#this was my melody writing exercise of the day!

[skzhua]

BESTIE SJSJSJ FIRST IMMA SAY YOUR ANGST WITH THE HAPPY ENDS? ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL LIKE IVE READ PLENTY AND NEVER COULD FIND ONE THAT SCRATCHED MY ITCH (or whatever they say)😭 SOOOO I SAW UOUR REQUESTS WERE OPENED AND I RAN HERE😭😭😭 i don't have a very ... Particular request like idk the exact word but it's basically just a smol thought you can write if you like💀

So basically stumbled upon a video of Binnie talking about how memebers are when angry and him sayin all it takes for him to calm down IS ANY SORT IF PHYSICAL TOUCH

Simply shakes me to the core every time I think about him being putty in my hands 🫦🫦 (no calling me out for being delusional i will police and jail)

Idek know how to base an entire one shot around just this tiny thing so let's just pretend i was gushing if you can't either 💀💀💀

The Three Times Changbin Got Mad, and the One Time He Didn't

MASTERLIST

Pairing Seo Changbin x Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff.

Word Count: 1,777

Warnings: Swearing. (not proofread yet!)

A/N: Like you said, extremely hard to base off an entire imagine just from this so I'm sorry if this is shitty. I tried real hard for inspiration to come but Changbin is such a soft person in my mind that I genuinely can't wrap my head around him getting angry lmao. I hope this does the trick!

In the few years you had been dating the man, Changbin liked to consider himself as a calm person. In fact, he only got angry a few times. But those few times were intense.

one.

JYP criticized his song. By then, it was no surprise to anyone that Changbin had some dislike towards his big boss. However, it was not the first time he got some harsh reviews on a demo. So why did this one in particular made him especially pissed? Because he wrote it about his lover, you.

When he wrote it, he hadn't seen you in days and missed you terribly. He gave his all to this song as he arranged and composed it only a few days after writing it. Once you finally found the time to see each other, he was so proud to show it to you. Of course you loved it and almost cried because, come on, how sweet is it that your boyfriend loves you so much that he makes a song about you?

Apparently, it was not enough to be released as an SKZ-RECORD.

"Is it the melody? I could change the hook for-" Changbin started, but Chan put his hand on his shoulder as to stop him from speaking any more.

"It's not just the melody. The lyrics are very explicitly directed to a significant other and some fans might react poorly to it. Plus, it doesn't sound like the kind of music you'd release. Your tone is too soft unlike usually."

Changbin was baffled. "Too soft? What about it? Do you expect me to sing about the love of my life while growling?"

Chan felt the tension growing. "Bin, it's not-"

"You think it's bad too?" he scoffed.

"I didn't say that but-"

"No, I get it." he cut him off again. "Thank you both for the feedback."

And just like that, he stormed out of the room, heading straight to the gym. It was the only he thought of letting out the build up rage his coworkers had caused. Music blasting in his headphones, doing his nth squat, he still couldn't calm down. As he dropped his dumbbell in front of him, his attention was drifted to the door opening to his left. Jisung stood there with a small smile. Changbin removed turned off his music and greeted the younger man with a wave. Jisung dropped his things in the corner of the room where the lockers were located before he joined him.

"You started without me?"

Changbin nodded, sweat dripping on his face. "I left the company early."

"Chan told me."

Not wanting to discuss about what had happened, he turned his music back on and went on with his workout. Jisung got the message and didn't bother him any further. They exercised together in silence.

An hour later, they left to go back home. It was no surprise for anyone when Changbin didn't take the time to greet Chan when he walked in the dorm as he went straight to his room. He pulled out a bag and then dialed your number.

On your side, you were doing nothing but watching a movie. Not having gotten the proper sleep for a while, you were dozing off easily. The ring coming from your phone woke you up immediately. Recognizing the contact picture of your boyfriend, you wasted no time to answer.

"Hey." you answered with a yawn.

"Hey." Changbin said softly. "Did I wake you up?"

"No." you chuckled. "What's up?"

He sighed in hesitation. "Can I come sleep at your place tonight? Something happened at work and I can't seem to calm down."

"Of course you can, but I might be already asleep when you come."

"It's fine with me, I just need a break from the guys for a bit."

Although he couldn't see, you smiled sadly. If he needed a break from the boys, it meant something really bad happened. Otherwise, he would try to fix things instead.

"Alright. If I don't answer the door, just come in, okay?!

And that's what he did. He did argue a bit with Chan whether it was a good idea sleeping at your place when they had an early practice the next day. Still, he left harshly and went to your apartment.

As you had predicted, you had fallen asleep already. His heart did get lighter at the sight of you, but he still had this knot inside of his stomach. In silence, he slipped under the covers and closed his eyes.

two.

Changbin was already having a bad day. Not having slept much the night before, he was most definitely exhausted. So when Minho pointed out that he did not do a move the right way, it only fed his anger.

"We've been doing this choreography enough times, you should be able to do it properly." Minho sighed. "Can I see it again?"

Changbin suppressed any sign of annoyance and did as told. And he made the same mistake again.

Minho shook his head. "Try again."

And again, same thing.

"I'm sorry." he apologized in a small voice.

"We have a showcase tomorrow, you are supposed to master the choreography." Minho exhaled. "Again."

And it was the same. Maybe having called you until late at night was not a good idea after all.

"What is it with you today? Stop think about Y/N and focus."

That reached Changbin's limit. He would take any criticism or even insults, but he would never accept someone bringing you up for no reason.

"You know I can do this move normally, can't we just move on?"

"I'm just saying if you weren't so distracted with her-"

Changbin scoffed. "Don't go there, Minho."

"Am I wrong, though? I get you have your own little adventure with her, but I still expect you to be doing this properly."

"We're only practicing."

"And we visibly need practicing here."

Chan walked to stand between the two men. "Alright, I think this is enough."

"Tell that to him." Changbin nodded his head at Minho.

"I'm sorry for wanting us to be at our best."

"So the best would be for me to break up with Y/N and miserably work non-stop here?"

Minho's jaw clenched, Changbin could see it. The lack of answer was his cue that he had enough of the day. With a decided walk, he took his belongings and didn't forget to slam the door behind him.

He would have called you, but you had gone back to your parents' home for the weekend and he knew how much you missed them. So he went to the studio and drowned himself in his music. Oddly enough, he had enough inspiration to write a song. It was mostly spiteful so he would never actually put it out, but it did help. Still, even after hours submerged in sound mixing and some recordings here and there, he could get rid of the anger Minho had grown in his core.

He really wished you were there.

three.

Jeongin stole his protein shake. For anyone else, this was not an issue at all. However, Changbin took his workout very seriously. So much so that it was almost to the point he'd pass it before the members. In this case, it was definitely that.

"It's half empty." he said through the phone.

The younger man having left to start his day already, he tried his best to justify his action from afar. "I stayed over last night and woke up late, this was the only thing I could digest quickly for the day. Anyway, you told me you'd make me one at some point."

Changbin scoffed. "I told you I'd make you one on the day you stop being a little shit."

"Hey, I have been nice for quite a while now."

"Congrats? What do you want me to say? Jeongin, this was perfectly mesured for me to get through the day and I was running out of protein powder so I was kind of counting on this one for my diet."

"Sorry, I didn't know."

"You could've asked at the very least."

"I said I'm sorry, really."

"Yeah right."

And he hung up, steam coming out of his ears as he stared at the shaker.

four.

The slam of the hotel room's door made your heart stop for a second. When your eyes laid on your boyfriend coming in, you calmed down immediately. Still, the look on his face didn't scream happiness and that perked some worry in you.

"Hey, baby." you said softly while he was taking his shoes off.

"Hi."

He didn't speak any more and dropped down on the chair opposite to where you were. You knew him better than anybody else but the expression on his face was unreadable. It was negative for sure but you couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly.

"How was the concert?" you finally broke the silence.

"The usual." he answered boringly.

"The fans?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "The usual."

Something was off and it annoyed the shit out of you. "Alright, what happened?"

"Nothing."

"I'm not taking this as an answer."

He sighed, already feeling defeated. He couldn't hide anything from you, even the slightest thing. He went up to you and sat on the bed.

"It's not that big of a deal but my mic was cut and I missed a whole rap verse."

You let out a breath. "That's a shame... They fixed it at least?"

"Yeah but I got nervous after and messed everything up. Chan was on my back for the rest of the night and it pissed me off. Like, I don't know, I was trying."

You shushed him quick by stroking his hand with your thumb. Instantly, you could see his whole body relax a little. You didn't need to ask for him to crawl next to you, allowing you to engulf him in a cuddle. Rubbing the sides of his body, you kept quiet as your sole goal was to comfort him.

Changbin felt his heart pound less and less as he melted under your touch. Affection has always worked on him as a way to relax but you were a special one. Your presence could be enough for him to forget about anything remotely frustrating. You were his safe space and he felt so much love for you, no shit he would calm down so fast.

"Thank you." he whispered with a smile.

"It's nothing. Now, how about I order us some food and we go to bed?"

He moved around so he could see your face and smirked. "Are you paying?"

"Don't push your luck, Seo."

@lenilla15 | @muddy-waters | @nanaspalette | @nattisbored | @popcatx0 | @vanblack95 | @aestheticsluut | @thanxxskz | @minhoino | @taetertotsv | @luvscrazy | @lethallyprotected | @foxinnie8 | @jisuperboard | @jihanlovic | @soobin-chois | @jinxwhore28 | @purplelandsworld | @yeojoongiee | @smugrogerina | @jaehyunicecream | @urmomlikeslinotoo | @syprosight | @thesassy-mia | @chaotic-world-of-the-j | @heartsforlevi | @miyakoa | @seungincore | @skzsilentcryy

Copyright © 2023 skzhua. All rights reserved.

[jpitha]

Table of Contents!

Hi Everyone! I'm jpitha!

I write sci-fi shorts and stories! I have a few universes that I like to write about, mostly so I can keep worldbuilding straight. I post here and on r/HFY (a scifi writing focused reddit) and I've been trying out posting links back to here on Threads.

I like to post nearly every day. My longer works usually get posted once or twice a week, but I try and fill out the week with other stuff.

Since I have a bunch of posts now, here's a ToC to help you find the kind you want to read, broken out roughly by theme:

Multi-Part Long Reads

The Race (2 parts) First long one I did and the first time I introduced a K'laxi. I edited it from its original post as I learned more about them. Complete

Blockade Runner (2 parts) Might come back to this one later

Awakenings (4 parts, Intertwined with Hidden Depths) Complete

We Need a Ride (7 parts, 2 Codas stuff in Awakenings and Hidden Depths references it) Complete

Hidden Depths A Multi POV Adventure about when everyone on the Joint Human/K'laxi Starbase comes together to defeat an invasion force with the help of a long lost colony ship. (27, plus extra parts, Intertwined with Awakenings) Complete

Just A Little Further YA Flavored, first person adventure about Melody Mullen and what happens when she goes along on an exploratory trip to try and reach the end of the Warp Gate system. (40 parts) Complete

The Dreams of Hyacinth Cyberpunk Noir. Nicholas North is a easygoing small time crook who lives on the Corporation owned High Mars Orbital Hyacinth. When he is asked by a friend for some help, he agrees readily, not realizing what he's getting drawn into. Ongoing

Aliens are Gardenworlders

I want to live on the Gardenworld

Tumbling on a low gee world

Diary of a Human on the Gardenworld

Spacediving

Gord the Maplelegger

Gord's Tall Tale

On Lawbreaking

Gord Goes Curling

Gord Meets His Match?

Worldbuilding

Blockade Runner (redux)

Avoid Humans are Mary-Sue's

Remember that your Aliens aren't idiots

The Fire Brigade

Starjumper age

On AIs

How to Communicate Across Vast Distances

Working out the Day/Time/Date differential

The Real World is Messy

Humans Are Old (friends)

Humans get fevers

How to Communicate Across Vast Distances

Hidden Depths: A Side Story

On Cooperation

Did AIs Ever Think to Wipe Out Humanity?

The First Few Rows Will Get Wet

Slice of Life Stories

The Cyclists

Acetone is bad?

Gene's High Gee Gym

Hospitality

K'laxi and Human kids playing

Office Cookies

Humans and their Hobbies

All Human Ships Have a Manual Override

Allergies

Liver and Kidneys mean we eat anything

Frisbee tricks

Risk Tolerance

The Dinner Party

The Long Way Round

Humans Solve Problems With Explosions

Humans Play Wargames

Everyone has Proprioception

K'laxi Used to Run on All Fours

Humans Still Solve Problems With Explosions

Tattoos and Piercings

Ambassador Transport

Just One Question

Lin Makes Art

Bar fight Aftermath

K'laxi and Cats

Do it With Style

Upgrading Starbase

How are AIs Powered Anyway?

Computing Power (edited)

Outside the K'laxiverse posts

Humans and their computers

Who Is The Human?

Throwing

Mating Rituals

Hunting

Determination

Lateral Thinking

Catching

Oxygen Ain't Nothing to Mess With

Flash Fiction Friday Posts

FFF187 - You Can't Be Serious

FFF189 - Because You Need It

FFF191 - We're On Our Way

FFF200 - It's Just a Walk for You?

Encyclopedia Posts

Humans Make Friends with Anything

Human Kids Make Friends Easily

Humans Make an Entrance

Humans bring Busking

War Emergency Power

On Starjumpers and Battle

War Stories

A Matter of Scale

Just Another Merc

Time to Go

Gotcha! (or is it?)

Inter-Colony War

Always Ready

The Sacrifice

Relationship Stories

K'laxi Can Eat Waffles

Peripheral Vision

Dancing

Flirting through exercise

Nilan and Ta'reni learn about timekeeping

The Big Game

Heart to Heart

YA-esque Stories

Water Balloon War

The Birthday Surprise

Kelly and Panemi look at kittens

[nanawritesit]

Random Headcanons I Have For The DDLC Girls 💞

Monika:

favorite pocky flavor is almond crush

loves cappuccinos

wants to learn ballet

does pilates (and is super into the pink pilates princess aesthetic)

is obsessed with skincare

her dream date is a picnic on a sunny day

a dog person, especially smaller dogs

listens to penelope scott and mitski

likes to listen to music on vinyl records

favorite flower is lily of the valley

wants to learn french

loves art museums and studying art history

wears almond shaped acrylic nails

favorite animals are deer and butterflies

favorite movies are girl interrupted, the virgin suicides, gone girl, and jennifer’s body

loves cheesecake, especially the blueberry kind

reads sylvia plath poems every night before bed

Yuri:

wants to study abroad in london

prefers dark chocolate over milk

favorite pocky flavor is matcha green tea

favorite bubble tea flavor is purple taro

spends so much time doing her eyeliner every morning trying to get her wings to match perfectly

has definitely tried slam poetry at some point

listens to black veil brides and my chemical romance

thinks snakes are really cool and wants one as a pet really bad

collects fancy stationary

is addicted to perfume, her favorite scents are jasmine and vanilla

wants to learn the cello

is subscribed to watcher on youtube

listens to true crime podcasts

falls asleep to asmr videos

her favorite movies are all of the tim burton ones, especially corpse bride

has an intense hair care routine

Natsuki:

went through an ouran high school host club phase, she won’t admit it but her favorite host is tamaki

has a full gaming pc setup… pink cat ear headphones and everything

a twitch streamer

listens to hatsune miku

plays cooking mama

convinced all of them to go to a cat cafe

collects sanrio merchandise (her fav is my melody)

loves sailor moon, her favorite scout is definitely sailor mars

wants to cosplay but is too nervous

a crystal collector, has an altar full of rose quartz

HATES exercise

collects keychains and pins of her favorite characters

loves buying cute socks with fun patterns

writes fan fiction on tumblr and actually has a lot of followers

is obsessed with strawberries

Sayori:

prefers pancakes over waffles

has a squishmallow addiction

plays animal crossing

always plays as baby peach in mario kart

favorite cereal is fruity pebbles

only orders hot chocolate at coffee shops

wants rainbow sprinkles every time she eats ice cream

is a huge kpop stan, definitely stans twice and collects their photocards. her bias is probably sana or nayeon

loves christmas and carefully planned out the perfect presents to give the girls, also organized a christmas party for all of them

cuts her own hair

wears a lot of blush and collects different brands, especially ones with cute packaging

ALSO collects sanrio merchandise, but her fav is cinnamoroll

loves studio ghibli movies! especially my neighbor totoro and kiki’s delivery service

drinks chocolate milk with every meal

[e-dubbc11]

Lights Out

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Fluffy, and Smexy. First time writing descriptive smut. 18+, NO MINORS! Fingering(a little), Oral (F! Receiving) Billy accidentally scaring Reader.

Word Count: 3.2k-ish

Summary: The power goes out during a really bad thunderstorm and you’re all alone at home while Billy is off doing field exercises.

A/N: So this is my first time writing smut, its not a lot, just a little taste (taste, hehe) Anyway, I hope it doesn’t suck. I’m really nervous so please be gentle. I have dipped a pinky toe into the smut world before so this I’d say it’s one legs worth this time. 🤣 I also used a couple of lines from Pet Sematary by Stephen King. And I know I said I was taking the month off but…I guess I lied 😆

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

The day started out as overcast, the sun peeked in and out from behind the clouds during the early morning hours. Would you need your umbrella today? The forecast said yes but it may not do you any good considering the amount of rain that was supposed to arrive by late afternoon and continue throughout the night.

During the late morning, the sun completely disappeared and the silvery clouds from that morning became smoky, murky, and then it started to sprinkle. Bleak, dark gray clouds rolled in after lunch while you were at work and a deep rumble of thunder sang a continuous melody on your way home.

You didn’t want to get caught in what you heard would be “torrential downpours” so you decided to take an uber back to your apartment after work, plus your boyfriend Billy hated the idea of you walking home alone in the dark and in the rain which is understandable. He texted to make sure you were getting a ride home instead of walking.

Thankfully, you arrived home just in time to watch the sky open up and the rain pour down. With the rain beating down against the glass, you stood close to the window to behold the gloomy city skyline, carefully sipping your hot earl grey tea, and listening to the low rolls of thunder.

Between the rain pattering against the building and hearing the menacing thunder as it got closer and closer, the thunderstorm was very relaxing for you. The ominous early evening sky was suddenly lit up from a bolt of lightning, a deafening boom of thunder shook the building and immediately the apartment went dark.

At dinner the previous night, Billy was telling you about the field exercises he had planned for his team for the next night. He was very excited for it, wide eyed and very vocal, telling you he and Frank were going to teach the new recruits a “thing or two.” He couldn’t contain his excitement, miming with his hands, smiling from ear to ear which in turn made you smile.

Nothing made you happier than when Billy would talk about what he loved and he loved being a marine. The fact that he was able to start his own company to continue what he loved doing meant everything to him.

As CEO of Anvil, Billy Russo worked way too hard but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Most of the time he was the last person to leave the office and then continued to work at home if he needed to. He reminded you that morning he was going to be doing field exercises with his team at a nearby college campus so he would be home late or maybe not at all.

“Remember my love, I have training tonight so I’ll be home really late or I’ll stay with Frankie until the morning.” He said.

You frowned a little as you asked him “We’re supposed to get some severe thunderstorms later, baby. You sure you’re still going to hold your training session?”

You were standing near the coffee maker when he pulled you in close and kissed the top of your head. “Protection details don’t postpone because the weather is bad, love. Besides, it’s good for them to gain experience in all kinds of weather.”

Billy was right so you nodded while continuing to look at the floor. You brought your gaze up to meet his, stared into his dark chocolate like eyes while he cupped your cheeks to bring you in for a kiss.

His freshly sprayed cologne conquered your sense of smell over the coffee aroma that hung in the air. He always smelled so good and knew that particular cologne was your favorite.

“I understand, handsome. Can you blame me for wanting you to come home at a reasonable hour though?” You smiled warmly at him while brushing your thumbs over his beard.

He smiled back and kissed the heel of your hand. “I’ll try, baby. But you know I can’t promise anything.”

“As long as you try, Mr. Russo—that’s all I ask.” You brought him in closer for another kiss, his lips were firm and his tongue begged to dance with yours.

You couldn’t tell which was harder, the kitchen counter Billy had you pinned against or him. His long, steady fingers roamed from your shoulders down to your hips and he reached for the zipper on the back of your skirt.

“Is this a new skirt, sweet girl?” His voice was smooth and sexy. “Can I see what it looks like crumpled up on the kitchen floor?” Billy whispered in your ear then gently nibbled on your ear lobe and peppered kisses down your neck. Pulling down the zipper of your skirt, you felt his cock twitch in his suit pants as he let your skirt fall to the floor, your black silk dress shirt dropped to cover your ass and the tops of your legs.

He licked his bottom lip as he eyed you up and down, looking at your bare legs sticking out of the bottom of your shirt. The look he had in his eyes was primal, you felt the warmth rise to your cheeks and the ache between your thighs was growing hungry for him.

”Billy…” you softly moaned as he continued to kiss your neck. “We’re both going to be late for work if you keep this up.”

He slowly pulled away from you and with all of his Billy Russo charm said “Well it looks like you’re going to be late, baby. I own my company and I can go in whenever I want.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. He knew that as soon as he smiled at you there was no turning away, there was no just going about your day like nothing happened, there was no denying him. You always succumbed to his charms, you always gave in—Billy just had that effect on you, every single time.

You never told him “no,” you never wanted to tell him “no,” and you didn’t tell him “no” when he started to unbutton your blouse. After undoing the last button, he unhurriedly pushed your shirt off of your shoulders, it fell to the floor landing on top of your skirt, and you were standing before him in nothing but a black lace bra and panties set.

“Is this new too?” Billy asked, with a sly smirk, lightly rubbing the lace on the cup in between his fingers, and grazing the top of your breast.

“Do you like it?” You asked while looking up at him through your long lashes. “Oh you DO like it, don’t you my love.” You said, palming him through his pants.

You didn’t know it was possible but at that very moment, Billy’s eyes were the darkest you’ve ever seen them. They were full of desire as his hands migrated from your shoulders to the wet spot on your panties, still never taking his gaze off of you.

“This all for me, sweet girl?” He asked as his smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He knows exactly what his smile does to you.

“It’s always for you, Billy.” You purred in his ear.

Suddenly, his hands were under your ass as he lifted you off of the floor and laid you on your back on the kitchen counter, placing kisses on your stomach down to your inner thighs. Countless goosebumps spread across your skin as you bit down on your bottom lip while watching him hungrily attack your body like a wild animal, nipping the skin as he made his way down to your core.

Billy firmly gripped the front of your panties to move them to the side, you’ve lost count of how many pairs he’s ripped during your relationship. “Billy Russo, don’t you DARE rip my new underwear!”

Your tone quickly changed as he parted your folds, one finger then two slipped inside, he moved them almost rhythmically, causing you to arch your back off of the counter. Soft moans escaped your lips and now every cell in your body was awake and turned on.

“You’re dripping, baby.” He said as his thumb moved in circles when he found your clit, your moans a little louder, whispers of his name from your mouth turned him on more, they were music to his ears, and suddenly he was on his knees in front of you, one of your legs draped over his shoulder.

The flutters inside your body began to build like small waves crashing against the shore, as his tongue moved in and out of you with long, eager strokes, his other hand on your stomach to try to keep you flush with the counter.

“Billy…” You whimpered.

You could feel him smile against your thighs as he said “You’re close aren’t you, love. Just cum for me, baby.” The tone of his voice was hypnotic and smooth like honey.

The waves within your body were moving faster now, getting bigger and bigger as your orgasm approached, you shuttered and cried out his name as he hummed against your core and lapped up every drop of your release. Surely, your neighbors must have heard, you weren’t exactly trying to be quiet.

“Well, I’m definitely going to be late for work now.” You said softly with a shy smile on your face, your eyes were still closed as you slowly came down from your high.

As you opened your eyes, Billy stood up slowly and hovered over you, his beard glistened in the dim kitchen lights, his perfectly styled hair wasn’t so perfect anymore after tugging on it while he pulled moan after moan out of you, and you sat up on your elbows with your legs still quaking from the tongue fucking he just gave you.

You watched Billy wipe what was left of you off of his chin and he leaned down to kiss you. Clasping your hands around his neck, he pulled you up to a sitting position, still kissing you, and running his fingers through your hair. This man couldn’t get enough of you.

“Was it worth it, sweet girl?” Billy asked while pressing his forehead to yours.

You raked your fingers through his hair, trying to fix what you messed up and said to him “You’re always worth it, handsome. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. Get dressed and I’ll drive you to work.” He said with a wink and a smile.

Billy pulled up to the curb, and he lightly grabbed your hand to kiss it as you were trying to get out of the car. “Have a great day, beautiful. Thank you for breakfast.” He flashed you a wicked smile and immediately you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile back.

“Have fun with your training session tonight, my love. And be careful, there is supposed to be lightning.” You leaned over, kissed him on the cheek, and exited the car. He waved as you watched him drive away. No one would be able to wipe the smile off your face today.

Sitting in the dark, you’d catch yourself daydreaming about earlier that morning but you were suddenly snapped back to reality when heard the rumbles of thunder that continued to sound like they were right on top of the building.

You realized the power probably wasn’t coming back any time soon because the entire block was out so you pulled out the candles and the flashlights but noticed that your phone battery was very low and of course when you need it most, your portable charger was dead because you had used it a few days before.

But what if Billy needed to get in touch with you? You reminded yourself that he was busy with work and more than likely you wouldn’t see him until tomorrow.

Since your stove used gas, you were able to cook up a little something for dinner by candlelight. A romantic dinner for one of bacon and eggs. Candles burned bright in every room of the apartment and after cleaning up dinner, you decided to change into comfortable clothes and try to read your book.

You smiled a little when you attached your book light to the book you were reading. You remembered when Billy came home from work one day with it among his papers. As you were clearing the table for dinner, you noticed it resting on top of the pile of paper work.

“Billy, do you mind if I move your papers to the counter? Dinner is almost ready.” You said.

He looked over at you and pointed at the light. “Sure baby—actually, that light on top of all that work shit is for you. I know you like to read sometimes when you can’t sleep but you’re afraid of waking me up with the light on the night stand so I saw that and thought you might like it. Now you don’t have to worry about the light waking me up.”

That was the first time in a long time someone had said to you “I saw this and thought you might like it.” It almost brought tears to your eyes and you felt the butterflies in your stomach while looking at him, speechless. You walked over to where Billy was sitting and bent down to kiss him passionately.

“Not that I’m complaining but what was that for?” He asked.

Warmth spread across your face and your cheeks were flushed as you replied. “Just for…thinking of me.”

Without missing a beat, he told you “I’m always thinking of you, beautiful.”

Another clap of thunder erupted over head followed by a bright flash of lightning as you set your book and the light on the bed while you went to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth.

You thought you might as well read in bed since Billy wasn’t home and there wasn’t really anything to do with the power being out, so you snuffed out all the candles and brought the flashlight into the bedroom with you for a little extra light.

Maybe Pet Sematary was the wrong book choice for tonight.

“Don’t go beyond, no matter how much you feel you need to, Doctor. The barrier was not made to be broken. Remember this: there is more power here than you know. It is old and always restless. Remember.”

Rain continued to tap against the windows loudly with vigor and force, the thunder felt like it was inside the room, it was exceptionally loud as the walls continued to shake each time the sky expressed its anger.

The rain and thunder were loud enough to drown out any noises inside the apartment and you were so involved with your book that you didn’t even hear Billy come home.

“And the most terrifying question of all may be just how much horror the human mind can stand and still maintain a wakeful, staring, unrelenting sanity.”

He assumed you were just sleeping so he was trying to be as quiet as possible, Billy was very light on his feet. He managed to remove his boots, his jacket, and put down a full bag of gear without making a sound and then headed for the bedroom.

It almost felt like you were inside the book, completely hypnotized by its contents, you continued to read until you heard the door creak open, you screamed and threw the flashlight in the direction of the door. The figure dressed in black dodged the flashlight and it hit the wall with a crash.

“Y/N!! Whoa!! What the hell?!! Baby, it’s just me!!” Billy said slightly terrified you might throw something else at him.

Your stomach dropped and the hair on the back of your neck was standing straight up. “BILLY?! I’m so, so sorry—I just…I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I can see that! I thought you’d be sleeping. You scared the shit outta me.” He stated through shallow breaths.

“Oh I scared the shit outta YOU?!!” You said sarcastically. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were going to stay at Frank’s tonight?” You said with a confused tone.

He had a sarcastic response of his own. “Thank you baby, I feel so loved right now.”

You rolled your eyes. There was something wrong with your relationship if a day went by that wasn’t filled with sarcasm and eye rolling. “You know what I mean, Russo.” You narrowed your eyes at him and folded your arms across your chest.

“Well I was going to stay at Frankie’s but when you didn’t answer my texts, I thought something was wrong and then I found out the power was out so I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” He said calmly after finally catching his breath.

You unfolded your arms and sank back down onto the bed as your expression softened. “Oh Billy, I’m sorry. My phone died, my portable charger was drained from the other day and since I thought you were staying at Frank’s, I figured I would just talk to you in the morning.”

The flashlight that you hurled across the room was still on and the light from the floor was just bright enough for you to be able to see the smile on Billy’s face. That charming Billy Russo smile that made your knees weak and your heart skip a beat, that smile that you just couldn’t say no to.

“So you’re happy to see me, sweet girl?” His eyes, dark as the night sky, staring at you like he hasn’t seen you in a week.

“You know the answer to that, handsome.” You said as a smile spread across your face. “Can you come over here and kiss me now?”

“I thought you’d never ask, baby.” And just as fast as you asked him, his lips were on yours. They were cold from being outside, his hair was still wet, as well as his clothes, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was he was home with you tonight.

Billy pulled away to pick up the book you were reading. “Pet Sematary—shit, no wonder you freaked the fuck out when I opened the door. You probably woke the neighbors.” He rested his forehead against yours then kissed the tip of your nose.

You snaked your arms around his neck. “Ya know—I can think of another way we can wake the neighbors.” You said biting down on your lower lip, staring at his handsome face. “You have to get out of those wet clothes anyway.”

He slowly moved his hand from your waist, to the front of your sleep shorts. From the wet spot on the front, clearly you weren’t wearing any panties. “Looks like I’m not the only one who has wet clothes to take off.” He whispered.

His light touch sent shivers down your spine as he started to untie your shorts, kissing you, while you started to lean back against the pillows. Billy always made you feel wanted and loved, he showered you with affection like no one ever has before and you did the same for him.

Every storm eventually runs out of rain and the storm that had been Billy Russo’s life had finally stopped beating down on him the day you walked into it. You were his sunshine behind the clouds, his shelter from the rain and he would do anything and everything to make sure he was never caught out in the storm without his umbrella again.

Tag List: @mindidjarin @saintmurd0ck @wheresthesunshinesblog @rafaelakelley @idaoftheburningmind @snowkestrel @xdervyxccgh @mattmurdocksscars @fakehappy27 @munsonownsmyass

If you’d like to be added to (or removed from) my tag list for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕

[dimalink]

Synthesizers – about little squirrel and good little animals

So, I have in my pack of music instruments – midi keyboard for 49 keys. Blue color. Cool thing. It is AxelVox Key49j. And I doing music exercises with this music instrument. I am doing exercises with no connected instrument. So, in spring, I can say, it was started a new step for me. One more try. New attempt.

I know seven chords. One gamma. And I play three compositions from a textbook with exercises. And I am doing exercises with book “In music with joy”. So, it is also a drawn a little sun.

The best thing I can do it is little song – “squirrel”. And, also, it is “Ladushki” (hands something) and “Ice Mountain”. So, these three things I play. I train left and right hand separately. So, together I do no played it yet. So, I can say, first step is made towards to songs about little songs about good and kind animals!

That’s for sure! Little songs about good and kind animals. My theme. So, it will be some little animals there. So, really, something like it can be, like some little songs like composition little song – “Squirrel”, as it can be! But, for now, only melodies, it is, I think, it will be melodies now.  A skill to speak and sing – it is standalone skill. It is a little thing about a step. A first step, that was made.

Imagine for yourself, for example a duckling. Which can run around the green grass. About what music he can run? And later to jump into the river or lake. And paws he moves, he moves with paws, so funny into the water. And runs all over the water, or, even, swim. So, this is example. So, in form of melodies. Not a big length. Not hard.

And more, yellow chickens are running the grass. They have so big fun there. In a sunny day. Goose is running around a small lake. He spread his wings. He has a red beacon. Such a reddish. Little mouses are sitting somewhere in the fields, they are in their little house. Mole is digging a holes and doing plants of the trees. So, lots of music themes!

So it will be, as idea, funny melodies. About good and kind little animals. My friends. Which I can see soon. When I will go to a country house. In a grass, there are grasshoppers, they are good musicians. And also, a frogs are excellent singers. They are doing quak quak sounds very good. Maybe, I can meet there someone else. And all of these under the little sun. In a green grass. It is beautiful!

Such artistic idea and theme. And even more – synthesizer – it is about lots of sounds onboard. Very different electronic music. From more straight and raw up to more delicious and elegance. From hard drive to melody beauty. Retro wave, synthesizers music, style of 80s rhythms and melodies. With different plugins. Genres of electronic music – there are lots of them. So, synthesizers – it is unlimited way to do music! With very different sounds and ideas! Melodies and rhymes!

Dima Link is making retro videogames, apps, a little of music, write stories, and some retro more.

WEBSITE: http://www.dimalink.tv-games.ru/home_eng.html ITCHIO: https://dimalink.itch.io/ GAMEJOLT: https://gamejolt.com/@DimaLink/games

BLOGGER: https://dimalinkeng.blogspot.com/

[somanywords]

15 questions tag

Thank you so much for the tags, @ohhsodebonair @tessabennet @buckrogers @booksandabeer and @between-a-ship-and-a-hard-place!! It's been super fun seeing everyone's answers go around :)

Are you named after anyone? >>> No. My dad picked out all of my siblings and my names because he liked the sound of them. But our middle names are all music pieces!

When was the last time you cried? >>> Hmm...I can't remember, which is a nice thing, but it was within the last few months--I cry when I'm angry, when I hear a particularly good song, when I've had a rough day and someone's nice to me...

Do you have kids? >>> Nope! But I am the oldest of four sisters so...

What sports do you play/have you played? >>> I was not put in any sports as a young child, due mostly, I think, to my parents wishing to keep me away from competitiveness and the concept of "winning" so my talents are limited to a backyard game of baseball or football.

Do you use sarcasm? >>> As a defense mechanism :(

What’s the first thing you notice about people? >>> I think how genuine they are in the moment. Are the self conscious? Nervous? Or having fun and being themselves?

What’s your eye color? >>> Dark brown.

Scary movies or comedies? >>> I never want to spend a nice movie night scared, so comedies!

Any talents? >>> This is badly phrased question, in my opinion. But I guess I'm good at picking out melodies and harmonies, I'm good at seeing a craft and learning how to do it myself, and leading really productive and quick grocery runs.

Where were you born? >>> On the East Coast of the USA

What are your hobbies? >>> Reading, writing, drawing, musical theatre, dancing, singing, gardening 🌳

Do you have any pets? >>> My little sister (number 3) has two guinea pigs!

How tall are you? >>> 5'4"

Favorite subject in school? >>> Fun fact: I was homeschooled :D

Dream job? >>> If all my financial needs were taken care of magically, I would be a writer. That being said right now I work on landscape jobs in the great outdoors, getting paid to exercise, with short hours for pretty good pay. It's not so bad ;)

I know I'm on the tail end of this one, so if I tag you and you've already done it, please tag me in the comments so I can see! And also if you're not comfortable sharing, no worries. <3

@dharmasharks @piedoesnotequalpi @blurglesmurfklaine @turtle-steverogers @smfstump @hipsterdiva @xoxobuckybarnes @solittles @greyhavensking @into-a-ship-or-2 @allofthebeanz and anyone else 🌈

[boxwinebaddie]

will our stan-y pooh ever get to see kyleys notes?

so, i got an ask like this a while back and was going to answer some variant of it earlier, but held off so i could develop the lore a bit more.

because i always knew that stan would eventually be made aware of kyle's letters to him, probably unbeknownst to jerseykyle, but i wasn't sure when i should have that happen or under what circumstances the reveal fall, bc really i didn't want it to feel randomly shoehorned in or feel like a cheap after thought, y'know?

i wanted, nay, needed stan coming across kyle's special stan diary entries & reading his letters, to have a strong significance to the story because the letters are such a large part of r.m. and letters in general/the act of writing a letter is such a personal intimate thing, not just for kyle, but even when other chars write things in the story.

but more on that later...

back to jers & his love letters to his *dead* sbf.

a/n: this is a very long post that you, like all my silly, silly posts, have no obligation to read, but please clap! uncle nina finally wrote an ask meme that she feels very proud of! and if you like long posts, like a very sweet anon told me once upon a time, you might like this!

so without further ado, i hope you heal, rem(ember) to smile, pendejos and of course, my darlings, as always...

please enjoy...

the very worst part of your day. ;)

so with the letters, i feel like it's imperative to note ( haha, see what i did there? ) that they're not all love letters or letters of love to stan. honestly, kyle writes in it nearly every day and actually uses it as more of a daily writing exercise to keep him grounded: a tool he can utilize throughout the day to keep track of thing —especially given that the extent of his ptsd/clozapine stole kyle's eidetic memory.

so actually, a lot of the pages are nonsense, notes he started and never finished…

…grocery lists of things that need to be replaced.

sadly, several of said grocery lists are usually followed by a dream list of grocery itineraries of the ingredients he would buy if he was rich or finally healthy, followed by things like tea and top ramen, things he'd actually eat or, sigh, regurgitate and stare at until they disgust him.

worse over, a lot of these catalogs as finished sad, scribbled journal entries that silently speak to his experiences in grocery stores and how their both like heading to his execution and going to the amusement park. because he's surrounded by all this lovely food so when he's fasting and slowly starving himself, he eats with his eyes.

other times, when the medicine makes him lethargic and light-headed, he lets himself get carried away in a little fantasy, a shameful secret, a silly guilty pleasure where he pretends like he's getting ready to cook a beautiful, delicious dinner for a boy that he loves, someone like stan, and gathers ingredients via a recipe he found online, planning to use some fancy techniques he saw on masterchef to impress his dream boy, feeling the smooth, scalet flesh of the roma tomatoes until he finds just the right ones to put in his shopping cart,

breathing in the soothing, earthy scent of fresh basil, imagining tickling the tip of stan's nose with it playfully when he goes to sniff, the cacophonous, melodious sound of stan's squeaky laugh and the dizzying scent of cinnamon that fills his mouth as stan leans up to kiss him in the produce section, gathering the pine nuts he might need to craft the perfect pesto sauce, imagining feeding the small, spiced, succulent spirals to his stan, who is alive and well, and sighs in elation, smiling that 1000 watt stan marsh smile, his beautiful face flushed from candlelight, a little box wine and a lifetime of love.

...then the sprinklers go off and douse him, splashing him in the face like some kind of rude, watery wake up call, the screech of the grocery cart sounds nothing like stan's laugh and neither does the ugly voice that cracks over the PA system in the store announcing that there is only thirty minutes left before it all goes dark and the check out lanes close. so kyle frantically rushes to buy the things he needs in the real world, where his sweet stanley marsh is dead, with his ashes scattered to the wind, grabbing paper towel rolls and coffee pods and green apples for the pie marjorine wants to bake that kyle will never eat. and after he checks out with a bag full of groceries and an empty stomach that growls at him, reminding him of the monster he's become...

he walks over to the gas station, and purchases a packet of american spirits, the blue box that reminds him of the lovely color of his stan's eyes before they turned a cruel, glassy grey as the weight of his death and the rigamortis set in, then pitch black from hell fire, admiring the pretty sheen of the package, almost silver in the moonlight, that he thinks, in his disillusionment, look almost like the tiny silver specks that swam in stan's eyes like silverfish.

along with a bag of skittles, where he picks the best ones out, feeding the rest to the birds, who might not eat them either — there's a small comfort in knowing that, that as lonely as he feels tonight, they share his sick sentiment — his legs swinging off some bench with graffiti and the names in hearts of people who can love scratching at his arms, taunting him, as he, with a cool, surgical precision, separates the red out of the rainbow and sucks the red 40 and delicious cherry coating off each one like a popsicle until they look as grey and lifeless as he feels inside, his precious fantasy shattering all around him as he remembers he wasn't meant to be sweet or soft or swirl pasta pleasantly in a pot...

for hideous creatures born of hatred...

...were not meant to love anything.

but i fear, friends, that that is not the worst of it. that there are even bleaker entries, where kyle's hand writing is not perfectly printed, but rather, is very chaotic and disorderly, rushed, with words scratched out, written in a hurry...in fear he might not have much time left. :(

tw for mention of suicide

there is one entry in the stan journal that is particularly unpleasant, unsettling and haunting, where kyle writes stan his last will and testament. it features a kyle who stands so tall and fearsome, scared absolutely shitless as he tells stan ‘he did a bad thing’ and that he is frightened and doesn't know what to do. he says it was a moment of weakness, which disgusts him like himself for being such a worm, and that he felt the world a cruel dark place and that looking into the light would be like looking into stan's eyes and that...he misses him.

and wanted to be with him.

but that stan wouldn't want that. no, stan would be horrified. just like he is as he scrambles to form sentences in between shallow breaths. he took a lot of pills, it was a stupid thing, but it seemed smart at the time, he remembers one time that stan oft wondered how someone so smart could be so stupid at the same time — he told kyle that when stan told him that he had a crush on him in sixth grade and kyle had no idea even though he was extremely obvious about it — but that it would ruin his mother and ike's life, his a-hole father would call him a disappointment, a blight or burr on the broflovski family tree, and that tweek would be home in an hour and find him there and that he would probably never recovered from seeing him in that state. and that more than that, selfishly...

…he's absolutely terrified of death.

however, the entry ends a couple lines later with kyle assuring stan that he is alive and well, he knows this because his knuckles are torn to bits and bright red, sore and stinging, ( and also because stan is still a book and not the body of his favorite boy/super best friend ) and that really...it's a good thing, he supposes, he has years of experience...

...throwing things up. :(

i hate everything about this; fuck my life.

but all this to say, in way too many words like verbose jerseykyle, that the stan journal entries are extremely varied in notation and speaking of notes, or notable notes, that the letter that kyle wrote on stan's 21st birthday is among those letters...but the whole thing was so hideously embarrassing to him, that he'd ripped the pages out and had planned to throw them away...but forgot...fuck you, clozapine... and fell out of his notebook sometime during the south park trip.

jimmy, having no idea what the letter might be attached to, only saw that the letter was addressed to stan...gave it to him without thought.

stan read the letter, which devastated him, but also was the most beautiful and precious thing he'd ever read and stashed it away, like the secret that he had it in his possession, of course, telling kyle would only drive the wedge further between him...as he yearned. :(

but the contents of the letter return...at the end of our thrilling tale.

which, i want to remind you all again, especially our new readers, which...oh my god? i'm. like, seriously Shook, but mostly excited that this blog has more traction and interaction than it even did when i was actually writing my fanfictions! hello, new friends! welcome to hell! but back to what i was trying to relay, which is that my fanfiction can often be...very, very dark. they explore a lot of mature and macabre themes, things that the show set up very nicely but bc it's a comedy, were not really explored and, in my humble opinion, were kind of bastardized and written immature and in very poor taste by matt and trey, and...ofc, this is my spin on all that, and my spin is that these serious topics should be handed with care with authenticity and that often means that they will be...gruesome.

in the vein of gruesomeness, we readers, find out much later on during the south park portion of the story, while the fanfiction is set up to seem like the biggest secret/apex of the fic is kyle finding out who stan is...that was actually a curtain that hides the real meat and potatoes of the fanfic aka what swirls beneath the surface of a sleepy mountain down and the scandal that rocks it out there in the rockies.

specifically ( which is where the mackey's lackeys aka kyle's crimina laur classmates on his special case team/group, come in ) the dissappearance of a south park resident from well before stan's...

which we come to find via sonrisa/sharon marsh's personal diary which was stashed in a secret hatch in sharon's guitar case, one of the few things stan took with him from the house before setting the whole thing blaze...makes mention of one south park res in partic...

dr. tom, of tom's rhinoplasty.

publicly, the owner of beloved town business

...sharon's secret secret lover.

in these letters, stan comes to find that sharon and tom had plans of running away together, that she would never forgive herself for leaving her children behind with that monster, but that tom would fake his death, leave michelle and stanley his generous savings and his business in his will and that would start over...some place kinder.

they had planned to meet at mabel...

...but tom never came.

the town just assumed that the man had disappeared, skipped town for some reason or another...but stan and co...are not so sure.

so using sharon's letters, their sleuthing abilities and the crows, which, a sort of symbolic point of the fanfic is sharon calling stan cuervo for his shiny, oily black hair, his lovely singing voice and because stan fed the crows/ravens ever single day while randy shooed them cruelly off the properly and ravens...

rem(ember) faces. ;)

...and despite his new name, his now blue hair, all his piercings and being all grown up, the crows remember stan's kindness...and lead him to things. they show him clues and are a useful tool in getting to the bottom of tom's cold case...or rather...*cough*...

his murder.

which all comes to a head one very fucked up, winter night when a gun is pulled on ravenstan and right as he's about to get shot...

jersey jumps right in front of him…

…catches the bullet in his chest.

( this mirrors when stan took the hockey puck in the face for kyle )

it's a very gruesome traumatic to-be crime scene as jersey lays there bleeding out in stan's arms, who speaks to him softly thru his grief

( i don't have all the dialogue or everything blocked out, but i did start some snippets of dialogue in this cruddy post over here, lol )

and at the very last part of that excruciating exchange, stan is cradling kyles head in his hands and tells him to stay with him, because they have a shitty apartment to share together, lots of kyle nagging stan to pick his dirty towel up off the floor when he forgets for the umpteenth time, and delicious dinners that kyle will cook, slow dances in front of the refrigerator ala taylor swift like the one they shared at the sadie hawkins dance, that their second child, because the first one was the egg that they took care of together in third/forth grade, will know how to speak spanish and yiddish and that together, they'll make up for lost time...and have a long, lovely life together as stan's sabelotodo...and kyle's zeeskiet </3

and finally...while kyle is waning in and out of consciousness, stan sings to him a special little song, just like heaven by the cure, which is kyle's favorite ( in lady on the way to the diner where part three of the ravesey hate takes place, kyle sang along to it on the radio...with the pronouns changed...perhaps with a certain person in mind...and please note it was a lovely, lovely song...jersey actually has a beautiful singing voice, but the only audience he ever entertain is his shampoo and conditioner in the shower )

and stan just sits there, holding the love of his life, like if he held him tightly enough his pieces would come back together and sang to him, only getting halfway thorugh the second 'i'll run away with you' before kyle's eyes closed completely and his body went limp.

...they pulled ravenstan away from kyle kicking and screaming, swearing and sobbing hysterically...it took three emts to do so.

later on, in the hospital, while kyle is fighting for his life :(, bebe entrusts stan with kyle's special journal and tells him to read it. stan does, in spite of it being extremely difficult for him, both emotionally and for the simple fact that despite kyle's handwriting being lovely, immaculate, beautiful and neat just like him, it is also teeny-tiny and written entirely in cursive which, when you have as severe a case of dyslexia as ravenstan does, makes reading cursive a near impossible task. but then, stan believes in the impossible, which means he believes that his kyle will come back to him the same way he had just a month ago, though that feels so faraway now. like kyle, who though he's a mere pace away from the chair stan sits in across from his hospital bed, stan still feels is not close enough as he turns to on the next available page in kyle's therapy diary, and in stark contrast to kyle's cursive calligraphy, slants stan's chicken scratch which practically terrorizes the strict, dashed guidelines, stan starts to write kyle a heartfelt letter of his own, only taking breaks between lines to kiss the top of kyle's head and stroke his cold cheek.

the beginning of said letter, goes something like this:

oooOOooufff, that makes me want to cry so bad!

but anyways!

shortly after that, stan gives him a rundown of what he missed while he's been asleep. stan tells him that his hair is short now, a lot of his hair was matted and got covered in blood from his gun shot wound, :( or got caught in the myriad of dumb, gaudy emo boy pins that stan affixed to his jacket, which made it difficult to take off when the doctors needed to operate on him; so to make things easier, they just cut kyle's hair. he jokes that kyle is probably going to hate it and say that he looks like justin freakin' bieba' or lil orphan annie or shirley goddamn temple, but that stan thinks he looks very cute c': ( aw ) and that it frames his gorgeous face nicely with all the thick, ginger ringlets curling around his cheeks and the tips just barely kissing the sides of his jaw, where stan has left several of his own as a little gift for kyle when he wakes up...ones that, stan hopes,

kyle will eventually return. </3

he boasts playfully that while kyle was the one playing hero, stan was Actually the one who saved the day after all, or, his abuelito's gay ass ww2 jacket which kyle was wearing at the time of the accident and that because of it's thick, leather material, the speed of the bullet slowed down and saved his life ( in your face, dummy ) right before it reached his heart and obliterated that important artery. and that that heart, that stan loves with all his because it's attached to his favorite boy in the entire world, beats on, faintly...but still there.

stan calls him a stubborn bastard, on account of his refusing to die.

he tells kyle that everyone comes in to visit him in shifts through out the day, notably his mother and ike, who both weep and wish for his speedy recovery. stan lets kyle know that sheila keeps telling him to 'go home and get some sleep, orev. he'll be here when you wake up.' but that he wants to be here when kyle wakes up and won't budge.

he guesses he's a selfish bastard too and kyle's rubbing off on him.

stan writes that he brings sharon’s guitar to the hospital room and sings to him every day, sometimes its the cure or acoustic abba or taylor swift, even though kyle, a stubborn bastard as we mentioned, claims not to like her. he also sings kyle a lot of secret stuff just for him, written about him in private and that when kyle wakes up, during the summer, he's gonna take kyle on tour with him and kiss him in every country and continent, and that crimson dawn's next album is going to be filled with sappy love songs all about him that are going to make him so embarrassed and sick to death of him that he'll wish both he and stan actually died. and that sometimes hoards of excited children in the hospital come in to sing to him to leave him lots of flowers, letters, trinkets, odds and ends...and tell him stuff that maybe...he can hear? it's stan's wishful thinking, of course, but then, he's the dreamer...even though this is his worst fkn nightmare.

as an homage to peppermint, stan also tells kyle that he reads to him often, tries to do funny voices but kyle is better at it, y'know, since he has a funny voice that stan would like very much to hear again, the most beautiful sound in the world that makes his synesthesia light up. he tried to read the books in kyle's messenger bag, lots of dense, archaic, academic boy stuff written by old, dead russian authors, but that they're kinda..depressing? and he's not a very good reader, so he started reading him children's books and ya novels, specifically percy jackson which they read as kids together in stan's tree house. stan says that kyle reminds him so much of annabeth who is super smart and cool, even though he looks more like rachel dare, and that he knows that kyle would say he's a dead ( haha ) ringer for percy, but that he's no hero... and if he was, he would've saved ky. :(

he does not tell kyle that he's hooked up to an iv drip that feeds him nutrients through a system of tubes that are actually helping him retain a more healthy weight because that would trigger him. but stan is secretly so grateful and even though he's pale as a sheet...

but stan thinks that he's absolutely radiant

and glowing. :')

there's lots of other stuff written in this letter that stan writes that i hopefully will write and share with you all eventually...if i ever have time between working and being a depressed idiot...ravenstan calls jersey mi sabelotodo a lot ( awww x2 ), tells him about all the stuff he wants to do with him...detailing some scenarios that pc principal would *naught* approve of...that everyone misses him, but no one more than stan, who fell asleep writing the last part of his letter...

with his head on kyle's shoulder,

…snoring loudly and obnoxiously — the way kyle loved.

regrettably, some of the words stan wrote are illegible, which, the whole Goddamn Thing is fucking illegible because stan is illiterate and his handwriting is hell ( kyle can read it though, bless him ) but mostly because stan cried a lot writing in and his tears smudged a lot of the words on the pages...which do smell lightly of spiced apple cider, fireball ( stan drank a lot from stress :/ ) and...as for metal, that once kyle wakes up, he will gladly spend the rest of his life cutting kyle's lip open...on that god awful can-opener he calls a lip ring. <3

anyways, my dearest darlingest! i hope that answered your question. i realize it probably wasn't the short, sweet, heart-warming answer that you were hoping for, but i am a hurt/comfort angst queen so i think we all know by now that that's not how i rock and roll. ;)

but everyone say i hope you heal jersey.

we love you, baby. :(

-uncle nina, who is short-circuiting my computer w/ my leaking face

it's that goddamn branch in my eye again.

[shadowriel]

“And you whispered to me, love is the only thing that time cannot touch.” — Lang Leav

For Valentine’s Day, I was inspired by @headcanonheadcase to write a poem from Azriel’s POV. It was an interesting exercise, getting into his head, seeing how he’d write a poem, finding out why he would be writing poetry in the first place. And so, here we have a poem that Az wrote about Gwyn for @sjmromanceweek.

Day 7: Free Day

He can still feel the press of her fingertips against his wings, can still smell her sugar-sweet scent as if cloaking him like perfume. It’s late, and Azriel should be asleep. He knows that Gwyn awaits him in their shared bed, but as he puts his reports away, he finds himself staring into the soft glow of the fireplace and twirling a pen between his fingers. He doesn’t think, only shifts to take a piece of parchment, smoothing it over his desk with the palm of his scarred hand.

He is not a writer, nor a poet. He speaks in battle strategies and shadows—not rhymes. Some would call him a monster, and where Azriel once would have believed the sentiment, now he focuses on the emotions working their way through him.

He is not unfeeling. Not monstrous. Not wrong.

She helped teach him that.

He presses the tip of his pen onto paper. For a moment, all he does is breathe.

He knows that one day, he’ll take his last breath. One day he’ll be ashes, and the world will no longer remember the Night Court and its infamous Shadowsinger. He will be lost to the past, but he wants every creature of the future—needs them—to know this.

So, Azriel writes. Let’s dark ink spill across ivory. There's a metaphor there, somewhere, but he can’t string it together.

He hasn’t done this before.

For the first time in over five centuries, he doesn’t just resort to poetry, he revels in it.

What Time Cannot Touch

If you ask me about love,

just know there were no stars in the night sky

until she named them with her breath

as my fingers traced her skin,

connecting freckles and mapping constellations.

There was no music that fae ears could hear

until the sound of her voice

wove words into melodies

that could make the darkest of shadows sing.

There were no battles worth fighting

until the blade of her tongue clashed against mine,

every arch and precise cut

a dance of two souls woven together.

There were no prayers to recite

until she guided me to my knees,

speaking of reverence and devotion,

making an acolyte of the worshipper at her feet.

There was no sunlight

until I saw it shining in the teal of her eyes.

No possibility for solace

until her hands clasped mine.

No love

until there was.

And so.

If you ask me about love,

I’ll tell you about her:

my Valkyrie,

my Carynthian,

my Priestess.

My Gwyn.

[polysprachig]

tell us more about these projects! i’ve struggled to pick up languages again after an extended break and no time and a project-based approach seems very refreshing!

Apologies in advance for the long post. I do plan on making a more detailed post on this at a later point hopefully a video but I make no promises these days.

Important note!! Before you start any short- or long-term learning projects, begin a polyglot journal outlining your objectives and check in every two weeks with an extra detailed summary of what you’ve done, haven’t done, dislike, feel needs changing, etc. either once per quarter or 2x year. Your micro-goals, methods and timeline should shift over time, showing that you can reassess the project and try out new things to suit your needs. If you don't update on time it's nbd, but at least try to write a note in your planner or calendar about what you did when because it can be extremely helpful one year later when you try to revisit where you are now and how you got there. 🧿🤍

The main projects from 2019 to today include the following

Greek - Conversational Speaking, 2019

Goal: meet for casual 30-minute lessons with a teacher, 2 or 3x per week to build up conversational skills and high frequency grammar in use as a passive bilingual (it being the native language which I actively lost growing up for various reasons).

Reflection: The real studies were repetition in speech and looking up key vocabulary I would need to use to tell my teacher about what happened in the last week, and my teacher supplied me with additional vocabulary to help me be more specific. Now I have a record of that vocabulary which I can review whenever by topic/story. Plus my family did notice my drastic improvement and asked if I had been studying.

Irish - The Merlin Project (Quarantine Project), 2020-2022 (+ ongoing, needs new methodology because I met my aims a while back at this point)

Aim: Go from A2 to B1 by learning to write so that you can have the skills to be able to read longer texts

Challenge: Rewatch an episode from the last show that you watched and write down what you see in as much detail as possible, making sure to use a grammar point you’re currently studying in your writing. Look up new words to make the text more specific and add them to the description. Correct your text. Watch the same scene again and add more detail, as in the following:

(Basically: first: do a grammar practice, then: watch 30 seconds, write using that grammar, translate dialogue if you want, consult dictionary, write again incorporating the new words and/or make the sentences more complex, at the end: correct your text yourself or with a teacher, start again and repeat until the scene or full episode is complete or you've exhausted the usefulness of the exercise.)

Alternatively just write or translate fanfiction, but I don't say that here.

By self-correcting you should become very confident on the basic skills at your level, whereas the rewriting itself allows for varied attempts at forming sentences and vocabulary acquisition in a specific context.

FYI I posted the project itself along with the notes to my website (here) and intend to share the presentation on the experience I gave in the Gaeltacht this past August soon enough.

Multilingual, select Romance and Germanic languages - The Diana Project, 2022-present

Challenge: dive deep into the rhythm, melody and sound of certain languages (which relate to a poet I’m analysing) via a slow read of poetry and familiarisation with the poet, poet-translator and poet-actor

Components: read, write, translate and recite poetry on the subject of Greco-Roman tragedy (now its shifting to satire after 1+ year or so of tragic influences) from select eras and in select styles, ex. ottava rima, rhyming verse & simultaneously learn about the rhetoric of poetics that influenced these authors and their poems or translations

These writings I’m still adding to my website as part of a translation, recitation and poetry portfolio.

Most recently, I’ve started what I call the Secret Senecan Project which requires reading certain ancient and mediaevil texts on stories I’m familiar with in the original, identifying key words based on context then extrapolating the grammar from their features (declinations, location in reference to other word forms, etc.). The next step will be to compare these predictions with the bilingual translation and consult my grammar books in those languages to confirm or improve my predictions.

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading! I hope to polish this up and make the details more learner-friendly sometime before 2024. (:

[nqds]

short writing exercise day 3

•───────────⋅☾ ☽⋅───────────•

The sound of rain. A melodious sound made by water pattering on objects, or perhaps the ground. A sound that calms me down, calms me down from anything. The sound of rain is the equivalent of music to me. A simple sound that could make my thoughts whisk away within seconds. The sound of rain can be numerous things to others. Chaotic as war. Light as a feather. Sharp as a sword. All of it. But to me? It is the sound that masks any thought in my silly little head, or the sound that dissolves my anxiety in its pouring. The pitter pattering of rain means so much more to me than anyone else thinks. The sound of rain has always been a dear friend to me. Like a ghost, there this second, gone in the other. Concluding this, I hold the sound of rain so dearly to my heart that I shall refuse nor allow myself to tire of it

•───────────⋅☾ ☽⋅───────────•

i found a prompt that said describe how the rain sounds to you so i thought it was a cute idea

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

Study Break - Frank Iero x Reader

Summary: You’re stressing yourself out over an exam while on tour and Frank tries to take care of you. Reader: can be read as any gender Warnings: stress, language Word count: 2 153 A/N: I have an exam in pretty exactly 12hours from posting this. Instead of studying I wrote what was supposed to be a drabble but ended up being this.

You had known it was a stupid idea even before you had decided on it, but the idea of letting someone else play your part, of letting someone else play the songs and melodies you had helped come up with had just felt absolutely wrong. But now that you were on tour with My Chemical Romance, knowing you would have to write this stupid exam two days after returning home, you felt like perhaps, just maybe, you should have sat this one out.

The past years had already been hard enough, with driving or flying out to foreign cities as soon as the last lecture of the week was over, playing two or three shows and barely making it back to the classroom in time on Monday morning. One more year of this, you told yourself, and then you would have your degree, and could go on tour with your friends, relaxing between shows just like them, instead of studying for what felt like every waking minute you did not spend on stage. But right now the promise of a whole more year of this was agonizing, especially when you already felt like the next exercise was too much.

Falling backwards onto the mattress of your bunk, in which you had sat, crouched over your book, you let out a quiet sigh. Three days until the exam. The last show of this leg of the tour was tonight, a little more than eight hours away. Maybe you should take a break, have some milk or a snack. After all you had studied since you had finished breakfast, after only a short night.

As if your thoughts had been heard, there was a quiet knock against the frame of your bunk. You groaned affirmatively, and a moment later Frank pushed the curtain you had drawn closed aside, and poked his head in.

“I brought snacks,” he declared, showing you how he was balancing a cup of cold strawberry milk and a plate with cut fruits, crackers and cheese in one hand. The cup was so cold, that condensed water from the warm bus was already running down at the sides, collecting as drops on the bottom.

“Oh my god, you are an angel,” you laughed, and sat up, taking the treats from him, and placing them on the narrow board that functioned as your headboard. “Where are the others?”

The bus had stopped what you assumed must have been a few hours ago, and not much later you had heard the other band members getting ready to go out.

“Exploring the city,” Frank shrugged. “I’m kinda certain Mikey’ll be close to missing sound-check again because he found some ice cream parlour or something.”

With furrowed brows you watched Frank gesture at you.

“What?”

“Move! I’m coming in.”

“Frank-”

All protest was futile as Frank heaved himself up and into your bunk, falling half on top of you in the narrow space.

“Oh, hello there,” he grinned, his face only inches away from yours, leaning on his elbow right besides your head.

“Get off,” you grumbled, quickly trying to crawl out from underneath Frank without him noticing the how embarrassed you had gotten all of a sudden. It was not unusual for Frank to invade your space, which you anything but minded. Still he hardly was ever as close as now, and you did not trust yourself to not do something really stupid if he stayed this close for longer.

“Whoa, so hostile,” Frank pouted, but rolled off of you, almost falling out of the bunk bed in the process, before he sat up. “So, when was the last time you took a proper break?”

The speed at which he went from childishly playful to caring and serious might one day give you whiplash.

“When was the last time you minded your own business,” you answered, sitting up again, so your back was to him and leaning over the book once more, checking the sheet of paper besides it to see which exercise you had to do next.

“I’m serious. You won’t learn anything without proper breaks.”

You had lost count of how many times you had lead similar conversations with him in the past weeks.

“I know, just another...” you counted the numbers on the sheet, “another 4 exercises.”

“How about-” you felt Frank move behind you, before he leant over your shoulder and reached for a piece of cut strawberry, “you do these exercises after the break.”

Placing his other hand on your chin, he turned your head enough to feed you the piece of strawberry, which most definitely made your face heat up. If he noticed, he did not say anything, and instead watched you with raised eyebrows, as you unhappily chewed on the fruit. But you had to admit, the sweet taste and intense aroma was better than most of the stuff you had had in the last weeks, if not months.

“Good?”

Begrudgingly you nodded in agreement, making Frank smile.

“See, not that hard.”

He reached for another piece of fruit, intending to continue feeding you, but you turned your head away, trying to maintain some sort of pride.

“I can eat myself, thanks,” you mumbled, and took the piece of apple from Frank.

“Fine, but then do it,” he replied, not at all salty, rather amused. He knew how close to a breakdown you were due to all the stress and the pressure of performing well both on stage and in the upcoming exam.

With a deep sigh you popped the apple in your mouth, and grabbed the plate before turning so your back was leaning against the outside of the bus. A victorious grin spread over Frank’s face as he watched you take a cracker first, before he grabbed a few grapes for himself. Sitting in silence you shared the food he had brought for you. It was a comfortable silence, one you were only able to share with him, nobody else. And yet the whole time you noticed him watching you. By the time you had finished eating, your mood had brightened a little, and quizzically you looked at Frank.

“What is it?”

Frank shrugged, his eyes scanning your face worriedly.

“Just… you need to take better care of yourself, you know?”

You sighed, having heard the same sermon many times already.

“I know, I know,” you shook your head. “But it’s not like I can pass this exam without studying for it.”

“That’s not- Listen, I have the highest respect for you, doing both the band and college at the same time, and I know you have to study. It’s just… I think you’d do still way good enough with a little less stressing yourself out. I just don’t want you to- I don’t know, have a breakdown or something.”

“I’m having a breakdown approximately every thirty minutes,” you joked humourlessly.

“And that’s the problem! I mean, how much did you sleep last night, huh?” Frank scooted a little closer to you, taking the plate out of your hand and placing it next to the untouched glass of strawberry milk on the little shelf. “Four hours? Five at max, right?”

You only shrugged in response, not feeling like telling him that it had probably been closer to three than to four hours.

“Please,” Frank pleaded, his eyes big as he grabbed your hands in his rough ones. “Take breaks, take a walk or a nap, eat something, drink a glass of water- I don’t care what, just take better care of yourself.”

Only half of what he was saying actually reached you, since he had lent so close that his face was only inches from yours. Up this close you could see every single dark lash, the small specks in his eyes, the faint, almost invisible freckles on his nose.

It seemed as if in just that moment Frank himself had grown aware of the proximity, of how you were holding your breath, of the intimacy of the moment.

You were about to take a breath, about to say something to diffuse the tension like you always did, in order to not make him uncomfortable, when Frank’s eyes shortly, but noticeably, skipped to your lips.

“Fuck this,” he swore in the small space between you, before closing it and pressing his lips to yours.

Surprised – pleasantly surprised – you inhaled, your hand, which was not clasped in Frank’s, coming up to his neck, holding him in place. The kiss was soft and warm, in the already too warm bunk, it tasted of summer, of strawberries and watermelon and the relief of breaks from studying. It was fresh air, and yet familiar, Frank was familiar, his smell, the feeling of his hair between your fingers. The way he kissed you was gentle, nothing like the kisses he threatened to chase Gerard or Ray around on stage with. Those were sweat and spit and teeth, but this, right here, right now, was careful, as if he was scared to hurt you, or to be pushed away.

You lost track of time, had no idea for how long you had been kissing Frank, only that you began to grow dizzy with happiness, or lack of oxygen, it was hard to tell. But it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter because you were kissing Frank, and Frank was kissing you, and it felt like somehow, in all that stress and chaos and pressure, somehow everything had fallen into place, as if you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

Eventually Frank broke the kiss, both of you breathing heavily.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, but the way he kept his forehead pressed to yours told you he did not feel all too guilty about having kissed you without having asked for your consent first.

“Don’t be,” you answered, and kissed him again, short, softer this time, but it made him smile so hard he broke the kiss again.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so fucking long,” he grinned, his eyes searching for yours.

The only thing you were able to say to that was a weak ‘yeah’, which made Frank grin even more, if that was still possible.

For a while you sat like that, heads leant against each other, shut away from the real world outside the small bunk bed, Frank playing with your fingers and you watching him.

Only the crash of the forcefully thrown open bus door startled you, and all of a sudden everything came flooding back, the tour, the other band members, the show tonight, the exam, the studying-

“Hey Frankie, where are you,” Gerard shouted, his steps nearing the bed area.

Alarmed you sat up, anxiously looking over to Frank. As perfect as the kiss and the silence afterwards had been, you had no idea if Frank meant the others to find out. But Frank just tightened his fingers around yours gently, before answering the lead singer.

“Hey, Frankie, (y/n), we were just wondering- did you two make out?”

Gerard had, with far less care for boundaries than Frank previously, ripped open the curtain to your bunk bed and eyed the two of you suspiciously. Only then you realised that, even if there were a decent amount of distance between the two of you, and no hand-holding, Frank’s lips were still red and slightly swollen from the kiss, and so were yours most likely.

“Jealous,” Frank asked cockily, demonstratively intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Of (y/n)? Definitely,” Gerard giggled, making Frank and you both laugh. “Anyway, we were going to order some pizza, you guys want some too?”

Both Frank and you nodded in agreement, and Gerard let you know to join the rest of the band in front of the bus to choose what you wanted from a flyer the others had found somewhere, before he disappeared as quickly as he had turned up.

“Just so we’re clear here,” Frank started, watching as you slowly stretched, “I’ve liked you for a real fucking long time, and if it were up to me, we wouldn’t go back to how things were… before.”

You turned to look at him, a comfortable warmth spreading through your chest at his words.

“Then we won’t,” you told him, noticing how he relaxed at your reply.

He grinned, before he slipped out of the bunk bed, and once you had gotten out as well, he immediately intertwined his fingers with yours again. He was about to lead out to the front of the bus, when his eyes fell to your other hand, holding the book you had been working with before.

“Seriously,” he deadpanned and raised his eyebrows at you.

“Seriously. Only four more exercises, I’ll be finished by the time the pizza arrives.”

Frank rolled his eyes but grinned.

“Fine, fine,” he sighed, and pressed a kiss to your forehead before he led you out to the others.

Tagged:

@alexstyx​​ @jayloverthe3rd​​ @robinruns​​ @lookalivefrosty​​ @butterflycore​​ @vamp-void @omgsuperstarg​ @reinaeru​ @deadlovers​ @kpopchangedmylifesstuff​

[taminoarticles]

— Tamino for Rolling Stone France (x) (x) (Original French text)

Tamino “Launching Thought Lines"

Discovery of the year in 2018, thanks to an unstoppable single, the songwriter from Antwerp returns with a new, even more original opus. Interview.

By BELKACEM BAHLOULI - Photo ALEKSEI BENUCHI

TAMINO PREFERS TO MAKE his own path and let his music do the talking. In terms of music, precisely, if we oscillate between pop, rock, folk and oriental influences, finding a classification for it would be nonsense. He loves music, musics. All. “We tried to find a label, to compare myself, nothing helped,” laughs the singer from Antwerp. Whether he has a guitar or an oud in his hands, the artist remains the same, he sings, clearly, with passion, composed, thoughtful and with a unique natural grace. Admittedly, music is a family affair for the grandson of Muharram Fouad, a famous Egyptian singer, but regardless of his origins, the universalist aims of the songwriter are clear, he speaks to everyone. With elegance.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Your new album Sahar, presents a very thoughtful, very natural production and, although remaining in the spirit of the previous one, already brings a kind of renewal...

It's quite different in my opinion. And if, on the music side, we stay in the same atmospheres, I have evolved a lot in the writing of the texts. And above all, for the first time, I really focused on the vocal assonances, that each word could generate its own melody, its own sound transforming into an instrument, while trying not to lose the meaning of the original text. It's a very long job, but it's really exciting. The goal was not fluidity, just music.

Your texts have matured...

They are very well elaborated because, with the pandemic, I had time ahead of me to achieve the result I expected. These new songs are more thought out, more thoughtful than on my previous work. And, as you mention it, I feel like I made my first album a hundred years ago, it's so far away, and it has the same effect on me every time I listen to it. But it allowed to launch avenues of reflection, I am no longer the same, I improved my working techniques and I think that we feel the consequence directly in this disc.

You live in Antwerp, Belgium…

And that's why I sing in English! (Laughs) My French is really not very good… I grew up in Belgium, and I have Egyptian and Lebanese origins, which also explains the presence of oriental sounds, like my oud, in my music. I grew up listening to Arabic as well as classical music and, of course, rock and pop; and I always stay connected to these musics. You know, I love Leonard Cohen, who is one of my main influences, but there are so many others, especially from across the Mediterranean. Even if I have a certain attachment to artists, it is more their music that fascinates me before their personality. Well, Cohen aside! I devoured his biography, written by Sylvie Simmons, a real literary treat, and probably, in my eyes, the best book ever written about him. Clearly, the work comes first.

We've seen you play in groups as well as solo, in Paris, Belgium or Quebec… Do you have a preference?

Ah, it's not at all the same exercise, the repertoire varies, but I readjust. There, in a few days, I'm going on a tour of the United States, before returning to Paris. I leave with my guitar and my oud and I tour solo in small venues. Then, of course, it will be with the group for the next dates at the Trianon. But, overall, I don't really change my style; and I am comfortable whatever the formula. Still, in small venues, you see people's faces and sometimes that intimidates me, whereas in large venues, it's more anonymous!

“Even if I have a certain attachment to artists, it is more their music that fascinates me before their personality. Well, Cohen aside!”

Have you given yourself a career plan?

We have dreams, goals, but also the reality of facts: the creative power over which we have no control. I don't have any crazy career dreams actually. Just doing what I love, but I never say to myself “I want to do that” and therefore produce a certain type of album. I don't work with a slew of producers looking to plan my career, so I just go with it. There, today, with this new album I have reached a certain point and let's see where all this will take me!

[caparrucia]

If you are still doing writing asks, 7, 26 and 40, please!

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

Figuring out what happens next. What would they do after this? What's the consequences? Where are they, ten minutes, ten days, ten years, ten decades after? Writing is an exercise in figuring out what's happening and where the pieces fit and I just get a feral joy in figuring out how it all fits into place. :D

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

So I don't do writing in a personalizing way, in the sense that I don't really get into a character's head or assume their POV or really think of them as people. I write from a very technical perspective, like pieces moving in a chessboard. Characters are not people to me, they're a simulacrum of a person. Like those perspective pieces where you have to stand in the right place to see the figure but from all other angles they're just stuff hanging off the ceiling? Yeah, I can't stand in the right place, my brain refuses to think of them as people. Because they're not. They're words on a page or lines on a screen or actors in a play. They're fake and the purpose is to hide it well enough other people can't tell. But I can always tell, that's just how I approach fiction, consuming and creating it.

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

My favorite poem ever is by Shamshad Khan, "LOVE - OVER EATING AND OVER HEARING."

you listen to music in the same way you eat food with reverent ecstasy

tasting each cadence in sound separating layers of rhythm savouring slithers of melting melody whilst hearing salt grind in the unexpected sweet refrain held at the back of your throat the deepest base touches the tip of your tongue so sourness sings its sharp twist to curdle drums

you peel a piano concentrating on keeping the spiral flavour spins the radio dial blur of colliding in your headphones

in the wet street a woman and a man argue about who should have rung who

on rainy days I’m told everything tastes like music.

[vanderslootassgiraffe]

I am haunted by the music of Erich Zann

This is not a creative writing piece, I'm just having a bad day. Don't mind the fancy wording, it helps.

This morning I was awoken far earlier than i would have wanted by presumptive sunlight at 6:17 am. I work nights, going to bed around 1, so this was less than 5 hours. Not terrible, but not enough.

I had just moved, my blackout curtains still unhanged, curtain rods still unaffixed.

I tried thumbtacks to hold them up. Of course that didn't work.

I tried using pants as a blindfold. They constricted my head and messed with my breathing. Tried hiding under covers, too hot & could feel breathing on my flesh. Pillow over the head--subconsciously shifted body right before drifting off--more sunlight. Final, piss poor attempt was just laying with my arm over my eyes, it was 930 when I decided to give up. Pissed from failed attempts and feeling like shit being too tired to exercise. I planned to blow up the sun.

My shower time, when I usually do my best brainstorming was instead plagued by anger, frustration, and eventual sobbing. Any attempts to calm down, stop my mind from lashing out, and shift it to my writing only fueled the anger.

Any thoughts along the subject were half formed, my unrested and sluggish brain not able to catch up with my ideas. The right words were constantly just out of reach. The sobbing came when I realized even if I downed an entire bottle of my sleeping meds, I wouldn't get any more sleep. As I had already taken my morning meds, which includes a stimulant.

I wrote anyways. I needed to keep up the discipline, and the creative outlets entire purpose is to refocus my mind, explore my feelings, and give me something to do. I managed a single cohesive paragraph. Which I would likely scrap tomorrow.

I lost it a bit, broke some stuff i didnt want to break, and when I was done continued with my day. The normal flow of ideas and daydreams stuttered, and when they came they were insultingly subpar and unsatisfying. Plus my left knee hurt.

Half made dnd characters, shitty speeches for an ill-conceived revolution, voices that didn't sound how they should, and endless words that just werent quite right. Eventually a melody I couldn't get out of my head, and a terribly designed Rube Goldberg machine that might have been able to play it.

It was at this point I thought of The music of Erich Zann. By H.P. Lovecraft.

In which, a student too poor for regular housing finds lodgings on a strange unmapped street, in a rundown building. The street was incredibly narrow, blocked completely in by warehouses, a river, and a massive, confusingly placed brick wall.

His new home had no windows. Save one in the room of another tenant; Erich Zann. It looked out beyond the brick wall.

Erich was decrepit, mute, distant, and played the viola. The student liked to listen to Erichs viola playings, considering him rather talented. The songs Erich played once night fell, made him consider the man a strange genius.

At night Erich would hauntingly play strange and beautiful, half finished facsimiles of music unlike any he'd heard before.

As he came to know Erich he asked him to play for him, and he did, but never the songs he played at night. When he pleaded Erich for them, even attempting to hum or whistle an imitation of the tune, Erich silenced him, covering his mouth with a bony hand. Erich Zann looked furious, and terrified.

Eventually Erich apologized with a note, saying he was an old, lonely man, afflicted with fears and disorders, especially around his music. He would still play for the student, but never the melodies from night.

The student attempted to eavesdrop one night, eventually pounding on the door after the man played his strange melody for a while and fell to the floor with a mute scream. Erich Zann attempted to explain.

He wrote for hours in a fever, but was interrupted before he could finish.

A low, nearly unhearable note came from the dark beyond Erichs window. Erichs face warped into terrible fear and he stood as if his bones were puppeted, and played without control.

His music was an attempt to drown out whatever lay beyond the window. The window fought back, eventually breaking. And the student was tossed around by a mixed wind of what came through, and the impossible movement upon the instrument. The candles went out. And in the dark the wind took Erich Zanns manuscript, the unfinished explanation stolen through the window. As the student reached out in an attempt to save it he saw pure nothingness beyond the frame. He immediately tried to save Erich from this but found him already dead, yet still playing on.

He ran from the building, to find it daylight. As he continued further away in distance and time he remembered less of the music, and could never find the street again.

It's impossible to know the complete meaning H.P. Lovecraft had in mind when writing this, though established pattern would suggest something to do with bigotry.

However, I took away something about the relationship and interactions of a troubled mind, manic episodes, a creative outlet, and perfectionism

Interpreting the endless dark beyond the window as "madness", Erich Zann could be using his playing as a means to hold it at bay. A creative outlet used to understand and utilize it, or simply drown it out. But with it being the only thing keeping it at bay, it must be done right. Especially if you want it to be "accurate" or "represent" feelings that defy explanation. Attempting and failing over and over again, to its own detriment. lashing out when someone wants to hear it, because it's not RIGHT yet and if they hear it now it will ruin it. Or perhaps the act of sharing being too vulnerable or embarrassing, even when sharing these things is a way to do it "better" and connect with people, which would help it serve its purpose. He attempts to explain it and even the explanation falls short building this frustration until he turns again to this outlet, and gives in, overwhelmed completely and continues hacking away at it sacrificing his physical and mental health until it is the embodiment of the very thing it was supposed to suppress or diffuse.

I don't know if I've learned anything from all this today, being still in it and too close to it. But I suppose there could be something along the lines of "don't put all your eggs in one basket". I have other things I want to say, something about reframing the act of creation or changing the goals of art so there is no real possibility of "perfection". But the words are failing me right now. I'll just save the rest for therapy.

At least typing all this out helped a bit.

[sketchy-the-changeling]

I was reading a review of This Day Aria that was highly critical and was wondering about your thoughts (I would link but I can't in questions so I'll just summarize, or you can look it up, it's on DeviantArt by Midnight-Cobra). Basically the reviewer said the song is rather pointless and repetitive on Chrysalis' side and doesn't tell us nearly enough about her, like motivation, plans, intent, goals, etc., and that the visuals are very boring with her just strutting around a room for much of it.

I took a look at the review, and I’m wondering how you came across it since it’s from over a decade ago. It’s very likely that this person has moved on from MLP or possibly doesn’t even feel as strongly about This Day Aria as they did back then. Hell, I don’t even know how old this person was at the time of writing. For all I know, they could have been a teenager at the time like I was when the episode aired.

Thus, my response below is merely an exercise in musical number analysis, rather than a response to the person themselves. With that being said, there are several things wrong with the points presented in the review.

1. The reviewer is analyzing the song with the hindsight of knowing Chrysalis’s identity already. They’re either forgetting that her identity isn’t revealed to us until later, or they’re unrealistically expecting information about a character who hasn’t even made their full debut yet. We don’t even know what changelings are at this point, of course we aren’t gonna know her full plan yet. Y’all might not remember, but this song takes place EARLY in Part 2 of A Canterlot Wedding. There’s a whole episode’s worth of content after this.

2. Even IF Chrysalis’s identity was revealed to us prior to the song and we were to entertain this notion that we don’t know enough about her plan from said song, Chrysalis is not a complex villain in the slightest, and neither is her plan, and it’s not the job of the song to spell the entirety of her plan out for the viewer, especially when, again, this song happens early in Part 2 of the finale, not to mention that there’s a whole reprise once the plan is in full swing and Chrysalis believes she’s won.

3. The point of the song wasn’t even to give a backstory or information about the fake Cadance’s plan (I’m referring to her as Fake Cadance here to emphasize the fact that we don’t know her true identity at this point.). It all goes back to the name of the song: This Day Aria. An Aria is elaborate melody meant for a solo voice, and because Chrysalis is still disguised as Cadance, it’s technically the “same” character singing the song, thus the same voice. That’s the point. The song is using an Aria to showcase the duality between the real Cadance and the yet unknown person taking her place.

This is why the song regularly has clever visual transitions between “Cadance” and Cadance, mimicking the flow of Britt McKillip’s voice as she transitions between the sinister tone of the fake princess and the desperate, then determined tones of the real one. That’s what it’s all about. It’s a clever use of an Aria to showcase two technically different characters.

4. The reason for the “boring” visuals of the Fake Cadance’s half ties back into the duality I mentioned above. The visuals for Fake Cadance’s parts aren’t as frantic as the real Cadance’s parts because the Fake Cadance is WINNING. She literally starts the song saying “This day is going to be perfect.” She believes all the loose ends are tied and she has nothing to worry about, whereas the real Cadance is desperately trying to escape and get her fiancée back. Obviously the character that’s in the more dire situation is going to have more active visuals to match their emotions, and even then, the camera work and movement is pretty solid considering that this is Season 2 animation we’re talking about. It’s more energetic than Open Up Your Eyes’s visuals for sure.

5. At one point, the reviewer unfavorably compares the song to Be Prepared from The Lion King, which is where these expectations of explaining the villains intent and plans comes from, but it’s a terrible comparison because unlike Chrsyalis, who hadn’t even made her full debut at the time her song is sung, we already know a good bit about Scar prior to this song. Most of the information this person attributes to Be Prepared is actually given to us PRIOR to the song. The first scene after Circle of Life establishes Scar’s desire to be king, and his resentment towards Mufasa, and he even makes a thinly veiled threat towards him (“Perhaps you shouldn’t turn your back on me.”). Scar had no problem using reverse psychology on Simba to convince him to sneak off to the Elephant Graveyard so he and Nala could be killed by the hyenas. By then the viewer already knows what Scar wants, and how willing he is to do pretty heinous things. Scheming to kill Mufasa is a foregone conclusion at that point. Be Prepared isn’t a big revelation of Scar’s nature or intentions. It REINFORCES them, and THAT’S why that musical number is as good as it is. It takes information that we already know and EXPANDS upon it. When comparing musical numbers to each other, context is of the utmost importance. You can’t hold a musical number about a villain whose identity we don’t know yet to the same standards as a musical number for a villain we have at least some understanding of prior to the number.

Overall, this assessment of This Day Aria places expectations on the number that it likely never sought to meet in the first place. It takes what other bronies were saying about the song (i.e., comparisons to Disney) and fixates on that rather than actually evaluating the song based on its own context and the role it serves in A Canterlot Wedding.

Hope this was an engaging read at the very least.

[snowingmelodypoetry]

This is an introductory post.

Hi everyone! I'm Melody.

I'm an anonymous writer (unless you know me already), usually posting all, if not, most of my works on Tumblr and also then on Tik-Tok; I like the simple format of the dark theme and the account header of my posts on Tumblr and use the platform to swiftly screenshot and upload them with accompanying music on Tik-Tok.

I'm sure there's an easier way to do it all solely on Tik-Tok- but I like this way, and it seems easy enough for me, and unique enough that I can call it my own.

The content I produce is mostly Free Verse poetry. It all started with a simple writing exercise I made up called "A Month of Emotions." Essentially, I write a poem every day, usually about my feelings or some form of event that happened that day. I give that poem title, and then at the end of the month, I mash all the titles together and post that altogether as another poem, entitled "A Month of Emotions"

That poem will be coming very soon.

Now, you may look back at my archive and be like, "Melody, you didn't post every day for a month," or "there are poems in you Tumblr archive that aren't on tiktok."

Those are both true. As to the first point, the original exercise began as a way for me to accomplish 2 things:

1. To start writing more

And 2. To practice feeling, expressing, and confidently affirming my emotions. To enhance my emotional range. Even the "bad ones" i.e sadness, loneliness, grief, anger, hatred, etc.

With both these 2 goals in mind- I think while yes, not posting *every day* for a whole month is a failure of the arbitrary "challenge" I believe I got what I needed from it, and the original exercise evolved into something a bit bigger than itself.

I also believe that in the spirit of "A Month of Emotions" the "skipped" days also speaks to the emotions and feelings of that day. Whether it was burn-out, or an overwhelming experience that took me more than a day to process into words, I believe it true to exercise still, and in the entitled poem, "A Month of Emotion" I think they'll be implemented as a doubled space between lines.

As to the second point:

I didn't intend to begin posting on Tik-Tok, but then I just did and that started me off on the platform beyond just being a lurker, liking posts, saving to my faves, etc.

I won't delve too much into my personal life, but I will share some fun tidbits.

I've enjoyed writing in some form for a long while. I distinctly remember a moment in freshman year where I told myself that I wanted to become a writer. Back then, I used the word "author" as the intention was to write stories in book form. Maybe some day I will, but I'm transmuted my definition of storytelling across multiple mediums.

Nowadays, I write poems, as you can tell. I also work every now and then on writing a long-running D&D campaign. It's just the skeletal structure of a campaign, as to avoid strictly railroading players into an inevitable rigid story.

To me, D&D is an improvisational collaborative storytelling exercise, with sprinkled in game mechanics and rules to help broadly give things stakes and to introduce a little luck...

To me, it's less of a "game" strictly speaking, and more like when a group of musicians get together and jam out randomly and create a song.

In this case, I just haven't gotten a group of people together to play it with me as a DM. I do have a group, but I'm in as a player for their stories and we've been at a capacity between campaigns. As mine is much more long form, I'm patiently waiting until it's my turn to start spinning the webs of story.

Earlier, I mentioned music and very much purposefully too! I played in band since 4th grade, picking up the saxophone. I still have my ol' instrument. She sits in her case in my closet. There's a part of her that's broken, making it nearly impossible to play correctly, and I just haven't had the funds to fix her since after senior year.

After senior year, though, I still practiced and even studied music. Using keyboards and piano, I went to college learning about the music industry.

Things got crazy, money got tight, a job I had became too demanding of my time, and for other troubled reasons, I also wasn't doing too well in school and lost passion and interest and finally stopped going.

Then after I switched jobs and things were looking a bit better and I was just barely able to start school again- the pandemic happened, I lost the job I had going for me, and it seemed pointless to start school when the whole world looked like it was burning down.

But now, finally, after years and years, I might be able to start going again soon.

So much has changed since then. I originally had aspirations to develop music for video games.

I still enjoy music very much, it means so much to me and is very important as well.

Who knows? Maybe I could finally run the DnD campaign that I've written as a passion project, jotting down the adventures of me and my players in a more final form, creating that story.

Maybe I can share that, get with an animator and voice actors, and create a series? Maybe I could make the music for that! Or maybe the story could be spun into an action rpg like video game, work with indie developers, and do that!

A younger version of myself would think all of that above is dreaming too big- but as I mature and grow older, the more I begin realizing none of that is impossible. In fact, even if it is just a hobby now, with practice, passion, and effort, it all seems very achievable!

I think that's enough for now. I encourage everyone to take a deep breath, drink water, and continue dreaming. I'll be back with my poems soon! Thank you. 🤗