handwrittenhood

[handwrittenhood]

new solo calum music & video no i am not ok.

[handwrittenhood]

youngblood album vocals are so whinyyyy and i’m fucking feral for it 🧎🏻‍♀️🙏🏼

[handwrittenhood]

Rest - Calum HoodxReader

when calum injures himself on stage, it’s up to you to nurse him back to health.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It happens so fast you almost miss it.

One second you’re standing in the wings at another sold-out show, happily watching the boys perform and marveling yet again at your talented boyfriend. The next, you’re watching Calum trip over a loose cord and hit the ground hard, his head cracking against the platform of Ashton’s drum kit when he can’t free his hands from his bass fast enough to break his fall.

Your hands fly to your mouth, panic rapidly rising in your chest as Calum lays still for one, two, three seconds too long. Just as you’re about to say to hell with the rules and go to your boyfriend’s aid, he begins to slowly push himself up into a sitting position, hand coming to press against his head, brows furrowed in pain. You see Ashton saying something to him, concern clearly etched on the drummer’s face, but you’re too far away to hear anything. Calum looks confused at whatever he’s saying to him, looking around and shaking his head slowly. Ashton motions towards the wings and you piece together that he’s asking Calum if he needs to go offstage. You pray that he says yes, desperate to get your hands on your boy and check him over yourself, but much to your dismay he appears to turn it down, shakily getting to his feet, stumbling a bit and grabbing hold of the mic stand to keep himself upright.

Once again you’re forced to grit your teeth and fight against the urge to run onstage - just because he’s standing doesn’t mean he’s ok - he would do anything to avoid disappointing the fans, including disregarding his own health.

By some small miracle they happen to be on their last song, and he stays glued to the spot the whole time as if he doesn’t trust himself to move. He misses all of his solos, Luke seamlessly filling in but shooting worried glances over at him each time he misses a cue.

Something is clearly off - Calum’s fingers fumble over the base strings, offbeat and off key as he sways unsteadily on his feet. It’s the longest 3 minutes of your life and you say a silent prayer of thanks when the final chord rings out across the venue. The boys discreetly come to Calum’s side to do their final bow instead of going center stage like normal; they clearly know somethings not right too, and you’re infinitely grateful for how well they can read each other without speaking. Luke slips his arm around Calum’s waist as they walk off - a gesture that, to anyone else, would just look like two bandmates hugging after a great show, but you can tell how much Calum is leaning on Luke as they slowly make their way offstage and your heart races with worry.

As soon as they step into the wings, all of the guys start talking at once. Calum has his eyes squeezed shut in pain and looks about ready to collapse, so you quickly make your way over to them and position yourself under his other arm, you and Luke supporting as much of his weight as possible as you guide him towards the dressing room.

“Hey baby… that was a pretty nasty fall you took out there huh? Can you talk to me Cal? Tell me how you’re feeling.”

He opens his eyes and looks over at you, or tries to at least, noticeably struggling to focus his gaze on your face, eyes slightly glazed over and hazy. He’s slow to answer you, and when he does his words are slurred and clumsy, setting off alarm bells in your head.

“‘m dizzy… head hurts…not feelin too good…”

You force yourself to stay calm, knowing it won’t do anyone any good to panic.

“I know honey, you hit your head pretty good out there. We’re gonna get you laying down and have the medic take a look at you ok? Almost there bub, just hold on for a few more seconds and then you can rest.”

He nods blearily, clearly using all of his energy to put one foot in front of the other. Thankfully, you make it to the dressing room and are soon helping to lower him onto the couch, easing him backwards until he’s laying down. The medic is already there and quickly begins assessing him, shining a small pen light into his eyes to check his pupils and asking concussion protocol questions - what day is it, what hurts, how badly, is he nauseous, is he dizzy - the list goes on and on, only interrupted by Calum suddenly going pale and gagging harshly, struggling to push himself up on his elbows. You quickly grab the nearest trash can and hold it under his chin as he expels the contents of his stomach into the bin, groaning weakly.

“It’s ok baby, I’ve got you. Let it out Cal… you’re doing so good honey it’s ok…”

A low whine escapes his throat and he lets his head fall forward to rest on your shoulder, mumbling incoherently.

“Mm really not feelin good Y/N…. Can’t… I can’t….mm”

You frown, gently pushing sweaty curls off of his forehead and out of his eyes, taking note of the massive lump already forming on his temple, angry and bruised.

“Can’t what babe?”

“… can’t ‘lly remember what ‘appned…? Think I gotta play show soon… fans waiting. Head’s really hurtin’ Y/N… why’s it hurting so bad?”

Your heart sinks and you catch the medic’s eye, exchanging a concerned look. Disorientation, confusion, slurred speech, nausea… all the signs of a severe concussion are there. You take a second to respond, carefully running your fingers through his curls - you don’t want to scare him when he’s in this state of disorientation.

“Don’t worry about the show love, just take it easy… You don’t need to do anything but rest right now alright? You took a bit of tumble tonight and hit your head, that’s why it’s hurting, but you’re being taken care of and you’re going to be just fine, ok?”

He nods slightly in response and slumps back down on the couch, grimacing when the aggressive overhead lights hit his eyes. You gently place a hand over his eyes, blocking them out, and he lets out a sigh of instant relief. Without turning away you call out softly to the other guys who are hovering nearby, uncharacteristically quiet as they nervously take in the state of their friend.

“Could one of you please turn the lights off and get me a cool wet cloth? And a bottle of water?”

Seconds later the room is plunged into dim light, and the requested materials are being pushed into your hands.

You murmur quietly to Calum, soothing your distressed boyfriend as best as you can as you wipe his face with the cool cloth and place it over his eyes to block out any remaining light that might aggravate his head.

“Can you manage a few sips of water baby? Don’t want you getting dehydrated and making your head hurt more.”

He reaches a shaky hand out for the water, but you quickly take it back from him when it almost slips out of his fingers.

“Easy Cal, let me help you…”

Too exhausted and in pain to protest, he allows you to slip a hand behind his neck, helping to support his head as you ease the bottle of water to his lips, lowering him back down once he drinks a few small sips. The medic motions to you to step into the hall with him, and you nod in understanding.

“Hey bub, I’m just going to step out for a second ok? I’ll be right back - Luke is going to sit with you.”

You press a kiss to his forehead and move towards the door, hearing Luke talking softly to Calum as he takes your place at his side.

In the hall, the medic sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“So, I think we both know that we’re dealing with a pretty severe concussion here. The headache, vomiting, loss of balance is all to be expected with any concussion, but I really don’t like the slurred speech and disorientation. I’m going to send out a prescription for some meds to help with his pain and nausea, but I’m going to need you to make sure that he takes them on the correct schedule and rests for the next 2 weeks at least. I’d prefer a month, but I know that might be impossible in this scenario. I’m talking no screens, no music, no reading, and definitely no performing or practicing. You’re traveling with them the whole tour right?”

You nod and he continues,

“Ok good. You’re going to need to closely monitor him for any persisting symptoms, especially over the next couple days. If the confusion and speech delay continues for more than 48 hours, you call me immediately. This could point to a much more serious situation. Understood? Other than that, make sure he is staying hydrated, getting his meds on time, and resting. If anything changes or you have any questions, I’ll have my phone on me at all times.”

He must see the tears welling in your eyes because his expression softens and he places a hand on your shoulder.

“You’re already doing a great job Y/N. He’s going to be ok, I promise.”

You breathe out a shuddering breath and nod resolutely, pulling yourself together. Taking care of Calum is something you know you can do. There’s no one better for the job. It’s all going to be ok.

You head back into the dressing room and are met with a tearful Calum trying to push himself up off the couch, Luke trying to keep him laying down.

“Cal, man you’ve gotta stop. Just lay down, please Cal c’mon, you need to just take it easy right now, you’re hurt.”

You quickly crouch down besides the couch, shooting Luke a reassuring look.

“Hey honey… what seems to be the problem hmm?”

Calum’s eyes swim over to yours slowly, blinking heavily.

“Was tryna find you… ‘m not feelin good Y/N, head fuckin hurts, don’t know why it hurts so bad…”

You blow a sigh between your lips, quelling the worry that’s pooling in your stomach.

“I know bub, I know you’re not feeling good. We’re gonna go back to the hotel and get you in bed to rest ok? That sound ok? I’ll be with you every step of the way, I promise.”

After what feels like an eternity, and three puke breaks later, you manage to get Calum out of the venue and back to your shared hotel room with the help of the other guys.

You help him into the bathroom where you get him stripped out of his sweaty clothes and sitting on the edge of the tub.

“I’m just gonna rinse you off ok Cal? Get you feeling a little better before we get in bed.”

He nods, no energy left to do anything else, exhausted down to his bones.

A few minutes later you’re soaking wet but have managed to get your boyfriend showered and into clean clothes. You guide him gently to the bed, thanking god that you’re not in the tiny tour bus bunks this time around, and help him lay down under the duvet. After giving him his meds and putting a clean trash can and some water at the side of the bed, you change and climb in behind him.

He’s already fighting sleep, eyes fluttering shut, and you press a kiss to his head.

“Get some sleep baby, I’ll be right here. You’re ok, I’ve got you.”

He gives in and soon enough his breathing evens out as sleep takes over. You on the other hand, between the med schedule and the worry eating at you, don’t get a single second of sleep all night, but you wouldn’t change a thing if it meant you could be there to take care of Calum.

The next day he wakes up, still in pain, but much less confused and able to speak clearly again. Three weeks later he’s back on stage, and you can finally breathe a sigh of relief as he finds you in the wings and shoots you that cheeky smile of his that you love so much. He’s ok.

[handwrittenhood]

this picture. that’s all. that’s the whole post.

[handwrittenhood]

Beautiful Boy - Calum HoodxReader

you remind Calum just how beautiful he is.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Another night on tour, another amazing show in the books. You swore every time that Calum couldn’t possibly get any better, and yet he proved you wrong night after night - vocals the strongest they’d ever been, bass solos some of the best in the world. And not only was Calum’s music the best you’d ever seen from him, but he was the most sure of himself you’d seen in the past four years too - wearing what he wanted, cutting his hair how he wanted, painting his nails how he wanted.

He came offstage tonight buzzing with electric energy, laughing with the guys, draping himself all over you as soon as he got backstage. But in the car on the way back to the hotel, something changed.

He was laying across the backseat of the van, his head in your lap, scrolling on his phone, when all of a sudden you felt his whole body tense up. You glanced down at him to see what the matter was, but when he caught you looking at him he quickly exited out of whatever app he had been on and closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. You sighed, running your fingers through his curls and fighting the urge to say anything - something was clearly wrong, but it would have to wait until you were away from the others and alone with him in your hotel room.

After saying quick good nights to the other boys, you headed up to your room, Calum staying silent and two steps behind you the whole way. When you got inside, he muttered something about a shower and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him before you could get a word out. Worry began to eat at you - he was never this withdrawn, this distant, and you always showered together before bed. Always. He was here but it was like you couldn’t reach him. What could possibly be upsetting him this much? You ran through possibilities in your head - his performance tonight had been flawless, easily one of the best of the tour so far, so it couldn’t have been that. But when you went on Instagram, you quickly found your answer. Under the latest picture of him on the band account, a breathtaking shot from tonight of him singing that you quickly saved to make your new lock screen, you were met with a barrage of comments that couldn’t be described as anything short of disgusting.

“Used to be a Calum girl but… yikes. He is not aging well.”

“Maybe he should stick to baggier clothes from now on…”

“I love Calum but damn he’s really let himself go”

“What was he eating during their hiatus, he looks gross now”

“Anyone who’s still claiming that he’s hot is delusional”

They went on and on. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty… a seemingly endless flood of comments attacking your perfect, kind, beautiful boyfriend. Calum wasn’t fat - not by a long shot. He simply wasn’t the 16 year old boy that the world had initially fallen in love with anymore. He looked like a man, better than he ever had before in your opinion, and god knows you couldn’t get enough of him. But as much as he put on a brave face most of the time, and as used to being the target of public scrutiny as he was, you knew that people’s words still affected him, and tonight was proving to be too much for him to hide. Growing up in the media hadn’t been easy, and it had taken a lot for him to learn to love himself, making moments like this cut all that much deeper.

You fired off a quick story, hands shaking with anger.

“It costs nothing to be kind. Your words matter, and if you think it’s ok to bully someone you’ve never met from behind your screens, you are a coward and should be ashamed of yourself. If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all. Guess you all missed that lesson in preschool.”

Replies immediately started flooding in, but you closed your phone, throwing it on the bed beside you. Calum was your priority right now, and you were going to do whatever it took to make sure he didn’t go to bed believing a single word of that garbage.

Just then you heard the water in the shower shut off, and a moment later he emerged from the bathroom, towel around his waist. God he was beautiful. But when he caught your eye, he quickly turned so his back was to you, and grabbed his most oversized hoodie and sweatpants from his suitcase, changing into them as fast as humanly possible, water still dripping from his hair. In the four years that you had been together, he had slept in only his boxers every single night, and you swore you felt your heart physically break as you realized the reason behind his change in pajamas tonight.

“Aren’t you going to be hot in that babe? You know you always wake up sweating in the middle of the night when you fall asleep with clothes on…”

He shook his head slightly, mumbling, “no, ‘m cold”.

“Cal…”

He slid into bed, his back to you, and flipped the light on the nightstand off.

“I’m really tired from the show. I’m just gonna go to sleep.”

You could hear the thickness of unshed tears in his voice, and you felt your heart break a little bit more. Climbing in behind him you went to wrap your arms around him but he shifted out of your grasp, as if your touch burned him. You sighed and tried again, only to be met with the same result.

“Aw c’mon babe, you’re gonna make me go to sleep with no cuddles? That’s just cruel.” you said, trying to crack through the hard facade he was putting up. But much to your dismay, all you got back was a quiet, “ ‘m fuckin disgusting. you shouldn’t even want to touch me anyways.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you pushed them back down. You gently put your hand on his cheek, forcing him to turn his head towards you.

“Hey… stop that baby. What in the world are you talking about? You’re my amazing, beautiful, hot, sexy boyfriend - of course I want to touch you. If it were up to me I’d be glued to you all day every day but unfortunately I haven’t quite figured out how to make that happen yet.”

Your feeble attempt at making him smile fell flat, as he closed his eyes and tried to turn away from you again.

“you don’t have to lie and make all that shit up you know. it’s fine. I know I’m fucking repulsive, I’m sure being stuck with me is bad enough as it is without having to lie to protect my feelings too.”

You felt a surge of anger flow through you - anger at the so-called “fans”, who thought it was ok to tear him down to the point of him hating himself. Anger at him for not being able to see just how perfect he was. Anger at yourself for not being able to make him see it.

Sitting up, you flipped the light back on, and turned so that you were facing him.

“Calum. Look at me. Please.”

Seconds passed with no movement, and you were starting to wonder if he was seriously going to pretend like he didn’t hear you, when he slowly turned his head and looked at you, his brown eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Cal… I saw the comments. I saw them, and I fucking hate that you did too. But you need to know that they could not be farther from the truth. They are hateful, cruel, disgusting lies made by cowards who are only jealous that they will never see the kind of success that you have had in the past ten years as they will in their entire lives. You are not only the most kind, gentle, loving person in the world, but you are easily the most attractive man that I have ever laid eyes on. It’s not even close. And no, I’m not just saying that because I’m your girlfriend and I’m “stuck” with you, I’m saying it because it’s the truth. And you know I would never lie to you. Every day I wake up and I can’t believe how lucky I am to get to love you, my beautiful beautiful boy.”

His eyes softened slightly as you talked, and by the end of your rant he nodded, letting out a shuddering breath, a lone tear finally escaping his eye. Leaning forward you wiped it away gently with your thumb, and let your hand linger on his cheek.

“Now change out of those clothes, cause I know you’re way too hot in them, and let me be big spoon for the night for once.”

He shot you a small, watery smile and did as you asked. Once he was comfortable and back in your arms, your pressed a kiss to his shoulder, running your fingers over his arm the way you knew he liked. After a few minutes, he quietly spoke up.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I promise I will spend every day of my life trying to live up to what you deserve.”

“You don’t have to do that Cal, because you were everything missing from my life the moment I met you. You are everything good and everything right in this world. And I love you. Yesterday, today, tomorrow, forever, I love you. I love you I love you I love you.”

He smiled softly and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.

“I love you most Y/N. Yesterday, today, tomorrow, forever.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[handwrittenhood]

These pictures of him got me like *bark*

[handwrittenhood]

Sanctuary - Calum HoodxReader

calum comes home seeking refuge in his sanctuary (you)

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You sighed as you looked at the clock.

11:17 PM

All week Calum had been a ghost in your own home - gone by the time you woke up, still at the studio when you fell asleep, one of his shirts enveloping you. The closest to a hug you’d come in days.

You knew it wasn’t his fault. You knew he hated the distance, the cold sheets, the coffee mug already in the sink by the time you came down every morning. But management was sick of waiting for a new album, and made it quite clear that a new album was due by the end of the year or else the guys would find themselves facing “contract negotiations”. The pressure was intense, and what were once treasured weekly writing sessions over coffee turned into grueling 12, 14 hour days spent bent over bass strings and notepads.

The stress was consuming Calum. You could see it in the slump of his shoulders, the bags under his eyes, the cuticles picked raw to the point of bleeding - an anxious habit of his that he just couldn’t seem to shake.

It was killing you inside not being able to reach him, to fix it for him. Killing you to live only for the moments in the middle of the night where you would wake to him sliding into bed, pressing his lips to your temple, wrapping a strong arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest. But then morning would come, and you would wake, sure it was a dream if not for the lingering smell of Calum on the sheets - dark and musky, but warm and golden too, like sunlight filtering through the branches of a deep forest.

Today, you decided you had had enough. This industry could take his time, his passion, his focus, his late nights and early mornings because he loved it. But as soon as it started taking his health, his happiness, him… it had to stop.

You decided to stay up tonight until he got home, determined to talk to him, see him, just be with him. But the clock ticked ever closer to midnight, and you resigned yourself to the fact that you would just have to try again tomorrow. Just as you turned off the TV and went to stand, you heard the garage door close, and the front door click open. You stayed quietly on the couch, wanting to see the state of your boyfriend before approaching him. You watched as he walked into the kitchen, tossing his keys onto the counter and slumping onto a stool, head in hands. It wasn’t until his broad shoulders started to shake that you got up, quietly making your way over to the kitchen and crouching down in front of him so that you were looking up at his face, resting a hand on his knee as to not startle him.

“Hey baby…”

He looked up at the sound of your voice, and you felt your heart crack a little. His dark eyes were glistening with unshed tears, a few having made their way down his face until they came to a rest, pooling in the cupid’s bow of his full lips.

“Oh honey… what’s going on hmm?” You murmured, bringing your hand up to gently cup his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, starving for the comfort and contact.

He mumbled something into your palm, but it was too muffled to hear.

“What was that?”

“ ‘m so… tired. So tired.”

You sighed quietly, rubbing your thumb across his cheekbone. “I know you are baby… it’s not good. You’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re exhausted, you’re stressed, you’re stretched too thin. It’s too much Cal. It’s not healthy for you to keep going like this. You can’t.”

He set his jaw in determination, but you could still see the weariness rolling off of him in waves. “Not gonna let them down.”

You turned his head gently so that he was looking at you. “Calum Thomas Hood. You are singlehandedly the most talented, hardworking, and dependable man that I have ever met. You could never let anyone down if you tried, and especially not the guys. And that’s what matters. Not management, not the fans, not the press. The band. And I know that as both your bandmates and your best friends, they care a hell of a lot more about your health than about any album or deadline. Not to mention that they’re probably feeling just as burned out as you are. You need to slow down babe.”

He stayed quiet for a moment before letting out a shuddering breath.

“I know. You’re right, I know you’re right. I can’t do this anymore. I miss my life. I miss my beautiful girlfriend, who is so much more patient than I deserve. I miss Sunday morning pancakes and Friday night movie marathons with you. I miss taking long walks with Duke, and sleeping in. I miss…” he trailed off.

You quietly wait for him to continue.

“I miss loving music. All of this pressure it’s… making me hate it. All of it. The writing, the playing, the singing, the producing. It’s robotic now. Robotic and forced. We’re less a group of musicians and more a machine just pumping out song after song, one album closer to our inevitable burn out or fade into obscurity.” And then, in barely above a whisper, “I’m terrified Y/N. I can’t lose this - the band, the bass, my life.”

You feel tears welling behind your own eyes but you force them back down. This isn’t about you. Standing up, you pull him into a hug, his head resting against your chest, one of your hands carding through his hair, letting his curls run through your fingers.

“Hey hey… no babe, don’t think like that. You’re not going to lose anything, because we’re going to stop now before it gets to that point. I promise you baby, it’s gonna be ok. Ok?”

He nods in response.

“Ok, let’s start by getting you a good nights sleep, yeah? Let’s go love.” You take his hand and gently pull him from the stool, leading him across the house and up the stairs to your bedroom.

He quickly takes his clothes off, leaving them in a pile on the floor, before sinking down onto the bed. You climb in behind him and sit with your legs on either side of him, gently kneading your hands into the tense muscles lining his back and shoulders. He visibly relaxed, letting his fall back gently to rest on your shoulder. You kissed his cheek and lightly patted his leg. “Come on sleepy head, it’s bedtime.”

He laid down, pulling the blankets up around both of you and opening his arm, inviting you to lay your head on his chest. You gave him a soft kiss. “Get some rest Calum, I’m right here. I love you.” He kissed the top of your head, running his fingers across your back lightly. “I love you babygirl. So much.”

Within minutes, you felt his breathing even out as he fell into a much-needed sleep. You reached over for his phone, careful not to wake him, and unlocked it before turning off his alarm for the next morning. They would survive without him for one day. Or a week if you had anything to do about it. Setting his phone back on the nightstand, you settled back into him, smiling as he wrapped a familiar arm around you, holding you close even in his sleep.

The next morning, you woke up, momentarily forgetting the events of the night before. Except, when you turned over to go back to sleep, you were met with a peacefully sleeping Calum, his tousled curls spilling across his forehead, mouth slightly open. You smiled to yourself and moved to cuddle up against him, fingers tracing his tattoos lightly. As you closed your eyes again, you pressed a kiss to his shoulder and breathed in his scent, so familiar and comforting and real this time, not just a whisper of him left behind on the pillow.

This is how things were supposed to be. It was going to be ok. He was going to be ok.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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