, in the form of a memory, to torment her.
Cleaning was, however, the least important thing. Once finished, the boxes would return to the storage room from which they should have never left and Brittany would try again to live in the new reality that the death of her aunt had created: an empty apartment, a lounge without an armchair under the spring sun (she had found her sitting there, already corpse, a few weeks ago very early in the morning; after her aunt, that chair was the next victim), and, ultimately, a new life marked by loneliness and a house too big for a single woman and so many memories of other times; if not happier, at least more in company.
Brittany was not what what we could define was extrovert, no: in her 29 years she had managed to gather a brilliant record of friendly failures, some failed attempts of romance; and a noble but sensitive heart that had to cover itself with a thick cloak to emerge more or less unscathed from the life that she was told to live. Brittany, however, was pragmatic: she did not disdain good company when she had the opportunity to take advantage of it; it was simply that the blonde had more appetite for a quiet afternoon with a good book or playing cards with her aunt than for nights full of bustle, strobe lights and sharp screams, meaningless exchanges and empty conversations. It was not isolation, it was ... well, maybe it was, she sighed inwardly, closing the box on which she was working, already full of unnecessary papers, but which she had decided to keep nontherless; and moving on to the next one.
This introversion had not been a problem for his professional career; On the contrary: Brittany was good at what she did, whatever it was, because she took each job with passion and dedication, and her desire to do it well, whether it was washing dishes, serving tables or correcting manuscripts; That ended up by attracting the attention of her bosses and guaranteeing her good job prospects. "Whatever you do, do it well", her aunt always told her. She allowed herself a small smile as she opened the last box, but quickly busied herself erasing it from her face and concentrating on the content of the last pitfall between her and the empty room next door. Seeing its content, however, she could not prevent the smile from returning to her face, and this time she did not fight against it.
In that cardboard box her aunt had kept her collection of comics: Batman, Spiderman, X-Patrol, you name it; all the comics her aunt bought for her every and other week, as a reward for her good behavior. Brittany loved to review those old pages, full of characters so familiar to her, but at the same time so old, much more than her; and it comforted her to think that she somehow connected with other worlds while she navigated between their pages, thinking of all the boys, now men; who they had also laughed and cried with the adventures of their favorite heroes.
Following this impulse, her hands went unconsciously to the first section that she always read as a child: correspondence. Tradition today disappeared, these old youth magazines were accompanied by a section where their young readers could send letters, poems, riddles or little jokes to be published in the section; and Brittany was sure that many of them still kept, with secret pride, that particular comic book where their small contribution was published.
Her favorite part of this section was always the exchange of letters: a piece of paper, an address and an universe of possibilities available to anyone's pen. At that moment, Brittany sighed. She had never been encouraged to write to any of the addresses that appeared in her comics, either because she never connected with any of the letters that were published there; or in some other case, out of shame, and fear to express her illusions of finding a related soul in a paper and that the letter would return unopened. Or worse, to never get a response.
Remembering those doubts, which made her debate in front of blank sheets of paper that eventually never took the form of a letter, Brittany noticed one of the columns of the magazine in front of her. There, one Marvin W. Hodges wrote to the world to offer his friendship to everyone who shared his passions for Batman (the best detective in the world), videogames and reading. Being fifteen years old at the time (Brittany verified that the publication date of the magazine was 1985, right now that Marvin was already a man about her own age), the letter and its contents were quite the use of a teenager in general; but it was the last phrases that caught the attention of the blonde beyond her memories: "Although I like to read everything and give any story a chance to conquer me, I never read or read better or bigger phrase than" In my world, Great Expectations only live between the pages of a book. ' A literature lesson in the heart of a few letters. "
Brittany was not ten years old anymore, shame was the least of her worries now. But the death of her aunt Stephany had left her in a state of emptiness, of emotions contained by the thickest of walls to keep her from falling into utter despair. That phrase, well known to Brittany as a young woman and even as an adult, got what her aunt's advice had not achieved during all the previous years: that those feelings of modesty before the rejection of a stranger seemed the biggest nonsense . Recognizing in other letters the words of one of the lines of her favorite book, Brittany thought that she had finally achieved the impossible until now: find someone like her, with whom she could connect through some letters, or some notes, or the simplest nonsenses that the brain invents. Someone like her aunt. Someone she knew it was out there, but who insisted on not letting herself be found. Until now?
Determined, she squeezed the magazine between her hands and lifted her chin, a resolution gleaming in her cerulean eyes that had not been there since the morning of Stephany's death. Why not? The worst that can happen is that nobody answers, she told herself as she got up effortlessly from the floor, still holding the magazine, and went to the desk under the window to start a new adventure. Which, she hoped, distracted her from the pain of Stephany's absence for a while, before she had to get used to living without her.
The sound of the closing door echoed through the walls of the empty apartment. With a sigh, the brunette woman left her keys on entrance's table and balanced herself to remove her coat without releasing what she was carrying in her hands. If she left the bag full of groceries on the floor, she knew that she would end up dragging them through the floor to the kitchen later. Practice makes perfect, and she managed to keep the bag and the correspondence that she had just picked up from the mailbox in one hand still stable, while with the other she hung the coat on the coat rack; and went to the kitchen to release ballast.
Once she had crossed the threshold, she carefully placed the bag on the table and went to the other side of the counter, where the only window in the room was, to quickly review the contents of the mailbox. The placement responded to a double motive: March in Lima was beginning to behave as usual, and at 4 o'clock in the afternoon the storm could be chewed in the air. The dark clouds obscured the little light that the twilight already left on the city, and the kitchen was almost in complete darkness; but the brunette refused to spend energy on the five minutes that would take to verify that the letters were either advertising or bills. After this, she would throw them into the trash can that she had right under her eyes, the #2 for her placement in the kitchen. Review-wrinkle/save -repeat, simple. Then, since it was still early, she would have a good shower and then dinner.
Thinking about whether the aubergines would not be too heavy for the last meal of the day, she left the last cable bill on the countertop to keep it in place with the others later and then noticed the next letter, one of the two they had to look. Suddenly, she forgot about the shower and the aubergines when she opened the envelope and took out the cardboard card, broken white color and full of printed pink ribbons, that was addressed to her in printing calligraphic typography and exaggerated italics. To Santana Lopez / +1.
Unconsciously, she rolled her eyes before finishing reading the invitation to the wedding. Right now she did not remember who she was exactly, but the name tickled her memory, they were classmates at some time in the past. Middle school? High school? It couldn't have been at college, I would remember ... or not? I can't put a face to the name either... it can not be that chubby girl...? She whispered, to herself, while reading that Mindy and Hugh were happy to invite her to celebrate with them the happiest day of their lives, and urged her to be at the Lima Presbyterian Church on Sunday, May 5 at 11:00 o'clock in the morning. to be a witness to their liaison, and later attend the meal that will take place to commemorate such a great event for the couple, relatives and various friends. Many greetings from Mindy and Hugh. RSVP.
She had a few seconds of hesitation, she had to admit it. But finally the impulse got the better of her and she broke the card in four before throwing it away. Maybe it was the remorse, or simply that the day invited to melancholy, but she remained for a long time looking at the broken cardboard, which seemed to shine against the black plastic bag. She could not explain why, but that invitation had given her a good kick in the ass. She had even left her for a while without air in her lungs. Why? If she did not even remember that girl anymore, she did not care at all if she got married or pierced her nipples. Then why? Having answered no to the invitation would have been enough. May you be very happy and all that, and we will see each other in the next life. At that moment, Santana sighed. Without wanting to do it, she had found the why.
Wish you happiness. May it go well for you, I wish you a prosperous and happy marriage. Blah blah blah. And after the parade, back home, alone. To work; to decide if the aubergines are good at night. If she should turn on the light or not for ten minutes she'll be in the kitchen. To live with a lot of room in the closet and a bottle of pills in the first drawer of her nightstand to close her eyes and not feel trapped in a life that no longer recognizes as her own..
When is that you get used to be accustomed to life? It is a question that Santana asked herself many times. When does you stop believing in the stories of the books, full of decisions and consequences? Full of something, period? And when you get used to the fact that life really is a succession of days, with its nights, in which the emotion of decisions and mistakes come out of yourself, instead from coming from the outside? Where the hell was that succesion from which everyone leaves and enters at will around her? College, work, house, marriage, children, grandchildren? And the weekends out? And the retirement in Florida? I had the college degree, I had the job, I had the house, and I had a succession of minutes and hours as my life, nothing more. What it's left for me to do?
Sighing, she allowed herself one more moment of tribulation before moving on to the next letter, the last one; to throw it away, whatever it says, to start your shower plan, dinner and we will see next. Strong emotions, indeed. What Santana still did not know, while opening an envelope that she had not noticed too much, was that this letter was not for her. And that, even so, it was going to give her what she had been asking for so long in silence.
Dear Marvin:
I hope you do not get scared when you receive a letter today, after so many years, but it was precisely today when I found an old copy of the #35 Detective Comics where your address came from; and when reading your letter to the magazine I have needed to write you these words. I do not even know if you will receive them, maybe you are dead, or you no longer live there... but I had to try. Because in fifteen years it has been passed, your letter has managed to encourage me to write to other people, something that fills me with fear, but at the same time it moves me, thinking about all the possibilities that this can entail; and why did you end your letter quoting one of my favorite writers, David Martín; and, by its mouth, the great Zafón, in The Angel's Game. Marvin, my great expectations also live between the pages of that book, and I only hope that this letter, in some way, reaches you; and feel the same thing that I felt when reading your words: that, somehow, having found us, even if only through an old magazine, we could get to exchange some thoughts or ideas, to try to get those hopes from between the pages and bring them to the real world.
Again, I'm sorry if this catches you outright, and I understand if you do not want to answer; Even so, I wish you all the best, and I hope you have found some hope, however small, outside the books.
Take care,
Brittany
After reading the letter, Santana blinked slowly. Once. Twice. One more time. I still did not understand very well what I had just read. Disconcerted, she took the envelope from the counter and searched for the sender. That was it, she had opened the envelope without realizing it, and that letter was not for her. Marvin W. Hodges. 154 S Metcalf Street Lima OH 45804. She had been living in that apartment for at least five years, and she knew from the real estate agency that it was been in the market for so long, so that Marvin must have lived among those walls more than twenty years ago.
To think that she had a personal handwritten letter in her hands, after years of not receiving any (although this one had not been for her either, really? Would this be a crime?), that stirred something inside her chest. A rare ... emotion? Yes, to think that someone had been rummaging through some old magazines and had found something that had turned her insides up so much, to take her to write to a stranger ... It was something new, something she would never have expected. Something that removed her insides too.
But what caught her attention the most, that managed to put a sincere smile on her face, was the literary reference. God, how many years had passed since I read that book ... It featured one of her favorite characters, which she counted among her most intimate friends, and she continued to identify strongly with her, her strong will and the courage she displayed throughout the series to pursue her destiny. Although, Santana thought with some bitterness, imitating her with fifteen years seemed easier than now with 30. Distracted by her thoughts, she went to the living room without paying much attention to the shopping bag she was waiting for her at the kitchen table. She had more important things to do. How to get rid of the idea of answering that letter that was not addressed to her. Or convince herself to sit at the table, take the paper she had and the first pen available and vomit over the paper all her thoughts: that this stranger had achieved, with just one letter, stir all the sadness that had kept inside her chest for years. She did not really know which of the two she would choose at the end.
Dear Brittany:
I apologize for my audacity in answering this letter that is not addressed to me, but seeing the effort you have put into your words, I felt responsible in some way, so I have decided to answer you. Marvin Hodges no longer lives here. I do not know what happened to him, because I came to this apartment five years ago, and from what I know of from the real estate people, it took a long time between rentals, so I guess it would have been the house of his parents at some point, which Marvin left after putting your contact address in the magazine. I'm sorry if this disappoints you, but the truth is that I can not say the same. Brittany, reading your words has been like opening the window to a new world that I thought was buried in my memories. I have also read Zafón's books many times, and many others later, but Great Expectations quote is still the best for me, because it is still the one I identify with the most.
I apologize for this diatribe, in which a bored thirty-something years old complains about life is going and going around her, while she remains stuck in her memories of other happier times, but somehow I know that you will forgive me and, I hope that, somehow, you understand my desire to start living and stop surviving.
I know I'm not Marvin, and we really do not know each other and surely this will seem crazy, but I think that even with all this, we could try to catch some of those great expectations from those pages and try to mash them together, see if is there is something worthy in them for us.
Again, thank you for your letter ("your letter." Anyway, I hope you are ok with this, wherever you are, Marvin), and I sincerely hope to read you soon.
Sincerely,
Santana Lopez.
Three years later…
Brittany was busy closing the last boxes. She still had to collect half of the bookshelf, pack the rest of the books and take down the boxes, so that tomorrow they moving guys would pick them. Taking a breath, she passed her forearm across her sweat-beaded forehead and sighed, tired. The summer sun fell on her because it was coming in full force through the windows, sans curtains anymore. It had been the first thing she had packed, and now she was paying for it suffering the heat.
After hearing the front door close, the noise echoing through the walls of the almost empty apartment, she got up quickly and went to the bookshelf to finish emptying it. While placing ordered by size and weight the volumes on the floor, next to the box where they tended to fit; she took one in her hands which she had not read in a long time. Standing there, she smiled nostalgic. It had always been one of his favorite books, but for almost three years now it had another meaning, much deeper than her teenage readings and the memories of distant days that those pages brought her.
Keeping her smile, she turned with the book still in her hand when she felt a presence behind her. There, at the door, Santana was waiting, leaning against the frame, with one hand holding her six months bump. She could not help but smile when she saw her wife, it was automatic since that distant afternoon when she received the first letter and Brittany disarmed her for the first time. But now the smile widened when she saw what she had in her hands.
No words were needed. Many had already been said. Brittany simply put the book back on the shelf and approached her wife to kiss her gently on the lips, and caress her belly with one of her hands, which entwined it with her wife's at the bottom of her belly.
It had been years since their Great Expectations no longer lived among books' pages.
fin.
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Breathless- an Anderperry oneshot
It’s been years since I’ve attempted writing any fanfiction, but something about Anderperry literally inspired me to the point where I HAD to write something.
Rated: M for language
Todd’s trying to write a poem about the boy he’s fallen for, without much luck. Neil shows up and distracts him. Fluffy first kiss stuff bc I love them.
Let me know what you guys think, and if you’d read more if I wrote it. I’m so inspired by these two oh my god
God, why was this so difficult?
Autumn sunlight streamed through the window, casting uneven shadows on Todd’s notebook as he sat on his bed, racking his brain for words that could somehow encapsulate how he felt.
Normally, he didn’t have issues like this when it came to his poetry. Nature, freedom, truth— for any other topic, words seemed to flow directly onto the page, as if he hardly needed to try at all.
But this was different. This was Neil.
Neil. Even thinking the name was enough to make Todd’s stomach explode with butterflies and his heart pound in his chest. He honestly couldn’t tell if he was lucky or unlucky to have this boy as his roommate, this boy whose smile and eyes lingered in his head for hours, relentlessly distracting him from anything and everything.
No words seemed good enough to describe Neil. Nothing seemed to do him justice, to articulate just how goddamn perfect he was to Todd. And although Todd was certain that this poem would never be shared, for some reason that made it all the more important to get right. At least he had at least another ten minutes before Neil got back from rehearsal.
Suddenly, the door opened, and there he was.
Todd’s face flushed pink as Neil entered the room, script in hand, grinning. He was back early. Neil shut the door behind him and pressed his back up against it, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly. “Todd, I swear to God, this is what I want to do for the rest of my life.”
Paranoid as he was that Neil would see the title of the poem that was sitting in his lap, Todd couldn’t hold back a smile. “Neil, I’m so happy for you.”
“I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round, through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier,” Neil recited, ecstatic, dropping his script and running right up to Todd with that smile that made his knees go weak, “Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound, a hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire!”
Todd laughed, Neil’s joy was more infectious than anything he had ever known before. He was so lost in Neil’s excitement that he almost forgot about the notebook in his lap, until—
“Hey, have you been writing? What about?”
Todd panicked, grabbing the notebook and pressing it up against his chest. “Um, I— it’s nothing,” he stammered. The last thing he needed was for Neil to find out… well, everything.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Todd, I’m sure it’s great. Remember your poem in Mr. Keating’s class? You’re a natural.” Neil said kindly, sitting down next to him on the bed.
“Um.. it’s not finished yet… I…” Todd scrambled to come up with an explanation, gripping the notebook against his chest for dear life, trying to ignore the fact that Neil was sitting so close to him, let alone where they were sitting.
Neil smirked at him, making Todd’s breath catch in his throat. “Okay,” Neil said cheekily, as if he was hiding something. He began to stand up, and Todd finally began to relax, when suddenly—
Neil grabbed the notebook out of Todd’s hands and Todd’s stomach dropped. Shit!
Neil started running to the other side of the room, and Todd chased after him in a panic. “Neil, please, give it back!” he begged, not wanting Neil to see the title on the page, really not wanting Neil to see the little hearts. He was so focused on his task that he completely forgot that Neil had dropped his script on the floor.
Just as Neil turned back to look at him, grinning, Todd tripped over Neil’s script and stumbled, falling forward. Seeing the shock on the other boy’s face as he started to fall, Neil reacted without even thinking, reaching out and grabbing Todd, preventing him from falling and dropping the notebook in the process.
It had all happened so fast, Todd could barely believe the moment was real. Neil’s left arm was firmly grabbing his, and his right arm was wrapped around the small of Todd’s back. And on top of all that, their faces were barely a few inches apart. Todd was suddenly breathless.
The eye contact was electric, intense, and unblinking. Neil’s eyes flickered down to Todd’s lips for not even half a second, and Todd’s knees went so weak that he silently thanked God that Neil was already holding him up.
Todd could barely process reality as he became aware of Neil’s breath against his lips and holy shit he’s so close and his heart was pounding as he realized the three inches between their faces had shrunk down to two… one…
“N-Neil,” he began to stammer, but he could barely form the word before Neil’s lips were on his.
It was like nothing Todd had ever felt before, like fireworks and electricity deep inside him. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined he would ever actually get to kiss Neil Perry, and here he was, lips soft and full and delicious, kissing him back more passionately than Todd could have ever dreamed. He felt intoxicated, his knees completely buckling from under him, Neil’s vice grip on his back tighter than ever. Todd never wanted this to end.
The kiss couldn’t have lasted longer than ten seconds, but when the two boys finally pulled apart Todd could have sworn that it lasted at least ten minutes. Dizzy, flustered, and breathless, Todd almost refused to believe that they really just kissed, but when he opened his eyes, there was Neil, looking just as stunned and red-faced as him.
‘Neil?” Todd said softly, hesitantly, looking up into the other boy’s eyes. “Did that really just happen? Did— did you just kiss me?”
Neil nodded, staring so intently at Todd that he almost felt Neil could see inside his head. “You… you kissed me back.”
“Of course I kissed you back,” Todd breathed out, unable to hold back with Neil still holding him like this. “I thought— I mean, I never wanted to assume that you were—”
“I know. I know. I didn’t either—”
“But this means you are—”
“Yes, Todd, I am gay, and—”
Neil was cut off by Todd’s eager lips on his this time, and he melted into the kiss, Todd suddenly feeling vastly more sure of himself than he did a minute ago.
When the kiss broke, Neil’s eyes stayed shut for half a second longer, as if he was trying to process that this was reality, his breaths coming slow and heavy.
“Todd… I… I’ve wanted this for so long,” he finally said, opening his eyes to look at the blond boy.
“You too?” Todd asked breathlessly, still in disbelief.
“Yeah,” Neil said, unable to keep himself from smiling. “I feel like I need to pinch myself.”
“So do I,” said Todd, before suddenly realizing the possible consequences of this. “Neil, but what about your father?”
Neil’s brow furrowed, concerned, before he suddenly and decidedly shook his head. “No. Fuck my father, he’s not taking this away from me too.”
“Are you sure?”
“More than I’ve ever been.”
Todd looked at Neil for a moment, and his mind began to buzz through the realm of possibilities opening up before him now that his feelings were confirmed to be reciprocal. Holy shit. Is this heaven?
“So…” Todd said knowingly, confidence rising. “There’s nobody else in here.”
Neil raised his eyebrows. “That’s true,” he started, a smirk forming on his lips. “What do you suggest we do?”
Todd’s heart skipped a beat, enjoying the building tension. “Clearly, what we should always aim to do.” He looked directly into Neil’s eyes. “Seize the day.”
“Well, I can’t argue with that,” Neil breathed out, pressing his forehead against Todd’s. “Carpe diem.”
And with that, they were kissing again, and Todd knew that from now on, he would never run out of words when it came to describing Neil. This poem had practically written itself.
#let me know if this is completely embarrassing or actually good bc i really dont know anymore#i just love them so goddamn much and i just felt compelled to write something#anderperry#dps#todd anderson#neil perry#dead poets society#neil/todd#dps fanfic#dps fanfiction#dead poets#anderperry fanfic#writing tag
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An Outlander Christmas Carol
This is one I wrote. Began wondering what exactly Frank knew. And what if he'd been redeemed into telling the truth regarding what he knew and therefore given the chance to live. Part One.
***
John Wolverton Randall was dead as a doornail. That must be understood or nothing good can come from the tale I am about to relate. Frank Wolverton Randall his descendant sat alone in his office at Harvard University. He sighed. He looked down at the papers his friend Reverend Wakefield sent him. By God it couldn't be true. But … it was. They had found him. God, was it possible? Lord, it had to be. Claire. His wife. She'd said when she came back how she'd gone through the stones. To another time. To another man. Married him. Loved him. Carried his child. And had never forgot him. Brianna, his beloved daughter Brianna Ellen Randall was that child.
He looked at the prison records again. There it was. James Fraser from Broch Tuarach … Ardsmuir 1755. He looked again at the document that got him started over nine years ago a deed of succine for Lallybroch an estate in the Highlands. On the document three signatures a Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser, witness. Claire Elizabeth Fraser. Witness. And a James Alexander Malcolm McKenzie Fraser. God. It almost gave him an apolexy when he'd read that at the time. Claire, when she showed up out of nowhere. In 1948. Heartbroken. Malnourished, garbed in 18th century clothing and pregnant. She'd told her story but he hadn't believed her. They'd stayed together and moved to Boston to start anew with his new job at Harvard. But try as he might she'd stayed aloof and wouldn't let him in. He loved Claire but she couldn't or wouldn't forget Jamie and was haunted by his loss. As a result they'd fought bitterly. His marriage was a shell … he found solace in younger women but stayed with Claire refusing to give up Brianna.
He sighed. That was eighteen years ago. Finally he had found the nerve and courage to finally leave Claire. For the last ten years he'd been seeing another woman a former student Sandra Jennings now a colleague. They had been friends then finally last year given in to the sexual attraction between them. He tried to stay true to his marriage but his feelings for Sandy were too strong and they'd been together ever since.
Frank had accepted a job position from Oxford in their history department. He was leaving Boston and taking Sandy and Brianna with him.
He looked at the second package the Reverend had sent him. It was an article in a journal. The Reverend thought it was unusual because it quoted lines from a poem by Robert Burns that hadn't been written yet. God, how was that possible? Unless the man somehow had knowledge of the future. A sedition pamphlet the Reverend pointed out the author… a printer Edinburgh 1765 an Alexander Malcolm. Lord, he thought in horror? Could it be? Could it be Claire's Jamie?
I need to tell her, he thought as he let himself in the house they still shared. Claire would likely be at the hospital as it was Christmas Eve. As a surgeon she liked to spend time with the children handing out gifts and singing Christmas carols. Frank himself had no use for this time of year anymore. It was too commercial and he buried himself in his work, his research and Sandy and Brianna of course. His relationship with Claire had frozen over years ago. There was no reaching her. With Brianna with her friends Claire would stay at the hospital for most of the evening and Frank would be here alone. Sandy had left two days ago for England. He and Brianna would join her in a few days. But first he had to finish packing and tell Claire when she came home later that he was leaving her. And divorcing her and taking Brianna with him. They would have it out once and for all.
Coming downstairs after packing up the rest of his things Frank poured himself a stiff dram and looked about the room. So many memories here. Dinner parties when he and Claire had just moved in. Birthday and Christmas parties when Brianna was growing up. Hard to believe she was a young woman of eighteen in her first year in the history program at Harvard. He hoped she could adjust to the switch to Oxford. He had yet to tell her anything – he would surprise her with a trip to England and tell her after. Brianna, tall with bright red hair and blue eyes resembled the portrait he’d found in a museum near Oxford. He wondered as he looked at it at the time the woman in the painting was her ancestor. While Brianna resembled Claire she certainly didn't have Claire's wild curly hair and brown eyes. She had a temper like her mother though he thought. She must take after her father Frank thought bitterly.
***
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the coffee shop on main street
creative writing 3/20/18 2:07pm
carolynne had just entered the coffee shop, leaving the cold october air outside and was quickly surrounded in warmth and the smell of bread and coffee. that was probably one of her favorite scents. she ordered her usual, iced coffee light cream and light sweetener. she took a seat by the window and waited for her drink to be called, while she admired the colorful leaves falling softly to the ground. this was her favorite season. she loved how the air was fresh and slightly windy, how the leaves were yellow and orange and red, how it smelled outside as if fall had its own scent (she was sure of it), how november and december had a holiday each month that would bring her family together.
"iced coffee, light cream and light sweetener." the girl behind the counter called out.
"thank you." she smiled and grabbed her cold drink, taking her seat by the window once more.
carolynne took a sip of her coffee and closed her eyes, letting the drink linger on her tongue before swallowing it. if she had to drink one thing for the rest of her life, it would be iced coffee. she was staring outside, watching the sun dip lower and lower behind the clouds and the buildings that lined up downtown. the sound of the bell signaling the door opening brought her out of her daze, and her eyes landed on a tall boy with curly hair. she was sure she had never seen him around her small town before and she's in this coffee shop everyday and has never seen his face, so she was curious and stared at him. when he made eye contact with her, she grew embarrassed and looked away pulling out her laptop and binder from her backpack. she loved doing homework there, it was peaceful, warm, smelled good and there was free wifi (who could turn down the free wifi part?).
she started with her journalism class, reading and editing a twenty page short story that her professor wrote and assigned to the class. as she was reading, she would glance at the boy with curly hair, sitting a few tables from her, reading a book that she couldn't see the title to. when carolynne finished with her journalism assignment, she moved on to her favorite class, creative writing. the assignment was to write an ten page short story, about her first heartbreak. that would be easy for her, she could probably write over ten pages about the boy she's grown to hate. she was good at expressing herself and writing.
she began typing the first page, but she found it a little hard to type about the boy who ripped her heart out of her chest six months ago. she sighed and took another sip of her coffee. carolynne took another glance at the boy, and she smiled at him when she noticed he was already staring at her. wow, he is a beautiful boy, she thought when he smiled back at her. she looked down at her computer and started typing the second page of her short story. each page got harder and harder to type.
carolynne got really into her assignment, she was pouring out her thoughts and feelings into the story, typing what seemed like a thousand words a minute. she didn't even notice the boy standing by her table, until he cleared his throat. she jumped a little and looked up at him.
"sorry,” the boy chuckled. “But i can hear your excessive typing from across the shop." he chuckled. his raspy deep voice was almost angelic to her ears.
she smiled at him and took in his features. dark green eyes, soft pink lips, a beauty mark by his mouth and literally the perfect smile.
"i'm sorry, i get really into my writing sometimes and my fingers just can't stop typing." carolynne said, returning the smile.
"i’m harry," he said, extending his hand for her to shake. as their hands touched she noticed he had a few (a lot) tattoos scattered on his hands and arms. that’s hot.
"i’m carolynne."
"and what are you writing so passionately about, carolynne?" harry asked, taking the seat right across from her.
"oh," she said, immediately shutting the laptop. she wouldn't mind letting him read one of her short stories or poems, she loved letting people read them and hearing their opinions. but this one, about her first heartbreak, was not something she wanted him to see. "just a short story for my creative writing class. nothing special."
he looked at her laptop, and back at her eyes and raised his eyebrow.
"do you have any that you don't mind me reading? i'm quite the reader." he said, holding up his book. carolynne read the title, The Great Gatsby. she looked at him for a minute and thought about a few stories and poems she had that she wouldn't mind letting him read.
"i have a few."
so, carolynne handed him her laptop and watched his facial features react to her writings. there was one about her favorite season, who and what made her smile, what she was scared of, what made her sad, and so on. he would lightly smile, chuckle, frown or be unreadable. and she enjoyed every minute of it. she thought it was kind of perfect. she loved to write and he loved to read. and sitting there watching him read the things she wrote made her smile. she laughed at herself and shook her head. i’m probably never going to see this kid again, she thought, why am i so flustered over him?
"you know," he said, sliding her laptop back over to her when he was done reading. "i'm a little scared of thunderstorms too."
this made carolynne laugh. she forgot about that being one of her fears that she wrote about.
"they are pretty fucking terrifying to me," she added, making them both laugh a little bit.
harry thought about how he only knew carolynne for about twenty minutes, but he admired carolynne. he felt like he knew her because of the things he read that she wrote about herself and other people. he liked the way way she wrote about her favorite things and the imagination she had when she wrote about fictional things. harry watched her take a drink of iced coffee and sigh in frustration at whatever she was typing on her computer once again.
"so what is it your writing that is so secretive?" he wondered.
carolynne was hoping he would ask that question. she didn't want to explain anything or talk about it.
"it's about my first real heartbreak." she confessed.
there was something about the way she said it. harry knew she didn't want to talk about it, and he felt bad for even asking. he wanted to change the subject. but just as he was about to think of something to talk about, there was a slight rumble coming from outside. he made eye contact with carolynne, they both knew the sound of thunder too well. she looked out of the window and noticed rain falling from the sky, a little too hard.
"was that thunder?" carolynne whined, even though she already knew the answer. she could feel herself growing worried. every time there's a thunderstorm, she asks her mom to go over or she goes to her moms. she knew it was silly, she's eighteen years old and cant even sit through a storm without the comfort her mom.
"i think so-" harry started, but was interrupted by another rumble coming from outside. only this one was louder. harry did think that storms were a little scary but he was nowhere near as terrified as carolynne.
"fucking great. i walked from my house and i didn’t even bring an umbrella and my mom is out of town so she cant come over like she always does when it storms and i can feel the anxiety starting to-."
"hey," harry interrupted, he could tell she was freaking out by her tone and how fast she was talking. "it's gonna be okay. we can sit here until the storm is over. and we can talk about something to distract you from the thunder, and if it's too loud then we can just listen to music. yea?"
carolynne smiled at harry. she thought it was sweet how he was trying to comfort her.
"okay."
harry and carolynne spent the next hour talking about their favorite things, things they didn't like, what made them happy and what made them sad, who their favorite artists were and what their dream job was. they didn't even noticed that the storm had passed. during the little time they spent together, they grew to adore each other. and since then, they met at the coffee shop almost everyday, reading, writing and admiring each other.
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Oshogastu
(In honor of it being the new year, have a sappy, somewhat New Year’s themed one shot. Oshogatsu, by the way, is the Japanese New Year holiday/festival.)
Guy X OC
Rated E
For three days, Konoha was home to one of the world’s largest New Year’s festivals. Tourists flocked to the village from all over not only the Land of Fire, but other neighboring countries, in order to enjoy the specialty foods and festivities the village had become famous for over the years. Genin decorated homes with beautiful ornaments and strung warm, decorative lights throughout the main thoroughfares, where merchants rented storefronts or opened stalls to ply their wares.
Mitsume hadn’t been able to attend the festival since her days in the Academy. It seemed fate always conspired to see to it she was away on a mission of one sort or another whenever the holiday came around, returning home in time to see the vendors packing up and genin cleaning trash off the streets. For once, however, she had managed to avoid being saddled with any such mission – largely because Tsunade hadn’t cleared her to return to active duty, but she was free, nonetheless.
Unexpectedly, Guy was as well. He had actually been given a week long mission to the Land of Waves, however, Kakashi had kindly volunteered to take the escort mission instead, claiming he was going stir crazy after two weeks in the hospital himself. Even Tsunade had realized what he was doing, and once he and Guy – who was sobbing and thanking his rival for his sacrifice – had finally left her office, she had handed Mitsume a few ryo to buy Kakashi some sweets for his return, since he would have to leave before the festival actually started.
The hardest part about getting ready was prying Guy away from his rival, which took not only Mitsume but Lee, Neji, and Naruto - after Lee stopped crying about how beautiful it was for Kakashi to give Guy the opportunity to spend New Years with his loved ones, anyway. She still had the kimono her mother gave her a couple of years ago, the one made of dark purple silk, that she hadn’t yet had an occasion to wear, hanging in a clothing bag in her closet, beside the montsuki hakama Guy tended to forget he owned. She briefly thought about trying to get him to wear it, but it was a bit too formal for a festival, and it was generally not a good idea for Guy to not wear pants in public.
They had both learned that one the hard way – four years later and they still weren’t allowed back to that restaurant. Or that bath house.
It was really just better for everyone if he wore his jumpsuit.
After a fair bit of struggling to get everything to lay properly, she stepped out into the living room, where Guy was waiting. His hands were tucked behind his back, and his cheeks had a suspicious red tint to them – combined with the fact he was staring at his feet told her he was up to something. She would have thought that, after four years together and nearly ten more of him chasing her, he would have gotten over being shy about something as simple as giving her a gift, but he still acted exactly as he had that first time he asked her out in the school yard when they were kids.
He lifted his eyes briefly, looking her over from toe to head, his tan face growing even darker before his gaze traveled swiftly back to the floor, and his hands suddenly shot forward. Held tightly in one fist was a boquet of flowers, their stems half-crushed by the pressure – anemone, lavender, and forge-me-not blossoms were among the ones she recognized immediately, though there were several more she couldn’t immediately identify. In the other he held a piece of paper, folded into a lover’s knot, or what one looked like after a nervous Might Guy held onto it for too long.
“Arara,” She drawled in surprise, carefully tugging the items free. “What’s this now?”
Laying the flowers down on the table, she carefully unfolded the note, revealing the poem on the inside. It didn’t quite look like Guy’s handwriting, mostly because it was actually legible, and there was a wiggling in the lines that almost made it look like he’d been trembling when he wrote it.
Passionate heart
Soft touch of a flower
In its fullest bloom
For a moment, she wracked her brain to try and remember if she had ever heard that particular haiku before, but no author sprang to mind. Curious if he had put the author at the bottom, she unfolded the bottom seam, only for something to tumble out. She caught it without thinking, not quite recognizing the small, round item in her hand by sensation alone, but before she could figure it out, Guy stole all of her attention.
“I wrote that.”
Guy still had his head bowed down, fists clenched and trembling at his sides. He was clearly uncomfortable, eyes screwed up tightly so he wouldn’t accidentally look at her, something he only ever did when he was about to do or say something he was seriously worried someone wouldn’t approve of.
“Back in the academy,” He continued. “When Joben-sensei asked me to deliver some forms to Keitaro-sensei, I saw a girl, sitting in the front row of his class, and she was so beautiful I forgot what I was supposed to be doing. I didn’t know her name, but I knew the moment I saw her, she was the only one I would ever want to be with. So I promised myself, if I didn’t confess to her the next day, I would do three hundred laps around the school yard, and I wrote that poem intending to give it to her. But I lost my nerve, so while I was running those laps, I promised myself if I didn’t confess the next day, I would do three hundred and ten laps around the school yard.”
She could remember that day clearly, although she never much thought about it. Keitaro-sensei had been droning on, as he so often did, and she had begun to drift off, listing off everything she could be doing that was more worthwhile than listening to Keitaro-sensei’s endless monologue. She hadn’t even noticed an upperclassman had entered the room, until Keitaro-sensei started telling him off for getting distracted, and she only managed to briefly glimpse a boy in a bright green jumpsuit fleeing the room as fast as he could manage.
“Although I did find the strength to confess, I was never strong enough to give her that poem, not even after she returned my affection. I’ve carried that note in my pocket every day since then, for almost twenty years, trying to work up the nerve. This morning, I made myself a promise that today would be the day I would finally give her that poem.”
As he finished speaking, she turned her hand upward and looked at the item she had caught. It was a ring, with a band made of silver and gold that swirled together like the marks in a wooden board, with a single, almost flower shaped diamond. Just as she began to comprehend what she was seeing, Guy’s massive hands took hold of hers, and pulled them towards his chest as he dropped onto one knee. He had apparently lost his battle with his tears, because they streamed heavily down his face, though he had finally managed to open his eyes, staring at her with obvious determination.
“Kedamonoshu Mitsume, please, do me the great honor of saying you’ll marry me.”
After a little more than a week on the road, Kakashi was relieved to see the familiar skyline of Konoha appear at before him. Hands in his pockets, he slowly made his way towards his apartment, taking every back road he knew of to avoid his students so he could get some much needed rest. This route just so happened to take him past the training grounds his “eternal rival’s” girlfriend often used with her genin squad, and he stopped to watch for a few moments as she put the kids through their paces, much to their displeasure.
Judging by the sweat, scratches, and general wear and tear, they’d been running drills since early that morning. The fact none of them had collapsed into an exhausted heap begging for a merciful death, however, told him she was probably in a good mood, though her scowl would have made most people think otherwise. She spotted him across the field, and motioned him to come over, something he did with great reluctance and a heavy sigh – he could just keep going, but then she would probably just sick her genin on him, and he’d spend the next week dealing with the little demons annoying him in unfathomable ways.
Some of his underwear were still pink, and he had yet to find a certain novel from his collection – he suspected it wasn’t so much hidden as one of the boys on her team had taken it and wasn’t about to give it back, but he had yet to figure out which one.
“How was your mission?” She asked conversationally, never taking her eyes off her students.
“Ah, pretty quiet, actually. We saw a few bandits on the road, but that’s about it. Did you enjoy the festival?”
“Yeah, it was pretty nice. Guy won a goldfish – we let Lee pick the name.”
“What did he decide?”
“Hire, The Great Hot-Blooded Golden Fish of Konoha.”
He resisted the urge to make a sarcastic comment, and instead just rolled his lips between his teeth and gave a short series of affirmative grunts. She seemed to know exactly what was going through his mind, the corner of her lip twitching as she fought a smile, before she changed the subject, reaching into one of her inner vest pockets. She produced a large but thin boxes, which was wrapped in a bright blue piece of fabric, which was littered with an obnoxious number of cartoon cats. It was tied off with a bright yellow ribbon, and festooned with what he suspected was actually a hair tie, with a plastic white cat face attached to it.
“Here. Guy made sure we got all your favorites. We even got some specialty dog treats for Pakkun and the other ninken.”
Absolutely not to his surprise, the jubako itself was also primarily decorated with cats – even less surprising was the fact that nearly every cake and candy had been painstakingly carved or shaped into cat faces or paw prints. Silently contemplating his revenge, he snapped the lid back on the box, tied it back together, and stuck it into his pocket before accepting the three other smaller, plain packages.
As he did so, he caught a glimmer out of the corner of his eye. Although her focus was on her students, there was no question she had noticed his stare, as the smile she had been resisting finally broke through, tilting the corners of her mouth. Not unexpectedly, this mild display of emotion in front of her students immediately made her uncomfortable, and she slugged him in the arm as she walked towards the trio, who had apparently decided it was time to stand up to their sensei by sitting down.
“By the way, you might want to swing by the bookstore on your way home.”
“What did you do now?”
“I didn’t do anything. Guy, on the other hand, may have gotten wind that the ninja who so kindly gave up the opportunity to enjoy the New Year’s festival for his benefit has a little crush on a certain red-headed employee. He’s gotten it into his head that the best way to thank this kindly ninja for his help is to set the two of them up on a date.”
“You monster.”
“The new year is a time for change, Hatake. Besides – Guy and Lee worked really hard on that banner.”
#maito gai#maito guy#might guy#might gai#might guy x oc#your friendly neighborhood dragon#happy new year you beautiful bastards#Beasts of the leaf collection#Naruto one shot collection#Sensei collection#Leaf village collection
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There’s Something About Ruby
Summary:
Usnavi is tired of Ruby flirting with Johan
Authors note:
Special thanks to @hamiltonhistory and @limpblotter for getting me sucked into this ship. [1] based off of an @limpblotter headcannon
California wasn’t like New York. It was far hotter. The only time Usnavi remembered when his feet burnt this much on the sand was when he vacationed back to the Dominican Republic with Johan for his birthday seven months ago. California wasn’t as hot as Dominican soil, but it was pretty dang close. Another thing that was different about California was all the hipster tourists who either sunbathed on the beaches or walked around the boardwalk with a sparkle in their eye and some kind of iced drink in their hand. Sure, there were hipsters in New York, but they were easy enough to avoid. All you had to do was stay away from places like Times Square or Broadway. In California, the pest problem wasn’t mice or roaches, but rather tourists. But, the biggest difference between California and New York was Usnavi didn’t have the support of his family. California felt like a foreign land with strange people that Usnavi didn’t really know very well, Johan’s family. Now, this wasn’t the first time that Usnavi had come to California. He had been there twice before. During these visits, he met Johan’s sister, Rainbow, and her beautiful family. Jack was adorable, Diane made him laugh. He had helped Junior with his Spanish homework (apparently his spanish teacher didn’t appreciate the swear words Usnavi had taught Junior), and Zoey was more than eager to hear about eccentric New York fashion. Little did he know, Dre’s family had also moved in with the Johnson family. Dre was nice and the two had a few things in common, however, Usnavi didn’t trust Dre’s parents at all, especially Ruby.
The reason why Usnavi felt he couldn’t trust her was because Ruby turned down coffee. But, it wasn’t just any coffee. It was the coffee that Usnavi had brought from home and made himself. . . No good person would turn down Abuela’s recipe. It was at this moment that Usnavi knew that he had to keep an eye on this woman. The next thing, and arguably the most infuriating thing, was that Ruby couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off of Johan. On their first morning there, Usnavi woke up to the sound of Ruby’s voice radiating down the halls, finding Usnavi’s room, and promptly waking him up. She was making less than appropriate comments about Johan while he was doing his morning yoga. In New York, Johan would do yoga naked in their living room leaving nothing to the imagination. Usnavi’s eyes snapped open and he bolted down the stairs only to find Johan doing yoga in a tank top and sweats. Every day after, Usnavi would force himself awake at ungodly hours to make sure nothing funny happened between Johan and Ruby.
Ruby’s closeness to Johan didn’t stop there. The two acted like close friends. Over the course of the week, Ruby had tagged along on dates that were supposed to be exclusively for Johan and Usnavi. When they got coffee one morning, she had said nothing about Johan’s long, overly complicated coffee order, but she did say Usnavi’s order was too bland. At a poetry slam, she had cheered for Johan, her voice drowned out Usnavi’s own. Usnavi had tried to write a poem for Johan that he was going to say at the slam. But by the end of a night filled with Ruby shamelessly flirting with Johan, he tucked the poem away in his pocket in a crumpled ball. Ruby’s overly loud personality and his own lack of sleep put Usnavi in a sour mood for the rest of the week, and Johan started to notice. Johan would try to give Usnavi affection, but he had shrugged off every hug, nuzzle, and kiss Johan gave him. Johan was getting desperate, not getting the attention he was used to, and planned on asking Usnavi to join him and Ruby for a wine tasting. He had turned Johan away exclaiming he had a headache. Johan didn’t know what to do. He was too scared of Ruby to turn her down, but he felt his Usnavi drifting away from him. Rainbow suggested that the whole family could go to the beach. Johan could talk to Usnavi in private there. After all, Usnavi loved spending time near the water and Usnavi was more than happy to get out of the house.
However, Usnavi was far from stress free. He was sitting on a beach towel watching Johan play chicken with his nephews and Diane. Diane and Jack were on top laughing and trying to push each other off of Johan and Junior’s shoulders. The scene would have been endearing, if it wasn’t for a certain woman’s voice breaking the serenity of the beach.
“Mm-mm, that Johan is looking fine over there without a shirt confining him like a prison.” She said fanning herself with a magazine. “Lord knows a body like that is sinful. Show me what you got, baby!”
Usnavi turned deep red and pursed his lips in anger. Johan was his! Nobody else was allowed to look at Johan the same way Usnavi did! His fingers curled around Johan’s shirt and the towel that was sitting next to him and clutched it so hard that his knuckles turned white. He cursed in spanish under his breath as he marched from his spot in the sand to the water glaring at the woman commenting on his man’s body. A father covered his daughter’s ears with a gasp after hearing Usnavi call Ruby a “fucking puta”.
When Usnavi reached the water, Diane had finally managed to knock Jack off of Junior’s shoulders causing both of them to hit the water. Johan and Diane cheered for their victory. But when Johan saw Usnavi waiting for him where the water met the land, he playfully tossed Diane into the water and waded back to where his boyfriend was waiting.
“Navi, do you finally want to go swimming? I love swimming in the ocean. You know, the salt is a good natural exfoliator for your skin. Plus, sea salt is a better alternative to corporate salt mines and-”
Usnavi stopped him by holding the shirt in his face. “Jo, put on a shirt. You’re going to get sunburned.” He muttered taking advantage of the fact that they forgot sunscreen.
Johan took the shirt and put it on after toweling himself off. He knew that Usnavi was upset. Usnavi didn’t realize it, but he really did wear his emotions on his sleeves. After a year, Johan knew exactly what to look for. Puffed out cheeks? Check. Not looking Johan’s eyes? Double check. Playing with his hands? Yup. Johan took Usnavi’s hands into his own and kissed his tense knuckles.
“Let’s get some coffee up at the boardwalk.”
Usnavi was about to protest. He was going to say something about how maybe Johan should ask Ruby instead! But, Johan knew Usnavi better than anyone and turned up the charm. He cupped Usnavi’s cheek and leaned down to kiss him on top of his head.
“Para mi, Navi? Por favor?” Damnit. Johan had been trying to learn Spanish recently when he had decided that he was staying in New York for good after a bitter fight between him and Usnavi. Hearing Johan speak his language, the language of everything he found special in his life, made Usnavi weak and found himself agreeing with Johan.
The two of them walked up to the nearest coffee shop on the boardwalk, a place called Coffee on the Boardwalk, despite Usnavi’s protests of there being too many tourists. After ten minutes, the two of them ordered. Johan got a organic, dark chocolate latte in a porcelain cup with a splash of almond milk, raw honey, shaken after being filtered four times, alkaline water ice cubes, and fat free soy whip [1]. Usnavi got a black dark roast. Johan gave him a sad smile. His Navi only got dark roast when he was in a sour mood. The two of them walked outside and sat on the patio furniture, so that they could listen to the sounds of the ocean. After a couple of minutes, Johan saw Usnavi start to relax and he reached across the table to hold Usnavi’s hand. He smiled softly and rubbed soft circles into Usnavi’s palm.
“What’s wrong?” he muttered. It was a conversation between the two of them. Private. Secure. Usnavi relaxed.
“Nothing.” Johan gave Usnavi a look. Usnavi sighed. “Alright, I guess I’m just upset with the way Ruby is looking at you. She’s stealing you away from me.” He stopped for a moment trying to keep it together. All of his troubles and worries he had been bottling up inside were overflowing and rushing out at once. A couple of tears escaped his eyes and slid down his cheeks. He closed his eyes and pulled his hand away from Johan’s and pulled them into his lap. “This week was supposed to be special, Jo. I had a lot planned that didn’t work out. I was going to. . . Carajo. . I wrote a poem and everything, and she just-”
Usnavi stopped when he felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him. He put his head on Johan’s shoulder and wept into it. All of the stresses of the week slowly rolled off his shoulders as Johan whispered to him in soft French that Usnavi couldn’t understand. The moment felt so intimate. . . Usnavi felt protected, secure, endeared. . . Usnavi felt loved. Once he had stopped crying, Johan wiped the lingering tears away with a calloused thumb.
“Usnavi, mon amour, I love you more than life itself and nothing is going to change that.” Johan rested his forehead on Usnavi’s. “You’re my Navi, and I’m yours. I would never let anyone take that from us. Je T'aime, so much.”
Usnavi wrapped his arms around Johans neck and pulled him in for a long, innocent kiss. “Te amo.” he whispered back afterwards. Ruby wouldn’t be the first woman to hit on Johan, and she wouldn’t be the last. But, no matter what happened, Usnavi knew that he was the home Johan would return to, and that would never change.
#johsnavi#johan johnson#usnavi de la vega#in the heights#blackish#the soft boys strike#give me more prompts for this ship!
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