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[in-the-pocket]

[ Hi all, still here. Stepbrother died by suicide, family is a mess, processing, making arrangements. I’m just taking a bit of time to be with them, grieve and mentally reset. Be on later in my drafts to keep some creativity moving.

A little note from my heart, as I cry in a fucking Walmart:

Please talk. You aren’t selfish for how you feel, you’re not bad or broken. But you deserve a chance for the light to brighten back up. Don’t suffer alone and in silence. ]

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❛  you've been such a great friend, and i just wanted to say thanks.  ❜ from scott

Pippa wanted to kiss him. And if she had, their lips touching wouldn't have thrown gasoline on any kind of burning romantic fire in her stomach. She wanted to kiss him because it would be the clearest possible way of saying 'I love you' he would see.

The comment hinted at the fact that he took note of some of the subtle ways she tried to be present in his life. But it didn't feel enough. In the beginning, standing in the back was the only way she would attend his shows.

Lately, though, Pippa found herself closer and closer to the front, slowly getting pushed and shoved with more energy and creative violence. She started to enjoy that. She clapped and whooped for her friend when he puffed his chest out and peacocked with his beat up shoes and equipment. To her, he was one of the most talented people she knew. Even more than herself, she'd thought on occasion.

The impulse to pull him down to her height was painfully hard to ignore, like the set tempo of loud metronome. Being out of time with it was a very conscious choice, and took sustained effort.

Her brown eyes stayed glued on his.

Fuck.

She settled. She sighed. She cupped on side of his face and yanked him down while she leaned up to meet him. Her puffy lips pressed onto the slight stubble of his cheek.

The quickness of it all was deliberate, and she chose to blow past the red light without looking in either direction. She was confident in her ability to slip through.

"You've done a lot for me too," she huffed. "That's what friends are for."

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@godstrayed [ idea cont. Will x Pippa ]

"The world rarely makes room for something as fragile and enduring as peace. We take what we can and make from it what we will."

The final line of Professor Graham's lecture before winter finals season.

Pippa Berlin Belt was a musician. She taught music. Not words, theories of the mind, how to understand someone's eyes. She taught the theory of sound, how to understand someone's soul. Why she was here, tucked up in the back corner of the smaller lecture hall was serendipity. The consequence of her yearning for connection.

Teaching at a university where words were more common than sound was still taking some time to get used to. Pippa was 'Professor Belt' around campus, and she was very quickly making herself too important. Dean of the small conservatory wasn't a pipe dream at this rate.

Her students didn't have 'finals' the same way the word-learning students did. Pippa always tried to make the end of a semester worth it by inviting her students to play anything of their choice. She gave them room to breathe, to move, to push their instruments and their tongues and lungs and fingers and feet to creative limits. While she looked for 'objective' goods in music-playing like tone and timing, her main concern was style, finesse, self-expression. Conservatory kids knew the rules. It was time to test their ability to break them.

The words of this last class hung in the air around her ears the same way a stellar performance from a half-conscious student did.

Students clapped, he looked awkward, sent them off and Pippa lingered. Slowly, she stood.

"Wonderful lecture," she chirped from the back. "I can't wait to pick your brain over lunch."

This was planned a week ago. She'd approached him after a staff-wide meeting on professionalism and expectations of university faculty. Her eyes had rolled back into her head multiple times while she angrily tapped her bass pedal foot. She took note of others looking just as irritated. And there he was, probably thinking the same thing: these words were stupid and could've been an email.

But Professor Graham, couldn't. Neither could she.

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ifitsandsitsinpockets: pre performance Chardonnay! Tonight! 8pm!! Lincoln Center!!!

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4, 27, and 30!

4. do you have any advice for other writers?

Write, homie. Even when you really feel like nothing is there, write something. I count journal entries as writing too. Just because for me, it keeps me in the habit. But a bit more on the feely feely side, I really think you shouldn't ever beat yourself up for not writing something of substance. Whatever that may be by your standards. It's okay. I know sometimes it can be made even worse when this is your outlet, and you can't even use it. It's okay. Just write something. Anything.

27. describe yourself in two words

seeking forgiveness (sigh)

30. most used emoji?

😭

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[ getting big girl adult things done! Happy Memorial Day to those in the US that celebrate. I'll pour one out for anyone you lost alongside my buddy! Writing away, don't worry friends. I know I say it a lot but I hate posting only one thing at a time sometimes so I am finishing up a few more before queueing. Hugs! ]

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* interview the writer

send a number. a mix of serious and fun.

what color do you associate with your muse?

is there a song that reminds you of your muse?

how do you get yourself out of a writing funk?

do you have any advice for other writers?

would you hug your muse?

how are you and your muse alike?

how are you and your muse different?

do you follow canon, or dump it in the trash?

best scene featuring your muse? (chapter, film, episode)

talk about your writing

fluff or angst?

favorite book?

how are you?

ghosts or monsters?

what does your name mean?

ice cream, candy, pie or cookies?

what motivates you?

are you a jedi master? 

describe love

favorite cryptid(s)?

do you believe in extraterrestrial life?

mcdonald’s or burger king?

anything spooky happen this week?

share a funny story 

are you religious?

what are you doing right now?

describe yourself in two words

metal, folk, pop or ambient?

list your top two movies

most used emoji?

favorite comic book character?

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— natalie wee, never been kissed (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

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— Clementine Von Radics, from In A Dream You Saw A Way To Survive; "The Fear" (via lunamonchtuna)

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DtMF - Bad Bunny

Debí tirar más fotos de cuando te tuve I should've taken more pictures when I had you

Debí darte más beso' y abrazo' las vece' que pude I should've given you more kisses and hugs whenever I could

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Swing Journal (Japan) - November 2006 - Miles Davis

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cont. @niratias

It ached. Everything ached. Her head, her nose her face her hips her legs and knees and her heart and-

His eyes are on hers. He's become shiny with a thin layer of sweat that she's been refraining from licking off. His stomach is rising and falling deeply, twitching ever so slightly at the end of each exhale as his diaphragm switches gears. Lance's breathing reminds her of the end of performances. Her focus was always on ensuring she didn't faint. Don't lock your knees, she'd been told. She never locks her knees.

Pippa's eyes continue to travel until they reach the erection she'd let go of. They stop. She takes a strained breath. She pushes it out of her nose. Her eyes flick back up to meet his. He begs. He's usually quite calm and easygoing in daily contexts. Right now, he sounds needy and desperate. He needs her. She needs him. Needs him to need her.

The Sweetheart says nothing while she moves. She gently lays over his thighs and casually pushes her hair over her shoulder. The light behind her casts a faint glow around the outline of her body. She glows like an angel. His teeth grit like a demon's.

The unusual depth of his eyes and the harshness of his teeth are taken note of. There's a part of Lance she still didn't know much about, and she's sure he's accidentally showing her. Even his body feels hotter than it should, she thinks.

Or maybe she's just forgotten about just how much pent up need and desire can get to you.

The loving curiosity she looks at him with extends into her tongue. Pippa drags it across the taut skin of his cock from base to tip. The sound of his breathing is all she can focus on. Its unsteadiness is what pushes her to wrap her pink lips around the head and take him slowly down her throat.

His taste, his heat and his breath keep her moving, carefully and deliberately. The previous denials of pleasure were born out of a curiosity about the self, and what she was capable of or even enjoyed doing. But this time, the slowness of her movements and the pauses she takes when her nose grazes his pelvis, are born from curiosity about him.

Her eyes still never leave his. She blinks slowly and gives him a soft hum.

I love you. Let me make you feel good.

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Nikos Kazantzakis, from a letter featured in The Selected Letters of Nikos Kazantzakis

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[ Added two very basic AUs which can be found on the verses page. Plotting is preferred with these beause of how vague I kept them. More room for us to play!

But I'll paste the info here as well:

Alternate Universes: An extra note for AUs- Pippa can most certainly change home base locations depending on what suits us best! Let's plot together and come up with something.

Supernatural/horror: Pippa has the ability to talk to the dead through her keyboard and trumpet. If the instruments are not readily available, she can hum singular notes, which will do the same. The way it works is difficult for her to explain but it's something she will do often. (For DbD, SH and other fandoms, let's plot specific details together.)

Fantasy: Pippa is a bard that performs regularly on her travels. Her music has healing properties, thus she can often be found at homes for the sick and needy often. In typical DnD fashion, her music also can serve as an otherworldly motivator for her companions when morale is low. (Can be high fantasy, modern fantasy or urban fantasy settings.) ]

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Fyodor Dostoevsky, from a letter featured in "Letters of Fyodor Michailovitch Dostoevsky to his Family & Friends,"

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Allison Young