#BUT this is an old poem I wrote like... last year or so and I found it recently and really liked it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 4 months

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The thing with the Mari Lwyd, though, is that it's being... I don't know, 'appropriated' is the wrong word, but certainly turned into something it isn't.

Thing is, this is a folk tradition in the Welsh language, and that's the most important aspect of it. I feel partly responsible for this, because I accidentally became a bit of an expert on the topic of the Mari Lwyd in a post that escaped Tumblr containment, and I clearly didn't stress it strongly enough there (in my defence, I wrote that post for ten likes and some attention); but this is a Welsh language tradition, conducted in Welsh, using Welsh language poetic forms that are older than the entire English language, and also a very specific sung melody (with a very specific first verse; that's Cân y Fari). It is not actually a 'rap battle'. It's not a recited poem. It is not any old rhyme scheme however you want.

It is not in English.

Given the extensive and frankly ongoing attempts by England to wipe out Welsh, and its attendant cultural traditions, the Mari is being revived across Wales as an act of linguistic-cultural defiance. She's a symbol of Welsh language culture, specifically; an icon to remind that we are a distinct people, with our own culture and traditions, and in spite of everyone and everything, we're still here. Separating her from that by removing the Welsh is, to put it mildly, wildly disrespectful.

...but it IS what I'm increasingly seeing, both online and in real world Mari Lwyd festivals. She's gained enormous pop-culture popularity in recent years, which is fantastic; but she's also been reduced from the tradition to just an aesthetic now.

So many people are talking/drawing about her as though she's a cryptid or a mythological figure, rather than the folk practice of shoving a skull on a stick and pretending to be a naughty horse for cheese and drunken larks. And I get it! It's an intriguing visual! Some of the artwork is great! But this is not what she is. She's not a Krampus equivalent for your Dark Christmas aesthetic.

I see people writing their own version of the pwnco (though never called the pwnco; almost always called some variant on 'Mari Lwyd rap battle'), and as fun as these are, they are never even written in the meter and poetic rules of Cân y Fari, much less in Welsh, and they never conclude with the promise to behave before letting the Mari into the house. The pwnco is the central part to the tradition; this is the Welsh language part, the bit that's important and matters.

Mari Lwyd festivals are increasingly just English wassail festivals with a Mari or two present. The Swansea one last weekend didn't even include a Mari trying to break into a building (insert Shrek meme); there was no pwnco at all. Even in the Chepstow ones, they didn't do actual Cân y Fari; just a couple of recited verses. Instead, the Maris are just an aesthetic, a way to make it look a bit more Welsh, without having to commit to the unfashionable inconvenience of actually including Welsh.

And I don't really know what the answers are to these. I can tell you what I'd like - I'd like art to include the Welsh somewhere, maybe incorporating the first line of Cân y Fari like this one did, to keep it connected to the actual Welsh tradition (or other Welsh, if other phrases are preferred). I'd like people who want to write their version of the pwnco to respect the actual tradition of it by using Cân y Fari's meter and rhyme scheme, finishing with the promise to behave, and actually calling it the pwnco rather than a rap battle (and preferably in Welsh, though I do understand that's not always possible lol). I'd like to see the festivals actually observe the tradition, and include a link on the booking website to an audio clip of Cân y Fari and the words to the first verse, so attendees who want to can learn it ahead of time. I don't know how feasible any of that is, of course! But that's what I'd like to see.

I don't know. This is rambly. But it's something I've been thinking about - and increasingly nettled by - for a while. There's was something so affirming and wonderful at first about seeing the Mari's climb into international recognition, but it's very much turned to dismay by now, because she's important to my endangered culture and yet that's the part that everyone apparently wants to drop for being too awkward and ruining the aesthetic. It's very frustrating.

#wales!#closed for cleaning on mondays #mari lwyd #tedious personal details

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marvelsmylife · 2 months

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Begin again

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Plot: Azriel grants you your wish of being left alone for a while. The second the times up though, he starts his plan to win you back.

A/n this is the last part to Damned if you do, Damned if you don’t story. I would like to remind you that my requests are open (please try to send in fluffy or smut requests. I need to chill out on angsty stories for a while 😂😂😂)

Warning: fluff

Part One Part Two Bonus Scene

Clinging onto the hope you gave him the night of the dinner party, Azriel gave you the space you asked for and settled with giving you three weeks. He was still a wreck during those three weeks, but he spent that time planning the perfect way to win you back. When the three weeks were up, he set his plan into motion.

It started out small. He was leaving you roses by your front door with a note that included a happy memory you shared. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the memories he wrote down, from the first day you met to the first book he ever bought you just because he saw it and thought you might enjoy it.

You couldn’t believe he remembered the tiny moments you shared together and started feeling bad that you had been ignoring him for two years. You knew that any other male would have moved on if they were in Azriel’s position. Yet he stayed loyal to you, and while he was over the top while he begged for forgiveness he never once stopped fighting for you or your forgiveness.

He then resorted to the one thing he told Cassian he would never do, writing poems for you. Granted, they weren’t that great when he started writing them, but by the sixth week, he had you swooning by the time you finished reading the poem.

The best part was that he actually got help from some of your students. Every day, he would approach one of them and ask if they could hand you the poem and give you a beautiful set of either earrings or a necklace. The students would be excited that the spymaster of the night court asked them for a favor and were more than happy to deliver the poem, along with a few jewelry pieces.

Azriel would watch from a distance as you read the poem and held the piece of jewelry against your chest.

The next thing Azriel did was stop by the old dance studio you attended and properly apologize to your old instructor. He apologized for his actions and explained what drove him to do what he did.

Azriel was surprised when your old instructor accepted his apology and told him he would let you know that Azriel apologized to him. Of course, Azriel told him he didn’t have to do that, that he did it because it was the right thing to do. “The apology might be two years late, but at least you did it. Most males would never apologize in the first place, let alone an Illyrian male.”

Even though Azriel told him he didn’t have to, your old instructor stopped by your studio and informed you that Azriel apologized to him: “He seemed so remorseful for his actions. Do you ever plan on forgiving him?”

“I already have,” you confessed and started playing with the necklace Azriel had gifted you a few weeks back: “The thing is, I'm scared that he is going to resent me again and take his anger out my studio because I built a career out of something I’m passionate about. I love teaching dance too much just to go back to being the spymaster's mate.”

“Why can’t you be both?” your instructor pointed out: “Be the spymaster's mate AND an amazing dancing teacher.”

You went home that night replaying the conversation and wondered if your old instructor was right.

His big move came six months later. He had gotten wind that you were now providing private lessons for fae’s who were too shy to learn around other people. They would have to pay in order to receive those private lessons, but they were reasonably priced.

You thought others wouldn’t want to pay for private lessons after attending your other classes for free. You were surprised when all of your openings for private lessons were booked for the foreseeable future.

You were getting ready to teach someone late at night when you spotted Azriel walking through the front door: “Azriel! What are you doing here? I have a private lesson in five minutes.”

“I’m the one who requested the private lesson,” Azriel confessed: “Teach me everything you know about the thing you love the most.”

A smile formed on your face at Azriel’s request, and you were more than happy to oblige. You started teaching him the basics and were surprised at how fast he learned to dance. “Look at you,” you beamed at Azriel: “You’ll be a better dancer than me in no time.”

“Not possible,” Azriel stared lovingly at you.

By the end of the lesson, Azriel had his arms around your body, holding you close to him. He was enjoying having you in his arms after being denied it for years. “I’ve missed you so much, my love,” Azriel spoke into your hair before getting ahold of your chin and making you look into his eyes: “I am nothing without you.”

Azriel found himself staring at your lips and was tempted to lean in and kiss you, but he didn’t want to overstep and potentially ruin all of the progress he had accomplished thus far.

To his surprise, you were the one that pulled him into a kiss. He didn’t complain. As a matter of fact, he took control of the kiss immediately and had you pinned against the mirrored wall.

You let out a soft moan at Azriel’s action and found yourself pressing yourself against his body, desperate for his touch. “I really am sorry for all the pain I have caused you these past couple of years,” Azriel whispered as he cradled your neck: “I never realized how much I needed you in my life until you left me. I was such a fool for saying such hurtful things to you.”

A small smile appeared on your face at Azriel’s apology: “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear you say. Thank you for apologizing and for all the flowers and poems you’ve sent me these past few months.”

“Can you come home now? Our house is not a home without you in it” Azriel begged, his scarred hands were now tangled in your hair.

“Yes, I will come home,” you replied before a mischievous smile appeared on your face: “But what do you say we spend the night here, just for tonight?” Azriel was going to question why you would want to sleep in your studio when you tapped on the mirror behind you. “You have always said it would be nice to fuck in front of a mirror. Well, we have one right here.”

“Have I told you how much I love you yet?” Azriel groaned before leaning in and capturing your lips again.

A/n. Let me know if you guys would be interested in a bonus scene with the reader, Azriel, and that mirror.

@byyalady @sheblogs @janebirkln @starsinyourseyes @cumuluscranium @honeybee54321 @pussyistasty-blog @azriels-shadowsinger @anuttellaa @pussyistasty-blog @fightmedraco @aunicornmademedoit @esposadomd @thelov3lybookworm @harrystylesfan2686 @sarawritestories @fxckmiup @sleepylunarwolf @mochibabycakes @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @stargirl1714 @tenshis-cake @tele86 @63angel @sagskylar01 @i-am-infinite @kristin813 @one-big-fangirl

#azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar imagine #acotar x reader

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acheronist · 21 days

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to the ghost of henry peglar, congrats on writing your poem down 177 years ago!!!

to the actual academic scholars who have studied the pages before me....

so I took the royal museum greenwich's scan of the poem page (which is available online hereeee) and screwed around with its light levels in photoshop until henry's script was darkened enough to see more clearly. then I digitally traced over the darkened letters as best as I could, while also trying to discern his handwriting, and type up how I was reading it & this process took me about a week to get done between like... living my regular day to day life lmao.......

so when it WAS done, the final isabel acheronist peglar papers ["the open C"] transcript seemed a bit different than how I remembered the readily available russell potter transcript going ? (the poem is on the last two pages of that pdf for those of you who don't spend a billion hours a week looking at it btw)

it felt like I was getting more/different information out of it, compared to the potter transcript, which was kind of stressing me out honestly. so THEN I compared mine with barry cornwall's original poem and found more words that matched up? particularly in the second and third stanzas?

so!!!!! almost two hundred years later here's what I've landed on:

April 21 1847 the C the C the open ) ( it grew so fresh the Ever free the Ever free the Ever free without it without it covered it will Run to Earth above Re gions Round I love the C I love the C when I whare & I wish to be with and and silence whare Never go if a sailor should a Come and Make the meek What matter what matter Come Ride Or Sleep there was shores white and of red morn at the noisy hours knew I was ever near I was Born the [...] in felt Unto the Maid the wale the young dolphin ...... yet thes back of gold the Call of gods When I was on Old England Shore I like the young C more and more oftentimes time flew to a sweltering place like a bird thats seeks it mother Case and ware she was bird oft to me for have I loved a young and Hopen C

so then after going thru All Of That, I wanted to have a version of the original poem with parts that Henry did remember clearly highlighted for comparison purposes:

I know it's a popular theory that Henry was writing a dirty parody of the original poem? which if true, is funny as hell. me when i have to write cheeky victorian porn before i die.

But (serious voice) something about that hadn't ever seemed exactly right to me... IN MY HEART it seems more realistic that around 1847 he (and also by extension, the whole surviving expedition crew) were starting to experience confusion / brain fog symptoms from being ummmm quite physically unwell. the lead poisoning/scurvy combo would have severe effects on the brain's ability to function properly, and I started to wonder if Henry was trying to test his memory somehow? So he picked a widely known and popular Victorian era poem about being a sailor to see how much he could recall??? and he then got a little whimsical with it, and wrote in his own words to fill in the portions he couldn't fully recall, because it's his own diary and likely didn't expect anyone else to ever read it, much less have it turn into ONE of TWO surviving sources about the expedition?????

like... idk... this is probably the work of someone in the exact moment as they were starting to realize how bad things were, and then was trying to cope by using poetry. and That hurts my feelings enough as it is, but going through it was also just a very weird and haunting experience....... like, I can recognize all these tiny details in this dead guy's script and handwriting now. and to read his own account of his life in his own words, what stood out to him and what he recalled, what he wanted people in the future to know about him? insane. it literally felt like i was getting haunted by him for no reason. on top of knowing that Someone (#teamarmitage) loved this guy enough to keep his memory protected and safe, even though They Were So Totally Fucked And Going To Die There, unknowing if they'd ever be found again........

SIGHING + SIGHING + SIGHING + SIGHING + CRYING A BIT HONESTLY

anyways thanks for reading this all. I don't think that this is revolutionary franklin expedition news by any means, and idk if there's a better different transcript somewhere that i've not found that already covers all this? but it's consumed a lot of my life lately lol and i wanted to share. because its the anniversary of henry writing it, and it felt...... important....? 💌....????

#📜#henry peglar #this is my crazy person post i wanted to make two weeks ago #i really did do my best to follow his hand btw but let's all read this expecting a few mistakes #franklin expedition #peglar papers

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jinnie-ret · 7 months

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If ur taking rq still can I rq a skz x 15 year old girl in training (like that protection gic you wrote ) and how they react to her being good at producing, singing, rapping and dancing but they didnt know she could do all that until they keep running into her or maybe look for her because they ordered fkkd for her too eat with them and they see her in her rehearsals and in her dance practice room learning like idk an itzy choreo or sum by herself and they see shes improved since they last saw her do everything? Ig like a little Ace if u would like to put It that way!

It's ok if u don't want to or can't do this tho! Love ur writing💕

ace of hearts

stray kids x reader (platonic)

genre: fluff

content warnings: none

word count: 1.1k

summary: stray kids have nothing but good things to say about the upcoming ace of jyp.

I hope you enjoy! There's a small excerpt of a song Y/N has written herself which I actually wrote (it's a hobby of mine hehe) so if you want me to post the whole thing I'll do so, maybe as a poem haha

My asks are currently shut but if you want to be added to my taglist, do let me know! And if you liked it, please reblog and like! :)

MAIN MASTERLIST

Shoulder shimmying had never been so hard, but Y/N seemed to have finally gotten down the choreo to ITZY's 'Wannabe', the members of Stray Kids seeming to think so too. They had just been looking around for a room to practice in when they came across their young trainee friend, who they hadn't seen for a while due to their busy schedule.

A small applause sounded from behind Y/N, making her jump as she saw the door open and Stray Kids clapping for her.

"Ah! Hello sunbaenims!" Y/N blushed and bowed politely. She wasn't expecting to see them there, so absorbed into practising for her next showcase.

"Hi there!"

"Annyeong!"

"Wow!"

They all let out greetings as they walked over excitedly to Y/N.

"How has everything been? It's been a while since we saw you," Jeongin smiled widely at Y/N, trying to ease the obvious nerves he saw from her.

"Have you been practicing regularly? Your dancing has improved a lot," Changbin nodded his head in approval.

"Ah, you really think I've improved?! Yeah I've been practising a lot these days..." Y/N bashfully admitted, rubbing her sweaty palms on her leggings. Was it from exercising or from nerves? She wasn't quite so sure herself.

"We can see that. You're better at dancing and freestyling than us now," Lee Know laughed, praising the younger girl jokingly, but there was still a hint of seriousness to it that showed Y/N he was proud of her, and that helped her relax more.

"Maybe one day even Jisung will be jealous of your dancing skills," Felix laughed, causing the quokka like man to look over at him with a mock appalled face.

"Haha maybe I'll take his place as the ace," Y/N smirked, feeling comfortable enough to joke around with them. It wasn't a regular occurrence that she saw the boys but everytime she did, she was soon able to fall back into a relaxed state where it felt like she had known them forever.

"No way! You will never be as talented as me!" Jisung smirked back, yet he couldn't help but goofily smile back at her as he ruffled her hair.

"Well, we're glad you're practicing so hard. Would you like to have some fried chicken with us?" Seungmin piped up, his eagle eyes noticing that she only seemed to have some water in the room with her. Plus, he remembered what it was like being a trainee, and an offer of fried chicken would not be one to be turned down.

"Oh sure! If there's enough to go around!" Y/N clasped her hands together excitedly.

"Of course there's enough food! We're so proud of all your progress by the way, we can tell how hard you've been working, Y/Nnie," Chan praised her, as they all sat down together on the floor.

"Here, eat up," Hyunjin passed over a box of fried chicken to Y/N from the bags of fast food they had.

"Just remember to take a lot of rest too," Jisung commented genuinely, yet anyone could tell he, as well as the other members were very much so enthralled with the heaven sent food in front of them.

"Don't worry I do!" Y/N rushed out, before taking a bite of the fried chicken and wiggling slightly as she did a happy dance.

"You're so cute when you're excited!" Felix giggled as he saw her.

"That's exactly what Channie hyung does," Seungmin laughed along.

There was a moment of peaceful eating before Chan kept up the conversation.

"Oh yeah, we wanted to ask you something! Are you good at rapping?" Chan wondered, wiping his hands on a napkin.

"Well, I don't want to brag but I think I'm pretty good," Y/N shrugged, she had practiced enough and knew she was at JYP for a reason, and her talents certainly didn't go to waste when it came to rapping.

"Oh yeah? You actually rap too? I had no idea. Have you tried writing your own lyrics before?" Changbin got excited at the prospect of hearing Y/N rap.

"I'm not as confident in writing rap lyrics as I am in singing them if that makes sense?" Y/N explained, hoping it was understandable.

"I get what you mean. You must be very talented though since you can sing so well," Lee Know wondered.

"Do you happen to write your own songs too or do you learn songs from other artists?" Chan asked, interested in what her identity as a future artist would be.

"Oh I like to write my own songs too!" Y/N beamed. Now that, was an area she was proud of herself for.

"Really? Can you play one of your original songs for us?" Hyunjin said in a shocked tone, head tilting slightly in disbelief but wanting to hear her sing nonetheless.

The boys all stared at her in anticipation.

"Oh, sure... If you really want me to," Y/N became nervous again, because this was Stray Kids! Yes they felt like her friends but to sing her own personal works in front of them was still nerve wracking.

"Yes, we really want you to!" Jeongin encouraged her, offering that same reassuring smile as he did earlier.

All of the members were now eagerly waiting for her.

"Ok, here's a chorus I wrote recently," Y/N finally nodded, making the boys even more excited as she began to sing.

"Oh it's in my bones.

Hereditarily alone.

Surrounded by people,

But that gives no meaning.

It's in my bones."

The boys stared in in wonder, thinking the words were so beautiful and they loved the emotion she put into it even for such a small snippet of the song.

"Her voice is amazing..." Hyunjin was in awe.

"Yeah, you have a really good vocal tone!" Jisung clapped.

"And you wrote that yourself?" Chan smiled like a proud dad.

"Can we hear more?" Changbin said hopefully, nudging Y/N playfully.

"Well, I think I should now that I've sang a teaser for you," Y/N beamed, and for the next couple of minutes she sang the rest of the song to the boys. She even played a small backing track which consisted of an acoustic guitar, simple but sweet, building up towards the end of the song.

"I can't wait to see you debut!" Felix clapped with the other boys.

"You really will steal everyone's hearts, Y/N, you'll go far," Chan said, a big smile adorning his face as everyone offered their comments and praises to Y/N.

"Just don't let it get to your head," Lee Know joked, causing his members to whack him playfully and tell Y/N to not listen to him anymore.

"Thank you guys, it really means a lot."

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @backintomykpopphaseagain @sakufilms @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @hanjiquokkaaa

#skz #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids #skz fluff #skz angst #straykids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #skz fic

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the-whispers-of-death · 4 months

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The Stars and the Moon

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Male!Reader Summary: You are outside the base, just staring up at the night sky and enjoying the peace the sight evokes. Ghost joins you. Content: Fluff, so much fluff, Ghost so soft he's most likely ooc, Closed off!Reader, desi!Reader, Reader has been in the military for a while, a tiny bit of cursing (like one bad word). Word Count: 990 words Author's Note: Simon currently has the hold on my brain rot, RIP my love John Price. I'd think he'd love to star-gaze, so I wrote this with him in mind and then he was like "What if I just loved Reader more than the stars and the moon?". He took over my brain to write for me and I just couldn't stop him.

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You stood outside the base, a few steps to the left of the entrance to the base. It was a chilly night tonight, a soft breeze ruffling your clothes and your short-cropped black hair.

Your eyes were on the starry night sky, taking every detail of the twinkling stars and the bright full moon. It was peaceful, a respite from all of the chaos of war.

There was no bloodshed here. No screams of pain that permeated the air. Just you and the stars.

Until you heard the door to the base open and a pair of heavy footsteps walk over to you, interrupting the peaceful silence.

“What are you doing out here, lad?” Ghost asked as he settled right next to you. His honey-brown eyes that were the only features of his that were showing beneath his balaclava and white skull mask went to the night sky, as if he too wanted to find the peace in it that you did.

You sighed, sitting down on the concrete ground, no care that there were chairs that you could’ve sat on. “Just looking at the stars, needed a reminder that not everything is drenched with blood,” you murmured.

Ghost was silent for a few seconds before he grunted and sat down on the concrete, joining you. “Guess the stars, they are pretty.”

That was the last thing he said before silence washed over you two, a familiar occurrence. Both of you had at least ten years in the military, having seen your fair share of traumatic things. So you two often gravitated towards each other, two broken soldiers seeking each other out in hopes you’ll bring out the light in each other.

“Though, you know, you’re more peaceful than the stars ever could be,” Ghost said after a few minutes, his gruff voice so soft that it was barely a whisper. He turned his head to look at you, his piercing brown eyes boring into you, taking in your brown skin that had a few old battle scars on it, your brown eyes which twinkled in the moonlight. “Lad, you know that, don’t you?”

You turned to look at him, raising a brow. “I’m just a soldier, Ghost.”

“Simon.”

No one on the Task Force ever called him “Simon”, except for Price, but even then Price didn’t call him by it that much. And most of the time when others tried to call him by first name, he’d correct them with his call sign. But you… You got to call him “Simon” now.

“Simon,” you said, memorizing the way it rolled off your tongue like it belonged there. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m surely not more peaceful than the stars. They’re breathtaking and a symbol of all that’s left to explore, a symbol of a vast universe. They’ve been written about in poems for centuries to evoke feelings of content and beauty.”

Ghost scooted closer on the concrete to you, his warm gloved hand resting on your thigh. “You’re breathtaking,” he murmured, his voice full of awe. “The way you move, the way you laugh, the way you don’t take any bullshit. It’s breathtaking, absolutely mesmerizing. Sure, the stars are evidence of a vast universe, but who needs a vast universe to explore when there’s you?”

His hand on your thigh tightened and he pulled you closer, so close you were almost sitting on his lap. It was enough to get your heart racing.

“What good are the stars and the moon if they’re not you? They can’t make me feel safe like you can, they can’t make me laugh. They can’t complete me.” His other hand languidly moved along your side, up your neck and jaw until it cupped your cheek, so gentle and tender. “The stars are beautiful, but there’s nothing more beautiful than a good man, a man who knows of war and bloodshed and still fights for the greater good. And that’s you. You could’ve retired by now, settled down, but you’re here. You’re here with me, along side all of us, getting your hands dirty with blood and ashes so that those back home can sleep well at night.”

Your eyes fluttered at his words, your body melting against his touch. “Simon, I’m not all you make me up to be. I’m not some perfect human being.”

Ghost nodded, leaning in until his forehead pressed against yours. “I know. And that what makes me love you.”

His confession took the breath out of your lungs, your eyes wide as you stared into his.

“These past few months that we have grown closer have only made me fall in love with you,” he whispered, his lips so close but so far away due to his balaclava and mask. “And I can’t hold it in anymore. Please, please tell me to stop, to go away, and I will.”

“Don’t,” you replied, shaking your head when he wanted to pull away, your hand reaching for his, which still cupped your cheek. “Don’t leave, don’t go. I’ve fallen in love with you too.”

Your heart ached for him, your mind never strayed from thoughts of him. Of his laugh, his corny jokes, the way his presence filled up a room. On the surface, you thought your want—need—for him to be by your side was because he was your friend, the only one who took one look at your broken, closed off soul and said he’d stay by your side, but you knew that it was deeper than that. You were just as entranced by him as he was by you.

“Stay with me,” you begged softly.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” Ghost said, no longer trying to pull away from you. His eyes closed as he pressed his forehead against yours just the tiniest bit harder. “As long as you'll have me, I’m yours.”

“Then let me be your stars and the moon.”

“Be my universe.”

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated!

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #ghost cod #call of duty #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #my writing #fanfic #fluff #ghost x male reader #cod x male reader #cod modern warefare 2 #cod #cod x reader #desi!reader #:)

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kingdom-by-the-sea · 1 year

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The Not Valentine’s Date

Summary- Mutual pining, an office bet, and baby sitting make for an interesting Valentine’s Day between Spencer and Hotch’s daughter.

Warnings- fluffy fluff

Pairing- Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Hotch’s daughter

Word Count- 2.7k

A/N- This is something I randomly wrote last year after Valentine’s Day but didn’t post cause I felt like I had missed my window. Who knows maybe I’ll write something later this week that I’ll post in a year.

—————-

“Eww,” Emily complained, scrunching up her face in disgust, “Please tell me that none of those lines actually work on real life girls. I don’t understand why guys had to start going around saying stuff like that and ruin Valentine’s day for the rest of us.”

”Woah,” Prentiss stopped Reid mid-explaining, “You are not actually referring to that,” she gestured vaguely in Morgan’s direction, “as poetry.”

Spencer scrunched his face in consideration, “Not in the traditional sense, I suppose. However, in my opinion, some of the best lines of poetry about love have nothing to do with Valentine’s day so using it as the standard might not properly reflect what you’re looking for.”

“Oh really,” Morgan questioned, “And what exactly would you use to woo the ladies on the fourteenth?”

Reid considered the question seriously his fingers tapping to some indiscernible beat as he thought, “‘We loved with a love that was more than love.’”

“What?” Morgan’s reaction was quick and it seemed that everyone else in the group mirrored his sentiment, “Hate to break it to you, pretty boy, but no girl you mention that to is going to have a clue-”

“You quote a man who married his thirteen year-old cousin on love?” Y/N asked suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention.

“They really are a match made in heaven…” Prentiss muttered only loud enough for Morgan to hear, who responded with a chuckle.

Reid’s face darkened several shades of red, “I just mean-”

“It’s fine,” Y/N let out a small laugh, “I’m just teasing. Annabel Lee’s probably my favorite poem. Just sucks that most of the romanticism poets were… just really weird.”

Spencer regained his composure and released an unexpected laugh, “Yeah.”

“Anyone want more coffee, I’m going to get another cup,” Y/N stood and left for the kitchenette after finding there weren’t any takers.

“So close and yet… so far,” Prentiss said once Y/N was out of earshot.

“Seriously, man,” Morgan started, “Just ask her to go to dinner or something already.”

Reid rolled his eyes, “Is this about your bet pool thing again?”

“Not anymore,” Morgan said, “I’ve been out since last month. Somehow I thought New Years would do the trick.”

Prentiss laughed, “You’re doing way better than me. I really thought the hormones would outweigh this nerdy stupidity,” she gestured at Reid’s face, “and said Halloween.”

“Halloween?!” Reid squeaked out before lowering his voice significantly, “There is no way you thought Y/N and I would get together by Halloween of last year.”

The two agents dutifully ignored him and Morgan continued, “Who’s even left at this point? I know Rossi chose St. Patrick’s day for whatever reason.”

“And Hotch said Valentine’s,” Prentiss finished and any air of concern left Reid’s face.

“Well now I know you’re making this up,” he turned back to his work, “There is no way Hotch would bet on his daughter’s love life.”

Prentiss tsked, “Your future father-in-law is going to be very disappointed if you miss this benchmark.”

“Seriously though,” Morgan started again, “Just ask her to hang out. Don’t even call it a date.”

“We hang out all the time though…” Spencer whispered, fiddling with his tie.

“Then it shouldn’t be that big of a deal,” Morgan patted him on the shoulder, “Go get her, lover boy.”

Reluctantly, Reid rose from his seat and made his way to the kitchenette. Y/N was busy filling up her mug with the right amount of sugar- that is as much as can fit in the cup- but smiled when she noticed him.

“Did you change your mind? I can grab another mug.”

“What? Oh- no, I’m good,” he glanced over at her searching for the right words, “I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to hang out on Monday…?”

Y/N’s face lit up at the thought before she scrunched up her nose, “I’d love to but I can’t. I’m actually watching Jack so my dad can go out but maybe this weekend?”

She returned to stirring her coffee not noticing the third person entering the vicinity.

“Or Reid could come over and help you with Jack?” Hotch said, forcing them both to turn suddenly in his direction.

“Oh no,” Y/N began, “You don’t have to do that. I wouldn’t want you to waste your Valentine’s Day.”

“No, no. That sounds great,” Spencer smiled at her and her heart seemed to warm as she mirrored his reaction, “Send me the times over the weekend.”

With that Reid walked back to his desk in semi-victory.

“Did Reid just ask you to hangout with him on Valentine’s Day?” Hotch asked with a mock accusatory glance.

“Yeah,” Y/N said absentmindedly, “I mean no- I mean he did but it's not like that. We are just two single adults who enjoy each other’s company and not having to feel lonely on a day devoted to love.”

“Y/N, what exactly do you call it when two single adults meet up on Valentine’s Day to ‘enjoy each other’s company?’” he could barely manage to suppress the smile growing on his face at the teasing.

Her face turned pink, “I’m not sure- but apparently you call it babysitting.”

~~~

As the evening waned on, Y/N was more and more glad for Spencer’s company. Outside of simply enjoying his presence, it helped to have a second person there to reign in some of Jack’s more energetic behavior. However, her appreciation wasn’t enough to keep her from noticing how her heartstrings tugged seeing the way Jack and Spencer both lit each other up with excitement. Spencer was beyond engaging and Y/N finally understood why Henry always seemed to immediately latch onto Spencer at BAU gatherings. It was intoxicating to watch them together and Y/N easily could have lost herself in the moment if it weren’t for the screaming six-year-old running around the house constantly threatening to knock things over. Luckily for Reid, Y/N, and their respective sanities, this level of energy wasn’t sustainable and an eventual crash was inevitable.

He nodded lazily in response, “Can we watch Encanto?” for a brief moment the sparks returned behind his eyes as he mentioned what was quickly becoming his new favorite movie.

“Sure,” Y/N said with a small laugh. This would have to be close to the twentieth time she had seen the movie but for Jack’s sake, it was all worth it.

Jack headed for the stairs and Spencer was quick to follow after him.

“I’ll help him get ready for bed,” he explained, noticing what was apparently a rather obvious expression of confusion and the slight tilt of her head, “You could set up the movie?”

Having your heart flutter this much had to be medically concerning, but there was nothing Y/N could do to stop it as she watched her best friend take her brother’s small hand.

“Okay,” she whispered and was met with a smile that sent her straight back into heart-fluttering territory. No matter how long she knew Spencer, he never stopped surprising her. Considering the effort and detail he put into every other aspect of his life, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he would be so attentive with her brother. And yet he still managed to strengthen his hold on her heart with every little action that came as some unexpected surprise to her. In truth, she suspected it was a precautionary measure, if she truly let herself recognize how kind and wonderful Spencer was, she’d be done for in an instant.

All the precautions in the world couldn’t have stopped the back of her mind from spinning stories about him though. Spencer was too gentle and pure to keep the less hardened parts of her soul from imagining what it all could be like if she could indulge if she could step over the line she had drawn in the sand for herself.

Upstairs, it seemed Jack had stumbled upon a small reservoir of energy, taking the time to show Spencer his favorite toys and stuffed animals while Spencer attempted to offer him various pajama set options. Eventually, Jack settled on the set covered with small dogs.

Spencer didn’t mind the push and pull Jack, or other children gave him. There was something so strangely fascinating to him about a mind so free from insecurity and a child’s willingness to simply say what was on their mind. Despite his extensive memory, he couldn’t remember a time he truly felt like that and hoped it was merely a result of the fog around his earliest memories. Every decision he made was coated in consideration and accounted for every possible result. He couldn’t help but wish that his hypervigilance would let up from time to time and leave him free to explore the thoughts, and emotions, that remained.

“You work with my sister,” Jack offered up less as a question and more as a statement.

“Yes, I do,” Spencer responded to the not question.

The boy’s head bobbed in as much seriousness as a six-year-old could muster, “Can you still be friends with someone if you work with them?”

Spencer watched as he stepped away from him and began absentmindedly examining the toys around his room.

“Of course,” Spencer answered, not sure where this line of question was headed, “Your sister and I are very good friends then.”

Jack’s attention swiftly returned to Spencer, “So you like her then?”

“I do like her. She’s smart and cool,” Spencer narrowed his eyes slightly on the boy, “Just like you.”

Jack came closer to him and in what he seemed to think was a hushed voice said, “Did you know that sometimes when people really like they get married…?”

“And then….” he scrunched up his face and whispered, “They make a baby.”

Spencer’s mouth fell open and his eyes widened in what Jack considered to be genuine surprise.

“I know, right?” Jack stepped away and began picking up a blanket and stuffed animal to take downstairs with him, without looking up he added, “Do you think you and Y/N will get married?”

Spencer’s mind went completely blank. None of the dozens of courses he had taken over the years would provide him with any sort of answer that would satisfy Jack. Part of him wanted to say yes and not give any of it another thought but reason quickly squashed that idea. And yet…

And yet he couldn’t bring himself to say no either. It was far too permanent and left no room for the small bead of hope he hid away in the back of his mind.

“Maybe…” he answered finally, “I don’t really know though…”

Jack pulled the blanket and toy behind him and giggled, “I hope you do!”

Spencer’s stomach did a somersault and he scooped the small boy and his blanket up into his arms before he could notice the strange smile emerging on his face. I do too.

~~~

“I swear that kid is pure energy,” Y/N said, shutting the door behind them and stepping out into the cool night with Spencer.

Y/N pointed a somewhat accusatory finger at him, “And don’t say something like ‘technically we are all energy since we’re made of mass.’’

He rolled his eyes at her with a smile, “I was going to say that while he may have been more energetic than I expected- I had fun hanging out with you guys.”

She couldn’t help the smile that immediately bubbled up to the surface of her lips, “I had fun too. I’m glad I didn’t completely waste your Valentine’s day.”

“Never,” he whispered just loud enough for her to hear.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you on Monday,” Y/N said when they reached the end of the driveway where Spencer’s car was parked.

His eyes narrowed slightly on her, “What are you doing? How are you getting back to your apartment?”

“Oh I have an uber coming in a little bit. I”m just going to wait here until they get here.”

“You want me to leave you here on the side of the road and drive away?” he questioned.

“No,” Y/N corrected, “I want you to leave me at the end of my dad’s driveway.”

“I’m not leaving you here,” Spencer said definitively, “I’ll drive you or we could go back to my apartment and watch awful romcoms and start working on the mound of candy Rossi and Garcia got us.”

She blinked at him, “Really?”

“Yeah,” his movement suddenly became awkward and choppy, “I mean you obviously don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, no,” Y/N smiled, “I’m just surprised. You spent the past five hours with me and my hyperactive brother and you want to hang out more?”

“I always want to spend time with you,” he said shyly.

“Sometimes I just forget that you’re you, Spence,” Y/N shook her head slightly and took a step closer to him.

“I hope that’s not a bad thing,” his eyes were slightly wider than usual.

“No, not at all. It’s the best thing actually,” Y/N smiled up at him, “And just so you know, I’d gladly spend every moment of every day with you.”

He looked down at her, not able to suppress the smile growing on his face.

“You know,” Spencer said, clearing his throat slightly, “Jack said something to me earlier and I didn’t know how to respond to him.”

“Oh gosh…” her voice faded into a slight chuckle.

“He was asking me all these questions about you. Like if we were friends and if I thought you were nice,” Spencer watched as Y/N glanced up at him, “I said yes to both of those… but then- then he asked if we were going to get married.”

Y/N’s lips let out a silent “oh.”

She blinked and glanced down at the ground momentarily, “What did you tell him?”

He scratched absently at the side of his head, “Well I wasn’t sure what to say so I told him maybe?”

Y/N’s face broke into a smile and near laugh, “You told him ‘maybe?’”

“I’m sorry I just didn’t know what to say. You’re not mad, are you?”

“No, no,” she let out the rest of the laugh, “I just think we should go on a date before you start promising these kinds of things to my brother.”

Spencer blinked and swallowed before looking down at the ground, “Would you have said yes if I asked you out?”

“Yeah,” a soft smile settled on her lips, “I mean of course. Don’t tell Jack but you’re kind of my favorite person in the world.”

“Really?” his eyes settled on hers.

“What? Did you think I’d say no?” Y/N asked with genuine concern.

“I don’t know I just thought that it would make things difficult since we work together and-”

“Spence, hey, hey, stop it!” she said with a slight laugh.

A beat passed where she just looked at him.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

Y/N smiled, “I just want to remember the moment right before I kiss you.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly.

“Is that okay?”

He nodded not sure if she was referring to the moment or the kiss but it didn’t matter either way. She smiled up at him again, looking into his eyes and her hands moved up till they met behind his neck. After inhaling slightly, Y/N perched on her toes and gently pulled Spencer’s face down until their lips met each other.

#spencer reid smut #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid request #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #comfort fic #criminal minds smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagines

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meichenxi · 14 days

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languages, travel, identity, grief

Maybe some of you have heard of Xu Zhimo's Second Farewell to Cambridge (徐志摩再別康橋 Translation: Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again, by Xu Zhimo | East Asia Student). It's an achingly lovely poem about a Chinese scholar who studied in the UK, and how he left so gently, taking nothing with him as he went. It brought me solace over the last year.

I thought for a very long time about how I felt about having to leave China, and what it felt like to mourn for a future that was never going to mine. I cried. How am I supposed to explain why? I'm not Chinese. I've got no family there, or a childhood to look back on. I couldn't explain it even to myself.

That pain was coupled with a type of uncertainty, a discomfort at myself for feeling so strongly. This feeling was not allowed. It meant - what? Something awful, probably. I was a racist, probably. I should hate myself, probably. Fetishization is the word that gets thrown around for white people and their time spent in East Asia at one end of the spectrum - at the other end it's just seen as embarrassing and deeply, you know, cringe. It's a self-interrogation - why do I feel so sad? Why do I feel this pull so strongly anyway, to a country that's not even mine? Why should it matter so much when I leave? I didn't feel like this grief has any sort of legitimacy. But it has taken from September - eight months after leaving - for me to pick up Chinese again.

I felt, for months, hollow and unsettled and drifting from place to place. I opened my textbook, and closed it again. The memories there were too painful. I'm not going to write about why I had to leave, but it wasn't by choice. I had loved the people in the school, even if it was for a short time. When you have no internet and are training eight hours a day, the days are coloured more sharply: bright and hurtful and wonderful all at once. We had no running water. It was in an abandoned hotel. I miss the monk at the temple door opposite the school, always on time at 6am to open it for our classes. I miss the folk at the local shop who invited me to watch films on their projector; once they killed a chicken for us. I miss the woman in the woods who gave me the chestnuts she had picked. I gave the chestnuts to the cook, and we steamed them and ate them by the lake. He wanted me to marry his son; he wanted it so strongly that he brought me pork, and desserts, and gave me paper, and promised me I could have a jade bracelet, that he would buy me a house. I miss the oldest martial arts teacher, who spoke in such strong dialect I could barely understand him. When I was sad and missing home one night, he told me that I should stay after dinner. In the silence and against the cicadas, he started to play the erhu for me. Later, my friend told me that he hadn't know what to say, how to comfort me; I was a foreigner and a young woman, after all. We had very little in common. But nobody has ever played a piece of music for me like that before.

And I miss X, my best friend there and partner in snack-smuggling crime. She is 19 years old, and a janitor's daughter, and one of the wisest people I have ever met. (She also rides an excellent motorbike, and lent me her hanfu, and we sped through the city giddy with our own daring and trying not to be caught.) We got matching haircuts; she had always wanted to cut her hair like a boy, and was too scared to do it alone. When I left, I told her to stay in touch: she shook her head. She said that some people were meant to know each other for some time, and no more. I think the death of friendship by attrition, by - as Elrond said! - the slow decay of time, is one of the saddest things of all. I deleted Wechat. I don't want to read over the old messages. By having this place - her, and the chestnuts, and the cicadas - as a memory, I can tuck it away it. I can keep it close.

I wrote a poem myself on the plane. That was the last I thought about China, the last thought I let myself have, in eight months. I kept myself away from it. It felt like a wound. And against that hollowness, there was constantly the question: Why should I have any right to miss this place? Who I am there? Why does it matter? We are all different people, wherever we go, and whoever we are with; we wear different skins, large or small. In China I was [...]. She was who I was. That name, that I introduced myself to people with - she was bright and friendly and tried to translate things just so. Everybody who goes as the only foreigner to a place - or the only foreigner that speaks the language - is a little bit self-obsessed. It happens. It's unfortunate, and something to guard against. But it also gives you its own kind of identity in a way: your identity is Foreigner. Your identity is a cultural bridge. Everyone you meet, in a country as friendly and curious as China, has questions about you. You stand with your feet in both worlds, and are not really part of either of them. That identity is easy to slip into, like cool water, like trying on new clothes. It's easier that thinking: who am I outside of that? Where am I going? I don't really know. I don't think anyone really does.

And then the second thing happens. I speak Chinese well, by this point. My accent is there, but it's slight. I am short, and have dark hair, and a generally similar build to many East Asians - so the questions I have got in the last few years have changed. Sometimes people think I have been raised here. Sometimes they think I am ethnically Russian, and nationally Chinese. Sometimes I get asked if I am half Chinese. Usually they know I am a Foreigner, 100% white - but not always. There is a peculiar rush that comes from that acceptance; from feeling the relief, just for fifteen minutes, that you belong. It's not about 'passing', or race-bending, or anything twisted - it's nothing so unnerving as that. It's just the human need to belong. Everyone gets tired of being stared at, after a while. And after a while, you start to think - I wish I understood. I wish they understood. I wish this were easy.

But then the conversation keeps going. You don't know a local word, or you misunderstand. You say something in a strange way, or you make a strange gesture, and the glass shatters, and - there you are again, naked again, exhausted again, explaining yourself again. That's the other half of it. There's solace in the Foreigner identity, because that means that's all you are. You don't have to think about your parents, or whether they worry about you so far from home; of course they do. The Foreigner is good and filial and a wonderful daughter. You can craft her into any shape you like. But it also marks you out again and again, endlessly and again, as Other.

There was a paper published a while ago that showed measures of acceptance of non-natives in native-speaking communities. It highlights a strange, but familiar experience to those who have lived abroad - the people who spoke the language to a medium level felt more accepted and less lonely than those that spoke the language to a high degree. It makes sense, and mirrors what I have found with both Chinese and German. When you speak a little Chinese, you are a wonder - a curiousity! Look at the Western girl go! People are kind, and curious, and will slow down to include you in conversations. You are thrilled with what you can access - all this knowledge, that other people don't have! Look how special you are!

And then you get better. And then you realise, cut by cut, that you will never be one of them. You don't want to be Chinese, per se; but you do want to be accepted. You are happy to be British; but you miss China like a wound, an old one, festering, even when it was never yours. How do you tell your family that you are not grieving a lost romance, a beautiful girl, but a language and a life? That there are words of majesty, of playfulness, that will never be yours? You speak well enough that people no longer bother to dumb things down, or explain them; you sit with your discomfort, smile painted on, because - you know. It's not bad. You understand most of it. And on the edge of that circle, smiling uncertainly, following the vast majority of what is being said, you are not clever enough and not witty enough to keep up with the chengyu, the cultural references, the slang, and the raucous laughter around you erupts, and you don't know what you've missed, and everybody says - she's quiet, that one. Maybe all the foreigners are? And all you are doing is sitting and feeling the distance between You and Them as heavy and as stifled in your chest as an ocean of dark.

So you go back. Back to your people. But when you sit with the other foreigners, you are apart. They laugh; what are these nutters doing? The Chinese don't make any sense. The Chinese do this - they do that. You sit there, and then there is a pressure building in your chest too, a discomfort, the desire to stand up and say - well, actually.

You are responsible for everything the Chinese teachers do, and have to explain things in a way that the students understand - Confucian thought, and Buddhist philosophy, translated in pithy bite-size adages for the West. You have no qualifications for this; everything you assert, you feel unsure. Uncertain. Someone else could explain it better, more nuanced, and you need to do more reading anyway - but here you are, and here they are, and you're the only one. And you do know. Not enough, but enough that their jokes, their pains, make you uncomfortable. You feel the need to defend both parties; to be a diplomat, every second of every day. In turn, when the students come to the teachers with problems, you have to translate their grievances in a way that the Chinese teachers will be sympathetic towards. Once I got asked: why do you never join us after class? Why are you always so quiet when you're not working? As a translator, you are always working. Every time you speak, you are working; what you choose to say, and what you choose to not say, and where you choose to intervene. You are building relationships, and disappearing, and you are becoming invisible, and you're a nothing, and you're everyone and you're nobody and nobody realises you are doing anything more than translating at all.

I wanted to stay. I couldn't have stayed. I wanted to be accepted as one of them. I wanted to be accepted for who I was. That means a foreigner. I wanted to be true to myself, which means that I would always be the Foreigner, which means I would always be apart from them. It is that contrast and juxtaposition which causes the grief. And there was never an ending to it, a resolution, a chance to reconcile myself (in China) with myself (in the UK), because all at once I had to leave. The grief comes most from the second arrow - not the pain of leaving, but the bewilderment of not knowing why I was in pain at all.

It's been eight months. Slowly, as spring comes, I feel like I am on surer ground. I can look at my old books, those painstaking notes, and I could look at new ones too and I'm starting to think, because this is what I tell my students, and maybe there's some truth in it - it's okay if you're not perfect. It's okay if you didn't achieve what you wanted to, and that the language - in its wholeness, and who can ever know that? - will never, not quite, be yours. It's the struggle and the process that means that I will know and understand Chinese in a different way, in my own way, in a slanted-to-reality sort of way, that is a treasure in and of itself. There is beauty in its brokenness too.

And there is sorrow, too. The sorrow that comes with easing yourself into a different life, and it holding you gently for a while. I sat there - I spoke to them. It's not only missing a place; it's missing a person you were, a stage of your life, for a time. It's knowing that a place has reached inside your ribs and taken root there - even if you don't return, you can never fully get rid of that again. You are two people now, with feet straddling two oceans. There are parts of you that loved and suffered and hated and grew in Chinese, not English. You can't explain that. You can't even begin. Sometimes - not often - you are a stranger in your own land. The poets spoke of that. In the age of fast travel, of the weekend break, we have forgotten the ways a place can burrow itself inside you, and find its own home.

It's not the same as the grief that someone Chinese will face. But it's still grief. I have put my life into Chinese. Maybe that is all it takes to grow love.

Now, I turn back to Chinese - as a foreigner, as Melissa, as myself. It's a bittersweet thing. I know that I cannot hold all of it. It will spill out, like the sun, and there is no way I can be that without losing myself and my history and my own green woods. But I think I am ready now. I am surer, and a little steadier on my feet.

#langblr #chinese #languages #culture #china #:(((((((((((

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fatesmono · 3 months

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valentines day with yoongi

✮⋆˙ warning : some language + i haven’t written in half a year so.

✮⋆˙ this is an “x reader” so yk insert gender <3

✮⋆˙a.n : so todays valentine’s day (its the 13th at 11:59 posting this, great job me :3). so happy valentines i guess. i’m spending it celebrating jaehyun's birthday and writing abt my husband who’s in the war. i haven’t written in like, six years (six months) so pls go easy on me

✮⋆˙enjoy loves <3333 happy valentines day !!

i never liked valentine’s day. it was always a stupid ass holiday if i do say so myself. am i saying that bc i never had a good valentine ? …maybe so, why are you so nosy ?? anyways, that was before i met him, min yoongi. i never met a man who says he hates a holiday so much but also goes all out for it. our first valentines last year i expected him to not really get me anything or like a bouquet of flowers since it wasn’t that much…i got a bouquet alright, like seven of them (he had said he didn’t know which one i would like so he just got me all of the ones he thought i would want), plus a shit ton of chocolate and just little things like one of his hoodies and this ring i had been eyeing for like months beforehand. so much for “valentines day isn’t really my thing” right ? all men do is lie, even min yoongi.

okay but anyways, here we are now, a year later. i wanna prove myself this year, i refuse to be out-valentines’d by him, no matter what that takes. now just one problem, he’s rich, i work at a coffee shop. shit, i know right ? but we will make it work i don’t care.

so have i had this planned out for the last two months like a gta heist ? yes. but i NEED this day to go perfect. did it ? NO. NO IT DIDNT. first the necklace i got him with his name won’t be ready until the 17th, and then the kiss hoodie i was working on for him GETS BLEACHED SPILLED ON HIM, curtesy of our cat, johnny, and then; if it wasn’t going awful anyway, the cupcakes i made for him burned. and i’m going to his studio as we speak…this is my thirteenth reason. so right now all we have is his favorite flowers, a bleached hoodie with my kisses and a book of poems i wrote for him, sigh. SIGH. and if it didn’t help, he already gave me half of my gift before he left and it’s ten times better. A ROSE GOLD NECKLACE, he got me a rose gold encrusted with the sun because “i’m the sun to his moon”, he makes me wanna bash my head sometimes from how sweet he is.

so getting to his studio, the definition of “shaking in my little boots”. i can hear him practicing his music from outside his studio, it’s like walking into beethoven working on smth if beethoven was your 30 year old idol boyfriend for a kpop group, if that makes sense, which is doesn’t so. anyways, i put in the code for his studio (it’s our anniversary, excuse me while i cry.) and quietly walk in to not disturb him, which isn’t that hard since he has tunnel vision as he invented it, and quietly tap his shoulder gently to get his attention. he turns around, taking off his headphones and noticing me with a small smile on his face, which might as well have been a kiss from him then and then.

“hey love, happy valentine’s day, what are you doing here ?”, god why does he have to have such a perfect voice; it’s like he doesn’t even have to try. i go on to give him to give him his gift and try to explain that i had much more to give him and i knew it wasn’t enough to give and- and he cuts me off. good job if i do say so myself because the yapping i do, i could win a medal.

“honey honey, this is perfect…you didn’t even have to get me anything, and you wrote me poems…that’s like writing me a song, this means the world to me. you remembered my favorite flowers, and this hoodie..i don’t think i’ve ever gotten a gift like this from anyone before, not even the guys. thank you so much…”, and my heart just turns into a puddle then and there. all my worries gone in a second, how does he do it ? he really should’ve become a therapist in another life, but i guess he does that with his music. but anyways, did i expect him to like the gift ? absolutely not. i did try to pay for dinner that night and he still didn’t let me do it, saying it was “an extra gift” as if i needed anymore gifts. remind me next to try and not outgift a rich idol who’s secret love language is definitely gift giving.

i’m still getting next years gifts ready anyways. i’m so winning next year, i don't care.

#yoongi #min yoongi #valentines day #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #fluff #bts #yoongi x reader

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eye-of-enigmatic-thought · 4 months

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Happy New Year! I hope you all had a good December! These were my contributions to the @welcomehomefanzine winter zine! I managed to do more art this time too! For my contributions I wanted to draw art on various Winter traditions from different cultures, such as also my own! If you decide to colour in any of these, please @ me!!

Also keep in mind, we are not affiliated with Clown or the team behind WH, we are just fans who love the work!!

I wrote more on all the artworks under the cut! Including the traditions they were based on!

First one was a little visual pun on the first verse of '12 Days of Christmas', Poppy is the partridge in the pear tree! Not much to say about this one, it's my only Christmas related thing! Second one was based on the Southern Welsh winter tradition of the Mari Lwyd. The Mari Lwyd is a hobby horse made from a horse's skull and is then decorated. It is puppeteered to go to the doors of various houses where its handlers will sing verses on letting it in to the home, you are supposed to sing back excuses on why you can't let it in, and if you relent, you invite the Mari Lwyd and its handlers in your home, where it will eat your food and alcohol and terrorise your children! The tradition and its true origins and meaning and even etymology is unknown, but it's thought to have ancient Pagan roots! It seems here, Eddie relented in his songs to it and regretted everything immediately after!

Third image is another Poppy centric piece because I love her. Here she is dressed up as a figure from Schnabelperchten! This is a tradition seen only in Rauris Valley in Austria and is a manifestation of Perchta, a goddess from Alpine Paganism that took the form of a old woman who'd punish misbehaving children by slitting their bellies. For Schnabelperchten, on the 5th of January, figures dressed in smocks, jackets, and a beak-like mask will visit various homes to check their upkeep and cleanliness all while emitting a soft 'ga ga ga', in more ancient versions of the legend, if you did not keep your living quarters in good enough conditions, the Schnabelperchten would slit open your belly and dump all the rubbish inside! Poppy would never do that though! No one tell her about that part!! Last but not least is one based on a tradition from my culture! Here you see the entire neighbourhood celebrating Yalda Night and spending time with one anotherThis is a Persian/Iranian festival with Zoroastrian roots held on the Winter Solstice. This day was traditionally seen as ill omened as being the darkest day of the year, the forces of Ahriman and his Deevs were most active, and so much of the day entailed family and friends getting together in good company. They would read stories and poems (especially the Shahnameh or poems by Hafez) with nuts and various fruits from previous harvests being served, watermelon and pomegranates being the most prominent! It was also encouraged to stay well up after midnight lest misfortune befall you! Due to it also being the longest night, it was also seen as the birthdate of the sun deity Mehr (or Mithra), as the subsequent days would get longer.

This was all fun to do and I hope I did all these traditons justice!! I am most likely missing out a lot on my explanations for them, so I hope I at least peaked your interest in these different Winter festivities enough to look into them on your own!

#my art #digital art #welcome home #welcome home puppet show #welcome home fanart #frank frankly #wally darling #poppy partridge #barnaby b beagle #eddie dear #sally starlet #julie joyful #welcome home fanzine #yalda night #shabe yalda #schnabelperchten #mari lwyd #howdy pillar

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helpallthenamesaretakenblog · 1 month

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so :D i wrote my first ever fanfic because i was intrigued and want to know if i could do it. i hope you like it :)) i nerded out way too much on this one so spare me pls be kind!

description: set during the battle of manhattan, tlo. slightly canon divergent. lot of percy angst. tw: su!cidal thoughts. percys pov. percabeth being cute. based on the poem 'stopping by the woods on a snowy evening' by robert frost :)

Miles to Go Before I Sleep- A PJO Fanfiction

I couldn't sleep that night. I paced the room for two hours until late night as if there was something terrible was going to happen. I was worried sick--about Annabeth, about the war, about everything. At midnight, moonlight streamed through the hotel window as I sat, almost lifelessly on the bed, staring into nothing. Suddenly, I heard a creak in the door, and I was about to snatch riptide before I heard a whisper, "Percy? You awake?"

In the shadows, I saw the familiar figure of Grover, tired after a long day of attending to the satyrs. He sat down next to me on the bed, and we both stared at the wall in comfortable silence. For a moment, I could almost close my eyes and imagine that we were 12 year olds at Yancy again. "The Apollo kids are seeing you through the hotel surveillance cameras. They sent me to ask you to sleep" "Since you're the only one right now who I'll listen to?" ".....yep"

While Grover rambled something about him being my unofficial mom right now, I looked at my bedside table, and there it was. Pandora's Jar. Man, I wished the stupid thing would stop following me around, and right now, it wasn't the best time for me to want to resist opening it. Unfortunately, Grover read my emotions. "You want to open it, don't you?"

The question, which had always been on the back of my mind, really stung now that it was said out loud. I think Grover could see I was breaking down a little on the inside, and wrapped me in an awkward hug. "I-I do," it came spilling out of my mouth, my voice cracking. "It just feels like the Fates are giving me an opportunity instead of a challenge. I feel like everything around me is falling apart. I'm not good at handling war. If I give up to Kronos, he'd kill me, as long as I'd make him promise he wouldn't hurt you guys. It's just easier. It's better for everyone else" My eyes felt wet, and I pulled away quickly. Grover looked so lost, I immediately felt bad for making him worry about me. "Go to sleep, Percy," he said in a painful tone, as if I was a delusional grandpa who had gotten loose from the nursing home bed. Before I could say anything, he pulled out his reedpipes. Before I could protest, he started playing soft, sweet music and before I knew it, I was asleep.

In my dream, I was sitting with Annabeth in the strawberry field, while she had a book in her lap. Annabeth was smiling, her hair glinting in the sunlight. She was okay. We were okay. It was a sunny day and all the campers were having fun. I remembered this day; this conversation had happened two months before the war. Woah. That felt so far away.

"I finally found the greek version of this poem!" she said excited, her eyes sparkling, which gave me butterflies. "This poem is really famous for the last four lines, wait-wait, I'll read it out to you" She picked it up. "So the English version of these lines are: "The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep" I bumped her shoulder with mine. "Ok, nerd...what's the point?"

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "It basically means that the poet wanted to die and found death a beautiful easy way out, but he realised he still had a duty in his life and that he still had a long way before his time to go, isn't that so poetic?" "I guess. You're better at this than me"

This didn't happen that day, but she opened her arms, as if about to hug me, probably due to Grover's magical reedpipe music, and for a second I felt elated that life felt livable again, before the ground opened up before she could, and I fell into endless darkness.

I woke up, shaking. I felt like I had been given a sweater in the cold before it got snatched away, leaving me back in the freezing winter. Grover was gone. I wanted to go back to sleep. I wanted things to be alright again. I wanted to see Annabeth happy and nerdy as usual and hug her. But sunlight streamed in through the window, and I forced myself out of the bed and went up the stairs to where Annabeth was.

When I walked up to her in the chair, my heart broke again. She looked so different from the dream. Her eyes were weakly staring at the view, she was shivering and her face was still a little gray. "Hey" she said. I checked up on her, talking to her about her health, which was slowly getting better, thankfully, but it didn't stop me from feeling guilty.

As I stared at her hopelessly, Pandora's Jar appeared on the table next to her. Annabeth studied my face. "We should put it in a place where it stays there"

I nodded my head in agreement. I took the jar gingerly in my hands. I looked out into the view from above. The whole city was in my sight. I saw demigods rebuilding the mortal's homes, some of which were damaged after the day's fight. I saw Nico rejoining a skeleton from his army's bones, with Will hovering curiously from a distance. "Is that a coccyx ?" "Gesundheit" If I died, he'd be the prophecy kid. I saw two tired aphrodite girls staring at a broken mirror, as if wondering where their life (and skin) started to break. I needed to keep them going. I needed to survive, I couldn't let them down. I needed to give them what they were fighting for. They were fighting for me. All my depression would have to wait for another day.

"It must be annoying," Annabeth said. "Don't you ever just want to open it?"

"Nah," I gave her my bravest smile, as I carried the jar to the door, where I would give it to be locked in a storage locker in the hotel. "I have promises to keep; and miles to go before I sleep"

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sixpennydame · 11 months

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Still I Wait

Levi x gn!reader

Content: Romantic angst, S4 Levi fighting his way back to you

A/N: This one shot is meant to read like a poem and was inspired by a one shot @humanitys-strongest-bamf wrote for me and the song below:

You and Levi both knew the rules: no falling in love..

Love was a liability. A privilege he couldn’t allow. You understood this and had agreed that your relationship merely filled the loneliness you both felt. It was a physical yearning, that was all.

You’d once fought alongside each other, but a severe injury before the Shiganshina expedition caused you to quit the Survey Corps in your prime; in the end, it saved you from dying with your comrades, but the remorse of being left behind was almost too much to bear.

Levi, your last surviving friend and comrade, understood your pain. You both found solace in each other’s company and eventually, in each other’s arms, with one stipulation:

We can’t fall in love.

He saw you when he could, bodies entwined as his lips and hands explored each gouge and scar on your skin. You learned the meaning of every deep breath and moan he took. Sometimes gentle, other times rough, but always passionate, as if you both were the key to each other’s lock. A year turned into two and by now the short afternoon trysts were one or two day encounters.

The world around you changed, shaking the very foundations you thought you both knew. You attempted to change with the times as well; the expansion of knowledge and innovation intrigued you, but Levi stayed the same: ever focused on avenging his comrades and taking down the Beast Titan.

The following year took Levi to Marley. He was gone for months, and you worried he might never return. You couldn’t stand to think of living in a world without Levi, and that’s when you knew: you’d broken the one rule you’d made.

You’d fallen in love.

While the Corps prepared for the raid on Liberio, you prepared your heart. You hadn’t told him how you felt, for fear that it would drive him away. You’d rather keep your feelings a secret than live without him. Days before his departure, he came to your door. These times, you craved them; as if he was the light illuminating your dark world. His body on top of yours, your head caged in by his arms, you couldn’t escape his gaze. Did he see the love in your eyes? Would he tell you if he did?

Levi, do you think of a life beyond this?

In the morning, he prepares to leave. “I’ll see you when I return.”

Strong arms around you, head in the crook of his neck, you whisper, “And I’ll be waiting.”

A promise, sealed with a final kiss.

You waited, as he returned from Marley with Zeke in tow, heading directly for the forest of tall trees.

You watched in horror, as the walls crumbled and Titans marched across the land into the ocean. You ran for your life, but your faith in Levi never waivered.

You cling to hope when you hear of fighting across the sea. If anyone would still be fighting, it would be Levi.

The world upended and in chaos, you know deep in your heart he’s still alive.

And so you wait.

——

In the forest, Levi dreams of the last time he saw you. There was something lingering in the air that day, words left unsaid. He wonders if you’d felt that too.

He wishes you’d asked him to stay a little longer, had held the embrace a few moments more. But if you had, would he have complied?

You had been a beautiful distraction, a way for him to leave the worries of the world behind, though they were always waiting for him when he left your embrace.

His life had never been his own and he wore the weight of it all like an old coat. But you never asked anything of him, never expected more than his presence.

He’s never looked back, always pushed forward. But when this all stops, will you still be there? He wants you to be.

“…I’ll be waiting,” you’d said.

In a flash, it all came tumbling down.

An explosion, and he feels his body flying through the air.

Then nothing.

It’s true what they say, that when you’re dying your life flashes before your eyes. Levi sees it all, scenes of his life play on a loop, but of all the moments, the ones with you stand out amongst them . All his life, Levi has known what he had to do.

But love doesn’t follow the rules.

You are it. You are everything he’s ever wanted. When he returns, he’s going to tell you.

“Wait for me.”

How many days has it been now? How many stitches did Hange sew into his skin? Even with his body in tatters, he thinks of you. But you seem so far away now, a life with you merely an eager fantasy. He’s so tired of war, of hate, of struggle. Would you even recognize him if you saw him now?

For the first time in his life he feels powerless as he watches his comrades cut down their own. He wills his body to comply as he walks down the steps of the ship, clutching the handrail. He will not be a liability. He will finish what was started.

And when it’s all over, he’ll come back to you.

“Dedicate you heart,” he tells Hange. The sorrow overwhelms him; it’s an unwelcome guest in his heart, but it’s lived with him for so long, defined most of his life. When it leaves, what will be left of him?

Happiness, peace, love. All the things he’s yet to see, are waiting for him with you.

If he can just push through a little longer, fight one day more. When the sun sets, a new day will dawn, and this will all be over.

He’ll find you. He’ll drag his broken body across this broken world until he sees you again. So he can tell you he loves you. That he always has.

“Wait for me, just a little longer.”

———

Tagging my angst-loving babes: @mrsackxrman @mrsackermannx @littlerequiem @leviismybby

Join my tag list

#it’s me your sad poetic auntie #levi x reader #levi x gn!reader #levi angst #s4 levi #aot fanfiction #captain levi #levi ackerman #sixpennydame one shots #levi heichou #Spotify

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veronicaleighauthor · 7 months

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Banned Books Week 2023

It’s that time of year again, when we honor and focus on the books out there that have been banned. And boy, it seems the last few years that book banning has been on the rise. You know if you don’t like a book and you don’t agree with it, no one is forcing you to read it. I’ll even go as far as understanding parents taking books out of their own kid’s hands. My objection is when parents take books out of some other kid’s or adult’s hand. Growing up, if someone had taken “The Diary of Anne Frank” off of my library’s shelf, I would have been lost.

This year I’m focusing on… “Anne of Green Gables,” by Lucy Maud Montgomery. Yes, you read that right, our dear old unromantic Anne Shirley was banned!

Description:

Eleven-year-old Anne Shirley has never known a real home. Since her parents’ deaths, she’s bounced around to foster homes and orphanages. When she is sent by mistake to live with Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert at the snug white farmhouse called Green Gables, she wants to stay forever. But Anne is not the sturdy boy Matthew and Marilla were expecting. She’s a mischievous, talkative redheaded girl with a fierce temper, who tumbles into one scrape after another. Anne is not like anybody else, the Cuthberts agree; she is special, a girl with an enormous imagination. All she’s ever wanted is to belong somewhere. And the longer she stays at Green Gables, the harder it is for anyone to imagine life without her.

Author:

Lucy Maud Montgomery was born in Clifton, Prince Edward Island, in 1874. Educated at Prince Edward College, Charlottetown, and Dalhousie University, she embarked on a career in teaching. From 1898 until 1911 she took care of her maternal grandmother in Cavendish, Prince Edward Island, and during this time wrote many poems and stories for Canadian and American magazines. Montgomery’s first novel, Anne of Green Gables, met with immediate critical and popular acclaim, and its success, both national and international, led to seven sequels. Maud Montgomery also wrote the popular Emily of New Moon in 1923 followed by two sequels, and Pat of Silver Bush in 1933 with its sequel. L. M. Montgomery died in Toronto in 1942, but it is her early years of lush, green Prince Edward Island that live on in the delightful adventures of the impetuous redhead, the stories Mark Twain called “the sweetest creation of child life yet written.”

Why It was Banned:

You’re probably asking yourself, who on earth would ban something as adorable, and funny, and innocent as “Anne of Green Gables?” (Who on earth bans any book?) Well, let’s find out!

After “Anne of Green Gables,” was published in 1908, it wasn’t long before it was translated into other languages, that way others could fall in love with Anne Shirley. In 1912, it was translated to Polish and it found a captive audience amongst the Polish people. Soon, Lucy Maud Montgomery’s other works were translated, and she grew very popular there. Anne’s individuality was endearing. In 1939, when the Nazis invaded Poland, Polish soldiers were issued copies of Montgomery’s novels to take to the frontlines, as a means to raise the moral. When the Nazis occupied the country, “Anne of Green Gables” and Montgomery’s other works were banned, but that didn’t stop the Polish people. Copies were sold on the black market; resistance members carried them. Anne Shirley had become a beacon of hope. The war in Poland ended in 1945 and I’m sure the Polish people were looking forward to being free…unfortunately, they had been liberated by the Soviets and a Communistic government was put into place. Similarly, because Montgomery’s works were so beloved and “Anne’s resistance to authority” was a threat, the Soviets viewed it as “subversive” and banned “Anne of Green Gables” in 1953 to 1956.

My Thoughts:

I first read “Anne of Green Gables” when I was thirteen or fourteen. My family and I were visiting family up north and we stopped by this huge warehouse that sold old, used books for cheap. I stumbled across “Anne of Green Gables” and from the title I was intrigued, and it was one of the ones we bought. I devoured it and soon fell in love with odd, weird, red-haired girl. She turns her hair green, hits a boy with a slate, gets her friend drunk – what’s not to like? I had no idea it was Classic Lit – to me Anne Shirley felt modern and realistic. I went on to read the rest of the series, and re-read them off and on over the years. Then, I found the miniseries! Imagine my surprise when I learned it was a banned book.

So, you see, the Nazis and the Communists banned and censored books…Those who are on the side of good don’t ban and censor books. And I’ll leave it at that.

#banned books week #banned books #banned books week 2023 #anne of green gables #l. m. montgomery #lucy maud montgomery #anne shirley #classic literature #poland #communists #nazis #wwii

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hussyknee · 2 months

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Somewhat put off by the spoilers I've read about Mary and George. There's no doubt nearly all relationships in the British court were some level of sordid, but King James, to all intents and purposes, had genuine feelings for his three male favourites, most especially George Villiers. He was no Henry VIII. I don't know why they wanted to reduce the most famous and open homosexual relationship in European royal history to a comedy between a "cock-struck" old lech and a conniving courtier that led him by the nose and then betrayed and murdered him.

All evidence points to George at least being loyal to James (if you discount his love letters as simply sucking up to his benefactor) and even had a fond relationship with his Queen and his son Charles. He was in fact in France when James died, and reportedly cried when he heard the news.

It's even a little heartbreaking because this is right after Nicholas Galitzine played the closeted gay Prince Henry in Red, White and Royal Blue, who in the book is proud of the open and unashamed love between his ancestor and his lover, and the way even James's son Charles I honoured Villiers for accompanying him to the Spanish Court to ask for the hand of the Infanta.

“Actually . . . you remember how I told you about the gay king, James I?”

“The one with the dumb jock boyfriend?”

“Yes, that one. Well, his most beloved favorite was a man named George Villiers. ‘The handsomest-bodied man in all of England,’ they called him. James was completely besotted. Everyone knew. This French poet, de Viau, wrote a poem about it.” He clears his throat and starts to recite: ‘One man fucks Monsieur le Grand, another fucks the Comte de Tonnerre , and it is well known that the King of England, fucks the Duke of Buckingham.’” Alex must be staring, because he adds, “Well, it rhymes in French. Anyway. Did you know the reason the King James translation of the Bible exists is because the Church of England was so displeased with James for flaunting his relationship with Villiers that he had the translation commissioned to appease them?”

“You’re kidding.”

“He stood in front of the Privy Council and said, ‘Christ had John, and I have George.’’

“Jesus.”

“Precisely.” Henry’s still looking up at the statue, but Alex can’t stop looking at him and the sly smile on his face, lost in his own thoughts. “And James’s son, Charles I, is the reason we have dear Samson. It’s the only Giambologna that ever left Florence. He was a gift to Charles from the King of Spain, and Charles gave it, this massive, absolutely priceless masterpiece of a sculpture, to Villiers. And a few centuries later, here he is. One of the most beautiful pieces we own, and we didn’t even steal it. We only needed Villiers and his trolloping ways with the queer monarchs. To me, if there were a registry of national gay landmarks in Britain, Samson would be on it.”

Henry’s beaming like a proud parent, like Samson is his, and Alex is hit with a wave of pride in kind.

He takes his phone out and lines up a shot, Henry standing there all soft and rumpled and smiling next to one of the most exquisite works of art in the world.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m taking a picture of a national gay landmark,” Alex tells him. “And also a statue.”

Like all white liberals, Casey McQuiston tends to romanticise the crime against humanity that is royalty and also that house built by bunch of slave owners that has since housed a progression of genocidal war criminals. There's very little to like about any British monarch. But the relationship between James and Villiers is a significant part of gay history and there's no need to smear it even more than it's already been smeared the last four hundred years, contrary to the actual known facts.

Idk man. I'm sensitive to this stuff Ig. Maybe I'd be a little more positive about it if I watched it, but the trailer gave me "tee hee they're gay" vibes so Idk if I want to.

Edit: so it seems the trailer is misleading and the story is more complex than a "tee hee gay" comedy. I might watch it after all, even if the starkly visible age difference makes me a bit queasy. How tf is Galitzine nearly thirty and a babyface with those razor cheekbones?? Perfect to show how uncomfortable it looks for a middle aged man to get with a kid of twenty.

#nicholas galitzine #mary and george spoilers #mary and george #british history #the stuarts #king james vi and i #george villers #king charles i #period drama #julianne moore #lgbtqia #lgbt history #queer media #queer representation #queer history #queer drama #knee of huss

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smallvolcanos · 2 months

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i called my friend yesterday. we talked for an hour. she asked how i was doing, and i said, i can't remember the last time i was this happy.

lately i've been reading old poems and looking at old pictures. i wonder when i stopped being happy. i wonder if i ever was. i built myself a beautiful cage, and then i threw away the key. i was scared to leave. i thought if i did, i would lose everything good in the world. the truth is i kept everything good in the world out.

i'm not saying she didn't love me. i'm not saying i didn't love her. just that we got so close to each other, we ended up on the other side. i thought: what is love, if not to need? the idea of being without her made me afraid. i didn't know what i would find in myself if i wasn't constantly trying to be what she wanted me to be.

here's what i've found: peace, easy and quiet. strength. beauty, in every part of me. a breath breathed out. a weight off the shoulders. i used those same words in a poem i wrote months ago. in a poem i wrote three years ago. how long did i know? when i read my old works, it seems like i always did. i was just waiting for the right moment.

the right moment never comes. eventually i had to show up for myself. eventually i had to open the door. and when i did, in came the sunlight, glowing and golden.

she writes to me sometimes. i miss you. it feels like there's a hole in my life without you in it. i don't know how to tell her that for me, that emptiness is a blessing. that i finally have so much space to fill with myself, so expansive and beautiful and strong.

#poetry #love #lit #spilled ink #writing #prose #relationships #quotes #i have started just posting everything i write #fuck it #is this a mess? yes

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likeadevils · 19 days

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what songs from TTPD and TA are now yours? Which ones have spoken to you the most?

songs that are genuinely MINE

chloe or sam or sophia or marcus: i cried myself to sleep listening to this song on repeat on release night and for the life of me i cant tell you why. i think it’s a great example of her being older really deepening her writing— just that old scarred over longing of a possible life, a possible love, too far away to reach but close enough to brush past. also, the double edged sword of “if you want to break my cold, cold heart, just say’ i loved you the way that you were’”— you loved me before i’d twisted myself into the shape i am now in order to keep my current partner, but also, you loved me the way i was, not the way i am now

i look in peoples windows: i wrote a poem with the line “im afflicted by the not knowing” in it!! inspired by the outside!! and by spending so much of my childhood reading by moonlight and spying on my neighbors through their windows!!! it was called where midnight lives!!! what the fuck!!!

robin: another song i sobbed hysterically to. i was a strange little violent child obsessed with dinosaurs it feels like a lullaby someone made specifically about 3 year old me.

songs that i’m obsessed with:

but daddy i love him: the bridge is just so fun to scream along to. everytime ive been in a car since the album came out ive played this at least two times just cause

fresh out the slammer: it’s just. the first verse??? the way the song stutters apart for the last verse??? this song takes the blurry muse conceit of the album and uses it to its fullest. also just the diminishing returns from “but its gonna be alright, i did my time”

i can do it with a broken heart: my first listen favorite

the smallest man who ever lived: the bridge????? the bridge???? the bridge???? a few of the negative reviews specifically mentioned this song as boring and for a millisecond i was so angry i could’ve exploded

the black dog: this is like, the platonic ideal of a taylor swift song to me. just that old quiet tragedy she can build out of little moments of hoping your ex will remember you when they hear your favorite song or not having known your last kiss was your last kiss or your ex still sharing their location with you. like, it’s just her at her best, but with the maturity to sing “and you jump up, but she’s too young to know this song”

i hate it here: people have talked about seeing reputation in the anthology but i think you can also see so much debut and it makes me feel so tender. also i genuinely don’t understand why people don’t like “if chose the 1830s but without all the racists” like?? it’s supposed to be a bit clunky?? the songs about the limits of escapism?? the line enhances both of those themes?? also “i’m there most of the year” is such a funny devastating relatable lyric to say about a daydream

thank you aimee: it’s not every day a song inspires you to send this message about something a child did to you (fuck you madeline!!! fuck you jessie!!!)

the bolter: avoidant attachment representation!!! i love that it takes the stuff she hated about herself in the archer and just accepts and loves them and appreciates what they’ve given her. i especially love it because bolt can mean like, crossbow bolts, so it’s a flip on the archer. also “bolt” is one of my favorite words i love all the different meanings

“the only thing that’s left is the manuscript, one less souvenir from my trip to your shores, now and then i re-read the manuscript, but the story isnt mine anymore” also just had me sobbing. there’s just. wtf!!!!!!

#asks*

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