#i AM also looking for poems so i say again: if you have any poems you love please share them with me :) im collecting

[meichenxi]

languages, travel, identity, grief

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[crossbackpoke-check]

Why I Am Not Coming In To Work Today [abridged], Jess Zimmerman

part one | part two

#me when everybody is posting the maple leafs sad narratives and i am furiously generating this like HOLD ONNNN HOLD ONNNNNNN #honestly i could've been SOOOO MEAN about this because i saw this poem & alexandra got the preview on the poetry blog #where i just reblogged the first half of this poem point blank with the tags #kyle dubas #toronto maple leafs #& got yelled at aksdaksf & it literally only didn't go on this blog bc i usually write more & then it was percolating & i looked up the poe #& it was only the FIRST PART i'd reblogged i didn't know there was more & then brain immediately went brrrrr ok time for an edit. #this is a long one lol & i also have no idea if it makes sense to anybody but me but because y'all know me i will always overexplain so!! #my reasoning for the reasons obvi kyle. that's a given i hope he's doing well i hope he & his family r good but man is not coming in to wor #the second edit took me a stupid amount of time bc i am nitpicky but also i learned how to do the layers & transparency from the claude edi #that actually y'all don't know about lmao but i lost my mind when i saw how perfectly those pictures align i was scrolling getty & was like #ok december i'm gonna do a headline one (in my brain with the november/june quote about choosing to die again) w/ maple leafs playoff odds #how they say at winter break you know who's gonna be in the playoffs & who'll win & they thought they had a shot but it's mitchie overlaid #the 2003-04 team who'd last won a playoff round with the atlantic division stats from dec for 22-23 & how long it's been & dec headlines #i wanted breakup/recent/never loved to be a recent trade acquisition somebody who bounced around & somebody else so i almost had simmer #brodie & zar but then i wanted to make murray for breakup at any time &i forgot zar & him were on the pens together &it hit me like a truc #bc there's a photo of the two of them EXACTLY the same so close it's scary of this one but them as pens so they had to be it & i did always #know never loved again was mitchie. sorry. also mitchie in the penalty box the last game but i couldn't find footage of it & this one works #no i could not find a photo of tyler bertuzzi fighting a leaf for a dog looked at me yes i tried. #i almost made the bunting photo jt but instead it's 'bunting a rat etc' anyway the one i really feel unhinged about is dead pets bc at firs #i was gonna make it the handshake line & look to see if the leafs had drafted anybody on the panthers (dead pet former draft pick) #& they had & it was carter verhaeghe & i couldn't get a good pic of matthews & verhaeghe but it's fine bc i thought about the mo/luke schen #narrative (in which they are a perfect d pair long lost) & schenn was drafted by the leafs & that line fits jut trust me. also how i feel #about the kniesy luminous line that one possessed me it had to be kniesy idk why. i almost put gussy as girls are too pretty though ALSO #did u like my joke. daylight SAVINGS time on the goalie. thank u. also my photo magic on the jt (me very poorly editing in him as an isle) #OK ALSO HOLD ONNNNN there is a part two but i have to wait for the Content i want it will come out as soon as [redacted] or sooner #if i get bad at waiting &everyone will pretend like it is always the way it will be once i have the photos i want. speaking of did the leaf #simply not take a team photo this year?? it Does Not Exist for me i have tried very hard to look for it also i'm excited for part 2 #one of them is named oh you're so unhinged for this one & the finished product is you're unhinged in ways you didn't even know u were sorry #liv in the replies

[altruistic-meme]

🦜🐤

hi nymph!! :)

🦜 a pretty quote

He didn't mention how it was the only message Nathaniel had sent all week. He didn't mention how Nathaniel hadn't responded to anything Andrew had asked. He didn't mention the way that one word had torn through his chest.

here is a quote from chapter 12 of (why is there) joy in this poison :3 i will die with the rule of three gripped tightly in my hands

🐤 a mystery quote

not technically a quote as much as it is a note, but i am working on a story that will probably be a lot more involved than anything i've ever written before, and this is from my researching/studying for that!

[the poem is from LVOE. by Atticus]

im already very excited to work on this story :)

[ WIP bird game ]

#i have talked about atticus before. i literally have a fic named LVOE. because of this same poetry book skdhfshkdf #the poem on the page adjacent to this one has a note from me that just reads 'wilmon.' #but i LOVE his poems #i also have so many of these sticky notes hanging out in several of my poetry books and that number is only going to grow from here lmao #i AM also looking for poems so i say again: if you have any poems you love please share them with me :) im collecting #anywho #im probably going to try to finish this fic BEFORE i start posting so it'll be a long while before it's ever published #but <3 #it'll likely be a backburner passion project #i also attempted to add alt text for the image so hopefully that turned out ok #(wit)jitp #fun fact! that quote comes from a section that was originally going to be the end of chapter 11 until i decided to be less of an asshole!!! #askers #ask game #nymphoutofwater #shh ac

[gxlden-angels]

Poetry isn't real and ripped scriptures mean nothing. Fuck you

#Not gonna put this one in the main tags #Artisitic Vision/Intent/Interpretation whatever do your thing tumblr this will probably go further than it's meant to #something something death of the author okay I'm gonna give you the answer now #I say the answer and not *an* answer because poetry isn't real and words have to have meaning or they don't #anyways I want to write poetry or do spoken word or something about my religious trauma because I express myself thru art #I like seeing colors and words and going 'that's me. I'm that.' even abstractly because I'm abstract #even as you're reading this you're abstractly assigning me a voice and image even if it's just your own or the default one you use #I think okay I'm going to do black out poetry but I think about it too much. I think too much about making it pretty and meaningful #it's not me making art about my religious trauma anymore. it's about me making art about my trauma instead #I rip the bible to shreds and look at it and it mocks me. This is a form of art. But it means nothing to anyone but me. It's my anger #so I go back to making pretty poems about ripping up the bible and it doesn't mean anything I'm writing about making art again #so I make my art in the midst of my anger and all it says is 'Fuck you' #So now I have a pile of bible pieces and 'Fuck you' and I'm less angry but now I have nothing to show #ripped bible pieces and 'fuck you' look just like every other pile of words from any other book. You could make a new book with the words #I pick up a few pieces and make something new and that's a metaphor for something probably but what makes that so? #I am angry and I decide what's art and what's poetry and I put it out there for you to see and feel something and I've been taught for so #so so long that my purpose is to please others and be perfect that I forget I also have to feel something when I make art #my religious upbringing still affects me in ways I didn't even realize and this will probably get reblogged like tumblr poetry but for me? #for me it's saying you can just be now. not a future bride. not a preacher. not a mother. nothing. You can be nothing. That's fine #You weren't put on this planet to perform #You aren't being watched and judged by an all seeing force. #Be nothing sometimes. Fuck you

[daydreamingyuta]

NCT as Husbands Series: Mark Lee

summary: fluff, drabble, husband!mark wc: 823 nct as husbands masterlist a/n: ...if I don't get to fall in love with a guy who's just like mark!

I just know that Mark would be the best! husband!!

He’s so romantic and just such a gentleman!! Like even after being with you for so long he takes the time to listen to you and understand you. which is definitely his way of loving you!

You would have to remind him of how great of a husband he is. because showing him you appreciate him will make him melt. But also because he’s so infatuated with you and sometimes feels like he isn’t good enough for you 🥺 so of course you have to remind him of how amazing he is!

Also you're literally his muse! like he finds so much inspiration from you. The amount of love songs and sweet poems he's written for you 🥺🥺

Also doesn’t shut up about how much he’s in love with you. Like makes sure the whole world knows. like he literally cannot stop himself from talking about you but it's just because he loves you so much and can't help himself from bringing you into every conversation.

He's just such a sweet and genuine soul and you would be the luckiest girl in the world to have him as your husband!

It's two in the morning when you wake up from a deep sleep. You think that it's time to get up until you see the time and lay your head back on the pillow. It's not until your hand reaches out for Mark, that you notice he's not in bed with you. You two had both fallen asleep together, so you know that he must have woken up earlier and couldn't go back to sleep. This was a typical occurrence, and often all he needs to fall back asleep is to cuddle with you as you gently scratch your nails up and down his back to soothe him. So, you hop out of bed and throw on a sweater so you can go find him in hopes of coaxing him back to bed. You're about four steps from the living room, when you hear muffled sniffles. Your heart immediately drops knowing that Mark was crying. You make your way over to him on the couch and place your hand on his shoulder which gives him a little shock as he wasn't expecting you. "Mark, what's wrong?" You ask and then notice that he was holding the album that had all your wedding pictures in his hands. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up. I just couldn't sleep and our wedding anniversary is in a few weeks and I don't know, I just wanted to look at you in your wedding dress again." He wipes his tears away before he leans his head on your shoulder. You try to comfort him by rubbing your hand up and down the length of his arm. "Aw baby, it's ok you didn't wake me up but why is this making you cry?" "I don't know. It's just- before I met you I really never thought that I could have ever seen myself getting married. I used to be so confused and uncertain about the future but then I met you and... it was like everything all of sudden made sense. and then on our wedding day, when I saw you walking down the aisle in your dress, I just knew. I like just knew that I'm right where I'm supposed to be. and that all my steps, mistakes, and decisions led me to you and how thankful I am that everything led me to you y/n." "Markkk" You say, now starting to tear up along with him. He pulls you in a hug, not trying to hide his tears any longer. "I don't even know what to say but I love you so so so much." You two stay like that together for a while, just wanting to enjoy each other's presence during the sweet moment. However, once you feel your eyelids start to grow heavy, you know Mark must be getting tired as well. "Let's go back to bed, ok?" Mark yawns as he nods, showing just how sleepy he is. "Do you mind doing the back thing with your nails so I can go to sleep?" "Of course." You say, kissing him on his temple. You both head back to bed, Mark in front of you, but then something prompts you to look back. You see the photo album and the mess of tissues on the floor, but when you look closer, you see a slight smudge on the protective cover of a photo of you. You wipe it gently away and you immediately know the feel of it. It was chapstick, meaning Mark must have kissed your picture. Your heart completely melts at the thought as you set the photo album down and head to bed, knowing that you need to give him extra cuddles tonight for being so sweet and cute.

#mark lee #nct #nct 127 #fluff #k-pop #drabble #imagine #nct dream #nct scenarios #fanfiction #fanfic #mark lee x y/n #mark lee x reader #mark lee x you #established relationship

[moonswolfie]

HQ!! Boys with a poet S/O

hey hey hey guess who's back with a super self indulgent piece of shit fic (i am joking, this is my humour)

also let's just say the reader does not write about cute lightearted things (but if you'd like to see a version where the reader writes cute stuff lmk!!)

so, yk TW for implied mental turmoil and an overall angsty hurt/comfort mood for these

Characters featured: Oikawa, Akaashi, Kageyama, Bokuto, Iwa chan

OIKAWA honestly wouldn't believe that those poems were written by you at first. When you excitedly gave him some of your poems to read, he thought they would be cutesy love poems dedicated to him and only him, not this. "What...? Are they bad?" You seemed worried at his wide-eyed expression. "Baby, are you ...okay?" He asked out of the blue, the genuine worry in his tone knocking the wind out of you. "Hahaha, it feels so weird hearing you say that...!" You tried your best to not let any more laughter escape you. "What?! Am I not allowed to be a good boyfriend now?!" He was offended by your reaction, slightly clutching the poems in his hands. "No, it's just... unusual to see you this concerned about me." You said with a half-smile. You had gotten so used to Oikawa's light-hearted flirty attitude, that you sort of forgot just what kind of person he is. "Just what do you think of me?" He sighed, suddenly pulling you in for a hug. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" All you did was nod, feeling relieved that he understands.

AKAASHI 's eyes would widen gradually as he read the contents of your poem. You gave him 5, but he already feels horrible, and he's only on the first one. He almost doesn't want to believe you wrote this. He becomes worried about you, doing a deep analysis on your poem since he wants to understand every part before approaching you with his worries. The next day when you greet him happily, he simply hugs you. "I'm sorry for not noticing..." is all he says, and though it takes you a bit to understand what he means, you feel overwhelmingly relieved he isn't judging you for what happened. "It's okay, I didn't tell you, you couldn't have known..." you assured him, knowing your boyfriend's tendency to overthink, he would beat himself up if you said nothing. "Next time, please please tell me about things like this. I can't stand the thought of you suffering alone." He squeezed you tighter.

KAGEYAMA is confused. Reading and understanding poems was never his strong suit, but yours are especially confusing to him. You laughed a little at his concentration face, and he handed you your poem back, still confused. "What does this even mean...?" He asked, eyebrows furrowed. "Ahaha, don't worry about it too much... I wrote it like that on purpose." You made your poem vague and messy on purpouse, something you knew Kageyama probably couldn't understand properly. Awkward silence filled the room, and Kageyama silently hugged you all of a sudden. "I don't get why, but I got the random urge to hug you just now..." he mumbled silently, squeezing you in his grip. He must have noticed the sadness behind your voice and just doesn't know how to properly comfort you. "You said that out loud, Tobio." You smiled. "Shit..."

BOKUTO 's smile drops suddenly as he reads your poem. When he found you writing it, he insisted that he must read it no matter what. But what in the world was this? Why were you writing about all this sad stuff? "Babe...." his hands trembled slightly as he looked at you while you were smiling as you usually do. "Why would you say that about yourself?" He was very very saddened right now, and you weren't sure who's going to end up comforting who. You felt your bones being crushed in his impulsive hug. "It isn't true!! You're literally the best person I know!! So don't you dare say that again!!" He put his forearm over his eyes, tears stinging at his eyes. He has to be strong for you, he can't cry now. "Kou-" "I've decided! From today on, you're getting complimented every day!! No excuses!!" He looked very determined.

IWAIZUMI understood the content of your poems very well. And it angered him. Why didn't you tell him this happened?! "Idiot." He let the word escape his lips, clutching the paper in his hands. "You should have told me. I would have protected you." He looked to you. You weren't scared since you knew that your boyfriend was genuinely concerned right now, and that was just his way of expressing it. "Dammit, why do you always insist on keeping your problems to yourself..." he pulled you to his side, looking ahead. "I'll tell you next time..." you looked down to the ground. "You better. Or I'll beat you up." He huffed, but you saw the relief flashing in his eyes. He didn't really show it, but somehow, you could tell his heart sank when he read it.

I'm okay :)

#˗ˏˋ ★ ☁︎ 「Wolfie’s works」 ☾ ★ ˎˊ˗ #oikawa tooru x reader #bokuto x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi x reader #oikawa x reader #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #bokuto x you #bokuto koutaro x reader #x gender neutral reader #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader

[lunchboxpoems]

from POEMS FROM AN EMAIL EXCHANGE

Re: Your Submission 11:38pm

Me

to Editor

Respectfully,

Midnight is closing in / isn’t it funny / how only the darkness / is a thing that people say closes in / I come from a state / where there is grass everywhere / it grows out of the walls / it grows out of our hands / it spills from our mouths / any time we speak / I mean to say / that I am actually the garden you are looking for / I mean to say / that I have awaken in the brunch hours / and refused to eat / I am a man of boundaries / there is an hour for pancakes / there is an hour for pizza / in between / there is only hunger / and now we return / to the animal / my friend had an iguana / that would rest on his stomach as he slept / every night / for the sake of warmth / but never for the sake of love / I have had my face pulled away from this closing darkness / and into the light of a computer screen / once again / but this is also not love / I do not confuse necessity for love / I do not confuse hunger / with the need to fill myself / with anything that will have me / I am sorry about Brooklyn / I am sorry about everywhere that is not what it was once / isn’t that so American / I am so sorry about what all of this / has done to your heart.

HANIF ABURRAQIB

#hanif abdurraqib #poem #poetry

[multiplefandomwritings]

Yellow

pairing: Mick Schumacher x reader

warnings: none really

summary: yellow is the color of sunflowers, sunshine, lemons, joy and happiness and of all the things Mick associates with you.

notes: the schumacher accident never happened in this one. feel free to leave comments and/or feedback. likes and reblogs are always appreciated! also, feel free to send in requests! this one shot is part of the "love in different colors" series. also, the poem in the beginning was written by me.

disclaimer: english is not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes 😊

word count: 4.8k

Wildflowers

Need 

Sun

Wildflowers 

Need

Water

You 

Are

My

Sun

Shining

On

The 

Wildflowers

Your

Love 

Is 

Their

Water

They 

Are 

Blooming

Rapidly

Growing

Fast

And 

Beautiful

2007

He runs as fast as his little legs can carry him. It is summertime, and he is barefoot. He doesn’t need shoes where he is going, you live down the street from his home. He believes he hears his mother’s voice scolding him, but he does not care. He knows that she isn’t serious. He laughs and he hears his mother laughing before he runs through the little garden door and onto the sidewalk.

Only a couple more houses. He greets the neighbors, who only see his fair colored hair running by. They know exactly where he is off too. He comes to a halt in front of your house, which is a lot smaller than his. He looks at the beautiful yellow sunflowers growing in front of the property. He has to put his head back to admire the flower heads because the stems excel his little body. He catches his breath and skips onto the walk that leads to your front door. Jumping up the stairs, he is about to ring the bell when the door is ripped open, and you hurl your body at Mick.

Few minutes later you sit on the swings of the playground close by. “And we went to the beach almost every day, Mick! The sand was almost white, not yellow at all, like I always imagined. Mama bought me a yellow dress and it is so pretty, I must show you next time, I will wear it on the first day of school!” You always talk that much, and even more when you are excited like you are right now. Mick doesn’t mind. He can spend all day listen to you, every day.

Two weeks later, when school starts again, Mick picks you up to walk together. You walk out of the door; the sunflowers are still blooming, and you wear the yellow dress. And somehow this day changes everything for him, he just doesn’t know it yet. It is in this moment that Mick thinks for the first time that he might loves you. It is innocent, it is playful and still so very, very real. After school, when you are still wearing the yellow dress and he waits for you outside the school so that the two of you can walk together, he decides to be brave. When you skip down the stairs of the school building, he smiles at you, you smile back. One of your milk teeth is missing, but it makes your smile just more adorable.

Micks heart beats fast in his chest when your little hand grabs his. On the way home you stop by one of the many fields surrounding your hometown and he picks a yellow dandelion for you. “You know, one day I am going to marry you!”, he says, and you take the flower from his hand and put it behind your ear. “You better!”, you answer him and stand on your tippy toes to blow just the hint of a kiss on his cheek. Then you laugh loud and free and start to run towards home. Mick laughs and he follows you.

2013

Six years later, Mick is still your best friends. You don’t see each other than much anymore because he goes karting a lot now. He is on track almost every day. Sometimes you tag alone, sitting on the bleachers, doing your homework, and watching him racing by. Today is one of these days. It is late spring, the sunshine starts to warm up with every day passing, and you look forward to the summer, because Mick usually has more time then. It is too warm to go carting, and you would have his undivided attention once again. You wear a yellow sweatshirt, and you wave at Mick when he steps out of his cart.

He smiles, waves back and comes over to you. “Hey”, you greet him with a wide smile. “Hey back”, he says and sits down next to you. He pulls you in a short side hug. “You really missed something today at school”, you tell him, “Lukas asked Susanne to be his girlfriend!” “No way!”, Mick exclaims, more excited by your excitement. He doesn’t really care about what happens at school.  Life is very different for the two of you nowadays, while you go to school, meet your friends after and on the weekends, he is always busy. Some days he doesn’t show up at school at all. You don’t like these days. School is better with your best friend.

You are just teenagers now, but it doesn’t feel like that. You still play with barbies, and Mick is too busy to go around in circles in a little car and adolescence hasn’t quite reached the two of you yet. Some of your friends start to date, if you can really call it that, but that is still a bit weird to you and Mick. For other people it is not, and they start to ask if you are a couple, and both of you always say no. Sometimes Mick wishes that you would say yes but that would mean that he would have to kiss you and he thinks that is gross.

“Mick? You are not listening!”, you accuse him. He utters a quite apology. “What were you thinking about?”, you ask, and he becomes bright red. He doesn’t know what to answer you, and he is grateful when his father waves the two of you over. You get up first, the conversation quickly forgotten when Michael tells the two of you that you would go and get ice cream.

You cheer, your arms wrapping around the neck of his father. Mick wishes that was him in that moment. You climb into the car and Mick gets in as well, and you are already talking again, this time telling Michael about your day at school. At the ice cream place, you get lemon ice cream in a cone, like always. It is your favorite; you always tell Mick that. Like he would ever forget. You happily hold your cone in your hand, your tongue licking up the yellow delicacy. Mick watches you closely and for a moment a thought comes to his mind. Maybe kissing wouldn’t be as gross if it was you and if you just ate lemon ice cream, because you would taste like lemons and his ears turn red just a tiny bit.

2016

You are as kind as summer, that much Mick knows. The sunshine that hits his face right now reminds him of the glow of your soul. He is really happy with his life right now, but he is even happier when he gets to spend time with you. He is excited for next year because he would finally start in Formula Three and it is a new chapter. The both of you are older now, proper teenagers now, awkward and shy and there is a little shift in your friendship. It is in lingering touches and testing the waters yet none of you makes the first step, because this friendship you have is worth more than anything else. Also, Mick is older now and he doesn’t think kissing is gross anymore. But he finds out that most of the time when he kisses a girl – which is rare, you know, since he is usually surrounded by boys – he thinks about lemon ice cream and how you would taste.

You still talk a lot, like you always used to do, and it is reassuring to Mick, because even though is life is fast and exciting, it shows him at some things stay the same. It is the comforting notion of consistency that he associates with you. Generally, you haven’t changed that much, Mick thinks as he observes you while you are talking. You are more grown now, obviously, but while his face breaks out with pimples every once in a while, yours seems to be graced by the absence of puberty acne. Or maybe he just never looked closely enough, so he decides to do that now. You shave your legs now; he realizes and for a moment he asks himself whether that is because of a boy. But, he tells himself, you would tell him if you have a crush on someone.

Then, on the other hand, he isn’t really there anymore. He makes an effort to see you though, he likes to tell himself. But mostly the two of you hang out these days when your parents meet up and you tag along. Just like today, when your father had cooked saffron risotto and you had lemon ice cream for dessert. The two of you sit on the old swings of a long-abandoned playground and sway back and forth just a bit. You look more beautiful now, Mick realizes as he continues to watch you, more grown-up. “You never really listen anymore!”, you complain, and he is ripped from his thought. “Even when you are here, you are never really here!”, you accuse before you get up and stomp through the grass and the dandelions towards the house. Micks wants to tell you that he wasn’t thinking about racing but that he was thinking about you, but he doesn’t know how to, so he rather doesn’t say anything. Instead, he walks back to the house as well and pays the tall sunflowers next to garden gate no attention.

2017

He hasn’t seen you for a while. He is just so busy with racing, that he rarely comes over anymore. It makes him sad. You still text, but it became rather occasionally. You have your friends in your hometown, you are settled in school. He doesn’t want to take that away from you by pushing his non-existing presence on you. Truth is, he misses you. He misses your friendship. You are still friends, obviously, and he knows that he can call you and you will pick up and listen to him no matter what. But you don’t call him for this kind of stuff anymore. You are not best friends anymore, friends more for the fact that you had grown up together rather than anything else.

But today he wants to change that. He wants to reconnect with you, breath life back into the relationship that is slowly fading away. He is back home for two or three weeks, so he decides to just go over to your house like he used to. Suddenly he feels like he is 6 or 8 or 12 again. He opens the familiar garden door and slips though. The sunflowers stand as tall as ever, but he doesn’t need to look up anymore. Your parents’ car is not there, so he assumes that you are home alone. He rings the doorbell, but nothing happens. No one comes, and he is about to leave, when he hears you calling from upstairs. “I will be right there!” He hears you run down the steps. And then you rip open the door. You wear a yellow summer dress, and your cheeks are flustered. “Mick!”, you exclaim, “What are you doing here?”

You seem happy to see him, but it is not like it used to be. You don’t move in for a hug, you don’t grin widely. A small smile graces your face. “Hey”, Mick scratches the back of his head, “I was back in town, so I wanted to check in and see how you are doing.” You are about to answer when you get interrupted by another person emerging from behind. “Oh hey, babe. Mick was just coming by to say hi”, you smile up to the guy standing behind you. An arm snakes around your waste. “Hey Mick, I am Felix. Y/n has told me a lot about you!”, he extends his hand and Mick takes it to shake it. “Do you want to come in? We have some freshly made lemonade”, you ask him, but he shakes his head.

He forces a wry grin on his face. “No, thank you. I just remember that I need to help my mum with something. But you two have a good day!” Felix waves him goodbye and disappears into the house. Mick turns around and when he is almost through the garden door, he hears you calling after him. “It was nice seeing you again, Mick.” He smiles at you, and this time it is sincere. “You, too.” He leaves your property and returns home.

He doesn’t know exactly why it pained him to see you with another guy. It was not like what you had was exclusive. If he was honest with himself, there was nothing between you at all. All he can think about is that you must taste like lemon when Felix kisses you because you made lemonade, and he finds that this isn’t really fair.

2019

It is a warm summer day, the sun shining. You cover your eyes with your hands, looking up into the sky. You smile. It is a beautiful day. You laugh when a finger pokes in your side. “Mick, stop!”, you laugh and stick your tongue out at the boy next to you. Both of you have found your way home for the summer break, and despite not having seen each other for a while, it feels just like 2008, 2012, 2015, all over again.

You didn’t really talk to each other for a few years when Mick was always away and busy and your lives were really different. You were teenagers, and it felt impossible to bring your different lives in harmony, so you separated paths for a while, both you doing your own thing. You outgrew your teenager years at some point, however. Mick still remembers the day you reached out to him again, a delicate try to revive a friendship that had been lost between the passing years. He was so happy when you called him that evening when he laid under the yellow light of just another hotel somewhere. The pillows were bright yellow, so bright they almost hurt his eyes. You call and he almost tells you. “I thought of you when I entered the room because the pillows are yellow and so are you to me”, but he doesn’t. He is just happy to hear your voice and he listens to you talking, and he spends hours on the phone with you.

Now, you are laying on the grass by the local lake. Dandelions sprouts, poking out in between the green patches of the meadow, and you want to stay here forever. You lay on your towel; you feel like you are surrounded by a yellow ocean of flowers. The skin of your arms tingles – you forgot to use sunscreen. Possibly you would have a little sunburn later, but you couldn’t care less. Micks’ blonde hair is almost golden in the sun, you are blinded when you look at it. You feel hot. You don’t know whether it is the sun or something else. You decide not to think about it for now.

The blonde boy next to you wears a yellow cap. “Yellow is not your color!”, you tease, and he mocks offense. Then he laughs and puts the cap on your head. You smile and stick your tongue out. “Yellow is very much your color, though!”, he says so casually the compliment almost escapes your grasp. Then you realize and a little blush forms on your cheeks. You turn away from him, embarrassed by the effect he has on you.

“Let’s go for a swim”, you say to change the topic and get up. You are wearing a white bathing suit that has sunflowers all over it. You take of the cap and throw it on your towel, where it almost disappears because your towel is yellow as well. For a moment you think about that, the fact that yellow seemed to have seeped into the relationship Mick and you have had for all these years.

Mick agrees, and you both make your way to the water. The coolness of the lake water is a welcome relief from the heat of the sun. You splash around, laughing and joking with each other, like nothing has changed since you were little kids. The years of barely talking are long forgotten. As you swim, you can't help but steal glances at Mick. He has always been handsome, but something about him has changed since the last time you saw him. Maybe it's the way he carries himself, or maybe it's just that you're seeing him in a new light now that you're older. After a while, you both swim back to shore and lay back down on your towels. You feel the warmth of the sun drying your skin and the coolness of the grass beneath you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, enjoying the peaceful moment.

You must have fallen asleep, and you are awakened by something tickling you on your back. Slowly, you open your eyes. You spot Micks body next to you, and the close proximity makes your breath hitch in your throat for a moment. “Don’t move”, Mick whispers and you do as he says. When he is done with whatever he was doing, he grabs your yellow polaroid camera from besides you and stands up. You can hear the shutter click two times and then Mick sits down next to you. He wipes something off your back. His gentle touches give you goosebumps on your arms and leave you feeling warm inside your chest.

“All done”, he says a few seconds later and you sit up. Around you, you can spot the yellow dandelions laying on your towel. “What did you do?”, you ask with suspicion in your voice. “I created art!”, he says and holds on of the polaroid pictures in your peripheral vision. You can only steal a quick glance before he tugs it away under the cap, shielding from the sun and giving it time to develop. “Whatever you say!”, you say, and he looks at you intensely for a moment. It freaks you out a bit, so you stick out your tongue at him and he laughs. He turns away and looks over at the other side of the lake where a handful of people surround the little hut that sold ice cream and fries and everything you needed for a day by the lake. “Ice cream?”, he asks you and you nod. “Lemon?”, you nod again and want to get up, but he gently pushes you down on the towel. “My treat”, he says and before you can argue he gets up and disappears.

When Mick returns, he is already fighting for his dear life. The ice cream is melting and dripping everywhere, and you cannot help but chuckle a little bit. Mick throws you a playful glance and you lose it when his eyes cream falls, just beside his towel. “Shit!”, mutters Mick and sits down. He hands you the ice cream, looking a bit like a puppy. “We can share”, you offer and hold the cone out to him. He takes a big lick and both of you have to laugh.

2020

You arrive in Sakhir on a Wednesday and Mick personally picks you up at the airport. He is nervous, he doesn’t really know why, but he maybe because this race could be the one that decides about his championship. Or maybe he is nervous because he is picking you up and he again hasn’t seen you for a few months and he missed you so much.

You step out of the airport in sweatpants and a pale yellow shirt and Mick thinks you might be the most gorgeous person he has ever seen. You look confused, a bit lost, until you see him. Your face lights up and Micks heart drops when he realizes that you are so excited that you are running towards him. Before you reach him, you drop your suitcase and jump into his arms. He catches you; he holds you close, and he takes in your scent – you smell like lemons and sunflowers and happiness. You smell like yellow, and Mick cannot remember that he has ever smelled something more delicious before.

He lets go of you eventually and takes your suitcase and your backpack from you, whatever he can to help you out. He brings you to his rental car, which weirdly enough is an ugly yellow and he holds the door open for you. He drives you to the hotel while you excitedly tell him about your flight and what movies you watched and what your favorite song is at the moment. You also tell him stories he already heard because you call almost every day, but he doesn’t mind.

Sometimes, when he makes a comment or throws in a joke, you laugh and place a hand on his bicep he swears he melts like the lemon ice he shared with you last summer by the lake. You arrive by the hotel, and he again carries your stuff up to your shared room. It is big, bigger than any hotel room you had ever stayed in and the first thing you do is to step out onto the balcony into the warm sun and close your eyes. Mick joins you soon after, and as the sun is starting to go under, a golden husk is painting your face in a shining yellow. You look like the sun, Mick thinks, and you feel like he it too, he thinks when you look at him and smile.

A bit later, you meet with the Schumacher’s for dinner in a place close by. It is the perfect mix of a restaurant and a bar, looking almost like some American diner. You order burger and fries, and lemonade and Mick steals a sip. You complain, playfully and take a sip of his beer as retaliation. Life is good right now, it is happy and joyful and yellow, Mick thinks. His family knows you, and while you talk Mick cannot help himself but watch. The two of you sit so close, squeezed into the booth. Your hand lays next to your thighs, and Mick can almost touch it. He forgets about that fact for a moment when you talk to him, and he is pulled into a conversation about your childhood memories. He takes a sip from his beer and lets his hand fall on the bench. It touches yours for a second, and he doesn’t know what to do. Does he pull away? But then you link your pinky with his like some kind of promise and Mick leaves his hand there, tied to you by your pinkies and the longing in his heart.

You walk away with Gina next to you, over to the little stage to find the perfect karaoke song and Mick cannot help but watch after you. He is enchanted by you, and he wonders how you haven’t realized yet. When he finally tears his eyes away from you and that yellow summer dress, his parents grin at him. “So, what is going on between you and her?”, his father asks her, and Mick shakes his head. “She is still my best friend, dad. That’s never changed.” “Yes”, his mother says, “The only thing that changed are your feelings for her, am I right?” Mick doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t know what to say. He knows that his mother is right, but he doesn’t know what to say to his dad. He doesn’t know what, if there is anything between the two of you, but he hopes there is. He looks up and your eyes are on him, and you smile and for a moment he is almost sure that there is something and he breaks out in a silly smile. His parents exchange a look and intertwine their fingers with one another.

Mick wins Formula Two on a bright, sunny Sunday in Sakhir. But you outshine the sun on this day, he thinks. Your smile is so bright Mick is sure your cheeks will hurt by the hand of the day. His right ear hurts a bit because you yelled into it, but he doesn’t mind. Winning Formula Two feels even better than winning Formula Three, especially because you are there this time. The occasion calls for celebration, everyone knows that. The team somehow manages to find a location where all of you fit. They buy drinks and snacks, and it is not something professional, but Mick think it is perfect the way it is. It is perfect because you are here, and you are laughing, and dancing and Mick could just spend the entire night watching you.

He is the star of the show, of today, but he feels like that should be you. He has won because you have inspired him to do better every single day since 2019, if he is honest maybe since the day, he met you for the first time. He talks to his dad and his mum and some other people when he sees that you are leaving for the balcony of the venue, so he excuses himself. His mother and his father are exchanging a knowing glance but spare him with a comment. He makes his way through the crowd, needing longer than he anticipates because people stop him to congratulate him. Eventually, he is able to join you on the otherwise empty balcony.

He just watches your back for a moment, and how the yellow dress you are wearing once again is gently swaying in the wind. He wants to go and talk to you, but the view is too pretty to pass up on. “Are you just going to stand there and watch me like a creep, or are you going to come here and give me a hug?” He laughs, slight embarrassment peeking through in the sound. When he walks over to you, he doesn’t need to see your face to know the wide grin you are currently wearing on your lips. He steps closer you and wraps his arms around your hips from behind. It is different than the other hugs you have shared all your life, it is more intimate, more real somehow. His heart is beating fast in his chest, and he is almost sure that you can feel it.

You place your hand on his arms, relaxing against his chest, snuggling impossible closer. “Are you enjoying your party, my champion?”, you say, and your words give him goosebumps – the good kind. My champion. He never wants you to call him anything else again if he is being honest. “Hm”, he hums in agreement, chin resting on your shoulder, “Even more because you are here.” The words he speaks are not above a whisper, because he is a bit afraid to say them out loud. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world, Mick. Since I first met you, I knew that you were destined for great things.”

Mick cannot help but laugh, and you turn around in his embrace. His arms are still around your waist, your arms are now behind his neck. He is close to you, has he ever been this close to you before? His laughter dies down, but he still grins from ear to ear. “I think the first time we met, we were like two years old, and you hit me on the head with a shovel.” You scoff, but Mick knows it is all playful. “I don’t remember that, but I am sure you deserved that”, you grin up at him, “Anyway, that feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Because it is”, Mick says and rubs gentle circles on the fabric above your hipbones, “But most of my best memories are with you. Like that summer last year? I don’t think I have ever felt better than during that time with you.” You smile up at him, and Mick feels like you are impossibly closer now. “Do you remember? When we were eight?”, you ask him, your voice barely above a whisper, “You gave me a dandelion and you said that you will marry me one day, and to be honest… I always hoped that you wouldn’t break that promise.” Mick smiles, and it is soft. He looks down into your eyes and you take his breath away. “One day, I will keep true to that promise”, he says.

He kisses you now, and as he does, he realizes something. Firstly, you really do taste like lemons. And like sunshine and happiness and much, much more. Secondly, he realizes that in a world of billions of people, a life full of thousands who he almost definitely hadn’t met yet, you were his one person, and he was going to make sure that counted for something.

#mick schumacher #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher one shot #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher imagine #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula 1 imagine #formula one x reader #f1 x you #formula 1

[burningvelvet]

Here are two of the most hilariously scalding letters from the 1800s that I have ever read. One is by the famous writer Lord Byron, and the other is by his daughter Ada Lovelace, the famous mathematician. Both are written to their respective business partners: Byron to his publisher John Murray, and Lovelace to her colleague Charles Babbage. It’s interesting to note how strikingly similar these letters are despite the fact that Ada and her father never knew each other, as her parents separated shortly after her birth and he died abroad when she was eight. Both were rebellious, fond of gambling, prone to tumultuous affairs, and both hated Lady Byron. These similarities may help to explain why her final wish was to be buried next to him instead of her family.

Lord Byron in a Letter to his publisher John Murray about the printing of his magnum opus, the poem Don Juan:

“Ra. August 31st. 1821.

Dear Sir

I have received the Juans – which are printed so carelessly especially the 5th. Canto – as to be disgraceful to me — & not creditable to you.

It really must be gone over again with the Manuscript – the errors are so gross – words added – changed – so as to make cacophony & nonsense. — You have been careless of this poem because some of your Synod don’t approve of it – but I tell you – it will be long before you see any thing half so good as poetry or writing. — Upon what principle have you omitted the note on Bacon & Voltaire? and one of the concluding stanzas sent as an addition? because it ended I suppose – with –

‘And do not link two virtuous souls for life Into that moral Centaur man & wife?’

Now I must say once for all – that I will not permit any human being to take such liberties with my writings – because I am absent. —

I desire the omissions to be replaced (except the stanza on Semiramis) particularly the stanza upon the Turkish marriages – and I request that the whole be carefully gone over with the M.S.S. –

I never saw such stuff as is printed – Gulleyaz – instead of Gulbeyaz &c. Are you aware that Gulbeyaz is a real name – and the other nonsense? – I copied the Cantos out carefully – so that there is no excuse – as the Printer reads or at least prints the M.S.S. of the plays without error. —

If you have no feeling for your own reputation pray have some little for mine. — I have read over the poem carefully – and I tell you it is poetry – Your little envious knot of parson-poets may say what they please — time will show that I am not in this instance mistaken. — Desire my friend Hobhouse to correct the press especially of the last Canto from the Manuscript – as it is – it is enough to drive one out of one’s senses – to see the infernal torture of words from the original. – For instance the line

‘And pair their rhymes as Venus yokes her doves’

Is printed

‘and praise their rhymes &c. –

also ‘precarious’ for ‘precocious’ – and this line. stanza 133.

‘And this strong extreme effect – to tire no longer’

Now do turn to the Manuscript – & see – if I ever made such a line – it is not verse. —

No wonder the poem should fail – (which however it wont you will see) with such things allowed to creep about it. – – Replace what is omitted – – & correct what is so shamefully misprinted, – and let the poem have fair play – – and I fear nothing. — I see in the last two Numbers of the Quarterly – a strong itching to assail me (see the review of the “Etonian”) let it – and see if they shan’t have enough of it. – – I don’t allude to Gifford – who has always been my friend – & whom I do not consider as responsible for the articles written by others. – But if I do not give Mr. Milman – Mr. Southey – & others of the crew something that shall occupy their dream! I am not what I was – that is all

I have not begun with the Quarterers – but let them look to it. – As for Milman (you well know I have not been unfair to his poetry ever) but I have lately had some information of his critical proceedings in the Quarterly which may bring that on him which he will be sorry for. – I happen to know that of him – Which would annihilate him – when he pretends to preach morality – not that he is immoral – because he isn’t – having in early life been once too much so. – And dares he set up for a preacher? let him go and be priest to Cybele. – why let

You will publish the plays – when ready — I am in such a humour about this printing of D.J. so inaccurately – that I must close this.

yrs. [scrawl]

P.S. I presume that you have not lost the stanza to which I allude? it was sent afterwards look over my letters – & find it. The Notes you can’t have lost – you acknowledged them – they included eight or little corrections of Bacon’s mistakes in the apothegms. – And now I ask once more if such liberties taken in a man’s absence – are fair or praise-worthy? – As for you you have no opinions of your own – & never had – but are blown about by the last thing said to you no matter by whom.”

[Separate page]

“Dear Sir

The enclosed letter is written in bad humour – but not without provocation. -

However – let it (that is the bad humour) go for little – but I must request your serious attention to the abuses of the printer which ought never to have been permitted. – You forget that all the fools in London (the chief purchasers of your publications) will condemn in me the stupidity of your printer. — For instance in the Notes to Canto fifth – ‘the Adriatic shore of the Bosphorus – instead of the Asiatic!! – All this may seem little to you – so fine a gentleman with your ministerial connections – but it is serious to me – who am thousands of miles off & have no opportunity of not proving myself the fool yr. printer makes me – except your pleasure & leisure forsooth.

The Gods prosper you — & forgive you, for I wont.

B.”

Ada Lovelace in a letter to her work partner Charles Babbage, who she helped invent the computer with:

“Tuesday Afternoon [1 August 1843] Ockham

. . . Note B has plagued me to death; altho' I have made but little alteration in it. Such alterations as there are however, happen to have been very tiresome & to have demanded minute consideration & very nice adjustments.

It is a very excellent Note.

I wish you were as accurate, & as much to be relied on, as I am myself. You might often save me much trouble, if you were; whereas you in reality add to my trouble not infrequently; and there is at any rate always the anxiety of doubting if you will not get me into a scrape; even when you don't.

By the way, I hope you do not take upon yourself to alter any of my corrections.

I must beg you not. They all have some very sufficient reason. And you have made a pretty mess & confusion in one or two places (which I will show you sometime), where you have ventured in my M.S's, to insert or alter a phrase or word; & have utterly muddled the sense.

I could not conceive at first in one or two places what had happened to my sentences; tho' I soon saw they were patchwork & not my own; and found it so, on referring to the M.S. I fear you will think this a very cross letter. Never mind. I am a good little thing, after all. Yours ever

A. A. L.

Later. P. S. It is impossible to send you anything but Notes B and C; (& this partly owing to some wrong references & blunderations of your own). — Do not be afraid, for I will work like the Devil early tomorrow morning. —“

[Separate Page]

“Wednesday, 4 o'clock [2 August 1843] Ockham

After working almost incessantly, since 7 o'clock this morning, until I am forced to give in from sheer inability to apply longer, I find only the sheet I enclose is quite completed. I shall however send a servant up tomorrow morning by a ten o' clock train, to take you all the rest; so that you will have it almost as soon as this letter.

You cannot conceive the trouble I have had with the trigonometrical Note E. — In fact no one but me, I really believe, would have doggedly stuck to it, as I have been doing, in all wearing minutiae.

I am very uneasy at not hearing from you, as I have expected to do both yesterday & today; & fear some disaster or other. I hope all of Note G is forthcoming; & I also hope you have received all my communications safely.

I think you had better do the second revise of the translation for me. If you will compare it carefully with my first revise, it can hardly be necessary I think for me to go over it again.

I suppose I ought to take it for granted that no news is good news; but I am in a sad fidget. — Yours ever

A. L.”

#‘no wonder the poem should fail’ ‘i fear nothing’ #‘i am in such a humour’ ‘the stupidity of your printer’ #‘the gods prosper u & forgive u - for i wont’ #‘all the fools in london (the chief purchasers of your publications)’ #‘i wish u were as accurate and to be relied upon as myself’ #‘you in reality add to my trouble not infrequently’ #‘​they were patchwork & not my own’ #literature #english literature #dark academia #poetry #romanticism #lord byron #history #writing #ada lovelace #computer history #computer science history #math history #literary history #letters #funny #1800s #victorian #regency #drama #historical #humour #lit #correspondence

[topguncortez]

The Professor | Chapter 5

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: Derek confronts you about what he saw in Professor Seresin's office. Jake invites you over for an important dinner.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: age gap, mentions of smut, mentions of parental death, mentions of a house fire, power imbalance, blackmail, excessive drinking, phone sex, mutual masturbation.

In the three years you’ve known Derek McAndrew, you never knew him to be this quiet. He was always trying to talk to you, saying anything and everything that would come to his mind. You thought maybe he was really focused on the poem that Jake had assigned for the class to read. But then you looked up from your own document and found him staring you down that you knew the silence wasn’t because he was deep in thought. 

“Okay, what is it?” You asked, setting down your document, “What’s with the silence?” 

“What silence? I am reading,” Derek shrugged. 

“Alright, now that’s bullshit because you’re not reading, you’ve been staring me down. So. . . what is with the silence?” You asked again. 

Derek sighed and sat back in his chair and looked around the study room. Lucy had left nearly half an hour ago to go get coffee and snacks for all three of you, knowing that tonight was probably going to be a long night. Derek had the image of you sitting on Professor Seresin’s lap ingrained in his mind all weekend. At first, he didn’t think what he saw was correct. There was no way that someone as dignified as yourself would stoop so low as to fucking your professor. Derek thought maybe it was some other girl who had long beautiful hair and was wearing a ratty gray longhorn sweatshirt and mom jeans. But then Derek thought, who else would wear longhorn apparel in Chestnut Hill, besides Jake Seresin. 

You raised your eyebrows and held your hand out for Derek to spill whatever it is he was holding on to. 

“Are you fucking our professor?” 

“What!?” 

Your heart was beating in your ears. You had strict instructions when it came to hooking up with Jake. There was not to be any sort of fornication on campus. Even though his office was on the fourth floor of the English building and his windows were dark, you still didn’t want to take the chance. But you had given in, slightly, last week, allowing a heavy make out session to break out in his office. You sat on his lap, as you ran your fingers through his blonde locks, as his hands roamed your body. It felt nice to sit there, feel his strong arms around you as the two of you would take a small break for him to check an email or you a text, and then went back to tongues clashing. 

“That’s fucking crazy. You’ve lost your damn-” 

“So it’s true!” Derek shouted and you looked around at the study room you were in. You gave an apologetic smile to a group who was nearby studying. You stood up and walked out the door, slamming it closed, and drawing the blind, before facing Derek. 

“Look, I don’t know what the hell it is you think you saw but-” 

“You only curse like this when you’re lying,” Derek pointed out, “You’re also clenching your fists, another thing you do when you’re lying.” 

You were shaking and crossed your arms over your chest. He was right, those were things you did when you were lying. You hated that Derek knew you like this. Suddenly, you were praying for Lucy or someone to come bursting through the door. 

“It’s not what you-” 

“It’s not what I think?” Derek scoffed, “You’re going to tell me that it’s not what I fucking think?! I caught you making out with our fucking professor in his office. I have every right to report him and you!” 

“Me?!” You exclaimed. 

“Yes, you!” Derek yelled and pushed himself up from his seat, “You are cheating! You are using him to get ahead! It’s fucking academic dishonesty! I could report you to Dean Simpson and have your ass kicked out of the fucking program by noon tomorrow!”

You flinched as he yelled, your throat starting to constrict with tears. You hadn’t ever thought what would happen if you got caught. You knew it wouldn’t be good, and there would be rumors and probably an investigation, but you didn’t know that it could go as far as you getting kicked out.

“And how fucking stupid does Seresin have to be to throw away a fucking career for you," Derek spat.

“What do you want?” You said through clenched teeth. 

“You.” 

“Not fucking happening,” You scoffed, “You think I would want to be with you after what the fuck you just said!” 

Derek smirked and crossed his arms over his chest, “You like him, don’t you.” 

“I don’t fucking like him,” You muttered, “He’s a fucking sadistic dick who gets off on making his students miserable. I’m his fucking teaching assistant for intro to English.” 

“And you suck his dick.” 

“You’re just mad that I won’t suck yours.” 

“No,” Derek scoffed, “I am mad that you are getting all the fucking insight in how to pass his fucking class. I need this Y/N, I need to pass this fucking class. I can’t have a bad grade, it’ll tank my opportunity for the Berkeley program.” 

“And what do you think would happen to me if I fail this class?” 

“You don’t have to worry. Your fucking personal essay will save your ass. Just talk about how your parents went up in. . .” Derek stopped talking as he saw the tears starting to run down your face. 

“Say it,” You sneered. 

“Flames,” He said softly, “Y/N, I-” Derek moved to take a step towards you, but you held your hand up to stop him. He sighed and closed his eyes. 

“What do you want? Last fucking time I’m asking,” You said. 

“C average, that’s what I need on the last projects and exams to be able to get a C in the class. You do that for me. . . and I won’t tell Dean Simpson about you and Seresin.” 

You wanted to vomit. It took everything in you to stop you from running over and slapping the fuck out of Derek McAndrew. But instead you nodded, “You got a deal.” 

Jake let out a loud groan as he heard the incessant buzzing of his cell phone from his dresser. One of his sleep methods, which ensured that he got his full eight hours, was to place his phone across the room from himself. It also prevented himself from falling back asleep when his alarm rang. The first time his phone went off, he ignored it, but now it was ringing again, and Jake was pissed. He pushed back the covers and shuffled his way over to his dresser. 

“Hello?” He asked, not bothering to look at the caller ID. 

“Jacob!” You slurred over the receiver. Jake furrowed his eyebrows and pulled the phone back, double checking that it was in fact you calling him this late. 

“Do you know what time it is?” He grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“I know what time it is.” 

“Then why. . . Can you hear me?” He furrowed his eyebrows at the sound of loud music in the background, “Are you drunk?” 

“If I was, does that mean you’re going to punish me?”  You giggled and Jake rolled his eyes. 

“Where are you?” 

“You didn’t answer the question.” 

“And you didn’t answer mine. Now, address.” 

“Sips,” You sighed and leaned against the brick building. You closed your eyes to try and stop the spinning, “Everything is spinning.” 

“Don’t move. I’ll be there in five.” 

Jake hung up, and quickly slipped on a quarter zip sweatshirt and slid on his tennis shoes. His hair was a mess and he had his glasses on, but he could care less about his appearance right now. The only thing on his mind was getting to you. He knew something had to be wrong if you were calling him drunk on a Tuesday night. Jake was privy to the drinking night shenanigans at the local bars on campus. Tuesday wasn’t usually a night where students went out and got shitfaced. He knew where Sips bar was because it was down the street from Bradley’s. 

His green eyes looked up and down the street, looking for you, and frowned as he spotted you sitting on the curb. Your head was buried in your hands and your elbows were resting on your knees. Jake put the car in park and quickly got out, going to your side. You lifted your head up at the sound of footsteps and shot Jake a smile, which quickly disappeared noticing his pissed off expression. 

“Hi,” You said to him. 

“Let’s go,” Jake said, and held his hand out to you. 

“I’m not going with you,” You shook your head, which increased the pounding behind your eyes, “Oh shit.” 

“I’m not having this argument with you,” Jake sighed, “It’s nearly 2AM, you’re intoxicated, it's cold and you don’t have anything on your arms,” You looked down at the short sleeves you were wearing, “Y/N please, let me take you home.” You looked up at him and saw the pleading look in his green eyes. You placed your hand in his, and he carefully pulled you up from the curb. 

“Whoa,” You stumbled on your feet, but Jake quickly steadied you. He kept an arm around his waist as he walked you to his range rover, opening the door and helping you up. You heard him let out a sharp sigh as he shut the door, and ran a hand through his hair as he walked around to the drivers side. You looked away from him as he climbed in, and started up the car. Jake looked over at you, and furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Are you crying?” 

“No,” You said and shook your head, then sniffled. 

“Y/N. . . “ 

“I’m not crying! Just drive!” You snapped and Jake raised his hands in surrender. He started the drive back to your house, as you leaned your head against the window. Jake listened to the soft sobs and sniffles that you let out. 

“Why are you crying?” He asked again, this time a bit softer. 

“‘Cause you’re mad at me,” You whimpered. Jake let out a soft chuckle at how childlike you sounded at this moment. He glanced over at you, and noticed the glossy, tired look in your eyes. 

“I’m not mad,” Jake said, “I’m really not. I’m glad you called me and didn’t try to drive or find your way home. I am, however, upset that you put yourself in such a vulnerable position.” 

“God, you sound like my dad.” Jake’s breath caught in his throat at the mention of your late father. He blamed it on the alcohol in your system, stopping you from thinking clearly. “I don’t think he’d like you very much.” 

“Because I’m old?” 

“Nah. . . longhorn fan,” You looked over at him and scrunched your nose. Jake shook his head with a laugh. The car settled in silence as Jake continued down the streets of Chestnut Hill, going off the memory of the night he took you home. He frowned as he pulled into your driveway, and found the house completely dark. He then looked over at you, and found you asleep. Jake smiled to himself, and didn’t have the heart to wake you up. 

Instead, he put the car in park and turned off the ignition. He quietly got out of his side, and walked over to your side. Jake unbuckled you and then easily picked you up in his arms. You stirred for a second, and then settled against his chest, nuzzling your head into his neck. 

“Where are your keys?” Jake whispered to you as he walked up to the front door. 

“Don’t use them,” You grumbled and Jake rolled his eyes. He opened the door and kicked it closed with his foot, “Second room, on right.” 

Jake nodded, even though you couldn’t see him, and walked down to what he assumed was your bedroom. He took in the sight of the various band posters, shoes kicked around, and records laying around the small bedroom. It smelled just like you, the scent of vanilla and a hint of rose petals. Jake laid you down gently on one side of your bed, and pulled the covers back on the other. He took off the converse on your feet and set them at the foot of the bed. 

“Are you comfortable?” Jake asked you. 

“Pants,” You mumbled and Jake nodded. He carefully took the sweatpants off your legs and tossed them into the overflowing hamper in the corner of the room. He then picked up your body and laid you down on the side with the pulled back covers. Jake made sure to put you on your side, and tucked the blankets in around you. 

“Good ni-” 

“Stay,” You asked, and grabbed his wrist, “Please?” 

“What about your rules?” Jake smiled softly. 

“Hall pass. One time,” You shrugged and Jake nodded, “Morning sex cures hangovers.” 

“I believe the only real cure for hangovers is time,” Jake kicked off his shoes, and climbed into bed next to you. He laid on top of the covers and you shuffled over to him, laying your head on his chest. 

“Thank you,” You whispered. 

“No problem,” Jake tucked a hand behind his head. He couldn’t help but pull you in close, and place a kiss on the crown of your head, “Good night, sweetheart.” 

The sunlight was bright as it shone through the open blinds of your room. You always made sure that the curtain was drawn, having an eastern facing window. You cursed, and rolled over on your other side, facing the door. It took you a moment as you pushed yourself up on your hands and realized that you were in fact, in your own bed. Then the memories of the fight with Derek and leaving the library in near tears to go out for a drink, which turned into much more than one, filled your mind. 

“Oh fuck,” You groaned and looked over at your alarm clock. It was 12 in the afternoon, and you had already missed Jake’s lecture. Jake. He must be the reason you are home. You rubbed your eyes as you climbed out of bed, your feet hitting the cold hard wood as you walked down to the bathroom. Turning the light on, you noticed a pink sticky note on the mirror. 

‘Got too drunk last night and needed a ride. P.S. you talk in your sleep. - J’ 

You rolled your eyes, taking the note down. You did your morning routine, even though it was slightly delayed by the hangover. You took the note back to your room, setting it down on a stack of books on your desk. Your phone had been placed on the charger, probably Jake’s doing and you picked it up, seeing a full screen of notifications, most of which were from Derek. 

‘I’m so sorry for what I said last night Y/N’ 

‘I didn’t mean to bring up your parents, but you have to understand that it’s not fair what you are doing’ 

‘Please answer me’ 

‘Where did you go last night? Are you okay?’ 

‘Well he’s fucking pissed today, so I guess you didn’t suck his dick this morning’ 

You rolled your eyes and deleted the rest of the messages from Derek. You even contemplated going as far as blocking his phone number, but refrained. His words still played in your mind like an endless loop. You had to be careful with what you do or say around Derek, knowing that he knows about your deal with Professor Seresin.

The next set of messages were from Lucy, promptly freaking out as to why there was an expensive car with a longhorns sticker on the back windshield in your driveway. You made a mental note of making sure you had a conversation with Lucy about everything next. You trust that she won’t have the same reaction as Derek did. But the last message was what shocked you more than Lucy’s. 

‘Jake: Text me when you get up so I know you didn’t die of alcohol poisoning’

You smiled and messaged him back, ‘I’m awake. And I don’t talk in my sleep.’ 

Jake was sitting at his desk looking over Bob’s dissertation about space dust when his phone buzzed. He sighed in relief, thankful to have a break from the reading. He didn’t know shit about space dust, nor did he care, but he knew that Bob wasn’t a gifted writer as Jake was. So, Jake was doing Bob a solid and looked over the paper for him. Jake smiled at his phone as he read your message and replied. 

‘Jake: I beg to differ. Started reciting I sing the body electric.’ 

‘You: What can I say? Good piece of poetry.’ You bit your lip as you leaned against the counter, waiting for your toast to pop up. 

‘Then I suggest Desire by Langston Huges as your next read,’ Jake shifted himself at his desk, feeling the growing hard on press against his black boxers. 

‘Only if you read it to me’ You squeezed your thighs together as you took a bite of your buttered toast. You watched your screen for a moment seeing the three dots dance for several moments then stop. The time stamp under your message looked back at you like a sore thumb. You quickly started typing an apology to him, when a voice message appeared in your inbox. 

Your eyes widened and you looked around the kitchen then pressed play on the message. 

“Desire to us-” 

“Holy fuck,” You stopped the recording, the sound of his voice was low, thick and deep with his accent and it sent a shiver straight through your core. You quickly ran upstairs, abandoning your toast on the counter and straight to your room. You climbed on your bed, resting your back against the headboard, and slipped your headphones in. 

You pressed play, and Jake’s deep voice sounded in your ears. 

He took a breath, “Desire to us was like a double death. . . , swift dying of our mingled breath. . ., evaporation of an unknown strange perfume between us quickly. . . in a naked room.” 

You felt your pussy clenching around nothing as you listened back to his words of the poem. You weren’t sure why the sound of his voice was turning you on like this. Maybe it was the thought of him sitting in his office alone, wearing some expensive suit, his messy hair and glasses on, cock straining to get out of his trousers. You licked your lips, and let out a strained breath as you clicked on his contact and rang him. 

“You’re awake,” His voice flooded through your ears again. 

“I am,” You said back. Jake shifted again, his pants had become uncomfortable and he knew you were probably struggling too, “That poem. . . it’s interesting.” 

“It is. It’s one of Langston’s most popular. Captures the essence of love making beautifully.” 

“Love making, huh? What’s the difference between fucking and love making?” 

“The passion,” Jake’s voice sounded breathy as he spoke. You couldn’t help but drift your hand down your body, to your clothed cunt feeling that your panties were soaked, “The slow, languid thrusts. Pushing your bodies into one another in hopes to become one. The feeling of being in your purest form, not a single ounce of embarrassment as you bury yourself deep into the body of your partner.” Jake’s hand ran over the zipper of his trousers, feeling the hardness of his cock. 

“Do you prefer love making over fucking?” 

“Don’t you?” 

“Can’t say I have made love, professor,” Your fingers found themselves dragging your panties down your thighs, leaving you bare from the waist down. You spread your legs and drew slow circles over your clit. 

“Then you haven’t been fucked properly,” Jake groaned, and unzipped his trousers. He pulled them down enough to pull his hard cock out, “Then again, it was easy enough to satisfy you, so that tells me that whoever came before me, wasn’t getting you off.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You sighed, you dipped your index finger into your center. 

“Are you touching yourself?” 

“Are you?” 

“Yes,” Jake answered and tilted his head back as he squeezed himself, running his hand up and down his shaft. 

“Langston Hughes gets you this turned on?” You teased, and added another finger to your cunt, curling them up to touch against the spongy part of your insides. 

“Could say the same for you, little one,” Jake’s voice dropped an octave, “Tell me how it feels. I want to know what you do when I’m not around to stuff your little hole with my cock.” 

“Feels good,” You grunted, moving your fingers rapidly. You were thankful for putting in your headphones and had your phone sitting next to you. Your other hand came down to circle your clit, which caused a loud moan to leave your lips, “But not enough. My fingers. . . yours are bigger, fill me up more.” 

“Fucking Christ,” 

“Not quite,” You smirked, remembering the small comeback he had said to you one night. 

“Shut up, or I’ll tell you to stop,” Jake’s hand moved faster up his shaft, “Fuck, I wish you were here. I’d have you doing this for me. Better yet, I’d rather be in you, feeling your pussy clench around me. God, you always feel so fucking amazing around me.” 

“Jake,” You felt that familiar burning in your stomach as you closed your eyes shut, “Please.” 

“You close? I bet you are,” Jake smirked, “So pathetic. Literally get off at the simplest things.” 

“Says the man jerking off in his office right now,” You breathed out, but was followed by a moan, “Please, Jake, I need to cum. Can I please?” 

“Fuck, yes, cum for me. Let me hear you,” Jake clenched his jaw as he worked himself quicker, hearing your beautiful moans through the receiver. He wasn’t far behind, cumming into his hand, making sure none dripped on to his suit. He held his cock in his hand for a moment, letting himself catch his breath, before reaching for a kleenex. 

You laid on your bed, completely spent and feeling the stickiness of your cum between your thighs. It was silent for just a moment, the only sounds heard were the sounds of your spent breathing. Jake had cleaned himself and put his pants back on properly. 

“I need to see you,” Jake said, breaking the silence, “Tomorrow night, preferably.” 

“Can’t get enough of me can you?” You smirked. 

Jake smiled and shook his head, “I guess you can say that but it’s uh. . . for dinner.” 

“Dinner?” 

“Yeah, dinner. . . with my mother.”

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#top gun #top gun fan fic #top gun fan fiction #top gun au #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fan fic #top gun maverick fan fiction #top gun maverick au #top gun maverick imagine #Jake seresin #Jake seresin fan fic #Jake seresin fan fiction #Jake seresin imagine #Jake seresin au #Jake seresin x reader #Jake seresin x you #Jake seresin x y/n #professor Jake seresin

[frodo-with-glasses]

More Reading Thoughts: The Shadow of the Past

"The blame was mostly laid on Gandalf." Whatever you did, you've been officially labeled a Disturber of the Peace...

Something about "but the growth of hobbit-sense was not very noticeable" cracks me up

I love the fact that Frodo kept throwing birthday parties for Bilbo after he left. It's so sweet.

I would much rather go to Frodo’s Hundred-weight Feast than Bilbo’s Party of Special Magnificence, actually; twenty guests and several meals “at which it snowed food and rained drink” sounds much more my speed X-D

“Bilbo isn’t dead.” “Where is he then?” “🤷‍♂️”

F in the chat for Folco Boffin, who was mentioned like once in this chapter and never comes into the story again

"Merry and Pippin suspected that [Frodo] visited the Elves at times, as Bilbo had done." TEA???

Frodo's wandering in the autumn has such an evocative and melancholy feeling to it. So much so that I wrote a poem about it last year...

Part Two of me wishing the movies could have shown the Dwarves passing through the Shire on their way to the Blue Mountains

Sam be like "Dragons and Ents are real, I tell you!" and Ted Sandyman like "press X to doubt"

Our first glimpse of Sam's unassailable trust in Frodo and his wisdom 💚

And now! Exposition dumping, with Gandalf.

I hate the fact that I can't see or hear the word Eregion without getting war flashbacks to Amazon's Rings of Poopy

Ooh, remind me to write an essay about the invisibility power of the Ring(s)...

"[Bilbo] would certainly never have passed on to you anything that he thought would be a danger." Oh boy, would you look at the time, it's Crying About Adoptive Relationships O'clock

"'There wasn't any permanent harm done, was there?' asked Frodo anxiously. 'He would get all right in time, wouldn't he? Be able to rest in peace, I mean.'" OH BOY, WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE TIME—

Literally Gandalf: "Hobbits are my special interest"

"It is quite cool." It sure is, Gandalf. Wicked. Radical, even.

Low-hanging fruit, I know, but I had to 🤣

Speaking of low-hanging fruit, here's a joke I made two years ago about the "until Spring had passed into Winter" line:

He threw a luau barbecue one breezy summer night/Invited all his turtle pals to come and have a wiki bite/The turtles started walkin' there as Lance began to swing/The one that lived across the street arrived there in the spring...!

"I wish it need not have happened in my time." "So do I, and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us." Still a line that goes so, so hard, right in the middle of this exposition dump.

I like how in Gandalf's story, he makes Deagol talk normally, but Smeagol still has all those verbal idiosyncrasies that are iconic to Gollum.

I'm still trying to remember who it was that pointed out that the last syllable of Smeagol is the first syllable of Gollum. Blew my mind when I saw that, I tell ya.

"I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker. In which case you also were meant to have it. And that may be an encouraging thought." "It is not." 🤣🤣🤣

The thought of Gollum creeping through a window to snatch a baby from a cradle and eat it is at least seventeen different kinds of Not Fun. Thanks, Tolkien.

I have very little to say about Gandalf's retelling of the Ring's story—and Frodo's frightened and naive questions—except that it's almost as hard to tear your eyes away from the book as it is for Frodo to throw the Ring into the fire.

"I do really wish to destroy it! Or, well, to have it destroyed. I am not made for perilous quests." Oh, Frodo, bby...

I love how Sam's spying is so artfully foreshadowed here X-D You just go whistling away down that path, buddy! Nobody suspects a thing!

All Frodo has to say is "I suppose I'll have to go running into danger alone to keep everything and everyone I love safe, even if it means never coming home again; it's a pity, but I'll do it" and Gandalf is like "Frodo have I mentioned lately how much I love you and hobbits in general". Which. Mood! Big mood!

SUDDENLY, SAMWISE GAMGEE!

Good gracious did I need Sam and his comic relief after this heavy chapter X-D Bless you, Sam, you loveable dummy

I wonder what hobbit idiom Tolkien "translated" into "Lor bless you, sir". I'm not sure the hobbits have a concept of Eru Illuvatar as a benevolent God who hands out blessings; and if they do, I somehow doubt they'd have quaint little figures of speech like this. But I'm just nitpicking at this point because it's fun.

"There ain't no eaves at Bag End, and that's a fact." SAM 🤣🤣

"Mr. Frodo, sir! Don't let him hurt me, sir! Don't let him turn me into anything unnatural! My old dad would take on so." Have I mentioned that I love the heck out of Sam?

Frodo is "hardly able to keep from laughing", which, MOOD!

Sam heard that Mr. Frodo was going away and audibly choked. GAH I love him so much

Frodo sure knows how to threaten Sam LOL

"If you even breathe a word of what you've heard here, then I hope Gandalf will turn you into a spotted toad and fill the garden full of grass-snakes." 🤣🤣

"'Me, sir!' cried Sam, springing up like a dog invited for a walk. 'Me go and see Elves and all! Hooray!' he shouted, and then burst into tears." Oh, Sam. I love you.

#chapter review #frodo baggins #gandalf #samwise gamgee #lord of the rings #lotr #my writing

[crossbackpoke-check]

"This extra space next to me belongs to you. I know where I end now. I won't get lost." -- shoot me (metaphorically) and leave me for dead (metaphorically) why won't you. To make this about Dylan and maybe it's about Connor, maybe it's about Brinksy, maybe it's about any journeyman in the NHL. My brain screamed Chris Driedger and his memorable (to me) Players' Tribune article:

And how can you mention Dylan and Zach (Za-ach, the way Dylan says it) without me having a breakdown about them? You simply can't. And for the younger dudes, maybe it's a little Bords/Briss, not yet steady in The Show, a little bit of distance, a summer that tries to erase and make up all the memories they've made separately... and then a blurry insta story in Vegas. Just like old times but somewhere else. Maybe it's not the same bed, maybe it's not the same set of forks, but maybe it's the principle of the thing.

Anyway, goodbye. Sorry for this, your tag walls make me break out in imagined scenarios.

Much love. xxx

please never be sorry for sending me messages <3 i love reading them i love getting them i think they’re beautiful and i love them i’m!!!!! [🥹💕🦋🫧✨💘😭 <- the best approximation of what my heart is doing]

ok NOW i am taking this step by step because every narrative here kicked me straight in the knees (metaphorically) i am w e e p i n g (literally): i knew tangentially about chris driedger going to seattle but i had never read his players’ tribune love letter to seattle & all i can say is oh. oh. and with the part about trains delayed but still being right on time—

sometimes a dream is a truth your heart knows long before you do. the space that the city and the team made for him (“you’d be the only guy on the team”)🗣️🗣️🗣️ !!! but the way that chris talks about needing to put in the work & leo not letting him quit,,, that’s chris filling up the teakettle with twice as much water, crowding one side of the bed (falling asleep against a bus window dreaming), becoming unburdened by the idea of not being their guy, not having the fallback being their draft pick to content and settle himself with. that’s chris betting on a future. that’s the train coming down the tracks, right on time.

(i am feeling unhinged about it)

SECOND. i know i was the one that said zach and dylan to start so technically i brought this on myself but also i have been ktfo by the mere mention of the way that dylan says zach’s name different from everyone else, stealing an extra breath, stealing as much time as he can get with him, which reminded me of a poem i just read:

The Need Is So Great, Jim Moore

^^^dylan still in love with zach even as he’s leaving, can feel himself losing him, and taking every sliver of the love in his smile that he can get. even if he knows zach doesn’t still feel the same way he’s drawing out the long goodbye & saying i love you in a thousand ways without ever saying it out loud (“i have been asking for a time but in ways that have no words” because he doesn’t want to ask too much, to ask for love) in the hope that zach will say it back OKAY I’M LEAVING i can’t do this

that was a lie because THREE. “maybe it’s the principle of the thing” please insert the most ungodly screech how could you just (lovingly) come in straight with the steel chair and bean me upside the head with that l i n e i think this story has the potential for such tragedy in it but also the most tender domestic longing because bords & briss have known each other for a long time (i think) and guys do sometimes lose themselves when they first get to the nhl.

it’s a big scene, you’re with big name guys, you’re finally doing the thing you always dreamed about, you’re no longer necessarily the best because everyone’s the best, you’re not sure how you fit in, you can get lost in the glitz and the glamor of it but you can also literally get lost in it, the slog of the season and getting caught up and down between teams and leagues and endless airports and buses and travel and ice rinks, losing your phone (accidental) and having new people hound you for quotes and fame and connection so you lose your phone (on purpose) and i think where i’m trying to go is: this could play out as the tragedy of borde going to the california coastline and briss shipping off to the vegas strip and both of them getting a little lost.

maybe there’s someone else, maybe i am steadfastly not thinking about “a summer that tries to erase and make up all the memories they've made separately” as either a summer of them pretending things are ok after a year of barely speaking and now being completely different people they never were before OR a summer of them trying to pretend like they can forget about each other because maybe they didn’t think their relationship was the same thing, is all, when they were or weren’t together. maybe it’s nobody’s fault but for the fact that they were scared and tired and lonely trying to make it in the big times and didn’t know how to show it. and then borde shows up with takeout and plastic forks in vegas and it’s december and nothing like winter in ann arbor and still they fill up all the empty spaces in each other with the things they didn’t know they’d miss until they were gone and this is the real thing, not whatever they were trying too hard to be, to recreate their own nostalgia for the love in their memories. it’s the principle of the thing, is all, to always be true to the love they have right now & not what they think it should be.

sorry that i wrote you kind of an essay of an answer but i had so so so many thoughts because your ask was so lovely so thank you for sending it to me (you are always welcome to!! i love your imagined scenarios!!! cannot even explain how much!!!) & thank you for taking the time to read my walls of tags :))) <3

#liv in the replies #every time you send me a message i do the thing where i’ve got heart emojis for thumbs & cease any coherency #FIRSTLY chris driedger who i loved as seattle’s goalie without even knowing the story: #dreidger fourth layer of a dream is making me tear up AGAIN hours later as i try to write this the echl the coast easy come hard to leave & #when he talks about being somebody’s guy laying my head down in the bog & dragging my hands over my face chris who let you say that. who let #u break my HEART i truly don’t think i will ever recover from the inception reference bc that’s what they all talk abt u know? the nhl dream #the players’ tribune articles are often some of the most poetic & touching sports writing & every time i am reminded i lose my shit about it #SECONDLY: #the ever present spectre of dylan’s first boyfriend zach werenski #i have so so so many quotes? drafts? posts? about the thing with saying someone’s name to call them closer to you i say your name to speak #more of you into the world so i will possibly look for some of those to say what i mean but also: this poem was originally reminiscent of #willingly by tess gallagher which is my ajax jack / superbuddies poem & this specifically did go with the a drop of paint / the light has #fallen through you part of it but there’s a part of THIS poem which i did not include that talks about the late light / has already happened #will go on happening forever & that whole poem with this now to say i know it’s embarrassing i’m asking for it :: easy to write about light #like falling asleep on the couch & having to carry yourself up to bed is the dylan/zach heartbreak of this. waiting & waiting for the things #you used to do & the love you used to / were promised to have with the hope that if you keep the coffee ready he’ll come drink it & instead #you have too many cups of tea one yours & one cold then half-warmed over & too sweet for your tastes but you’ve learned to drink it anyway #okAY now third: #this w/the UMICH BOYS? N O I DIDN’T EVEN!!! NOT A THOUGHT IN MY BRAIN!!! & now i can’t stop thinking!!! & i had an entire PLAYLIST already #a ??? while ago before i even truly knew the umich boys Narratives™️ i heard maude latour’s song ‘one more weekend’ & went hahaha isn’t that #a great song for when you have that One Summer of college before everyone splits off into their own lives? isn’t that a fun little umich boy #going into the nhl narrative?? to which i said NO but then it spiraled into a playlist &now there is delightful heartbreak to go with vibes #umich scholars please feel free to correct me if i’m wrong on any points i can’t remember anything presently about anything #also the f a c t that that vegas picture is real and i know exactly what you’re talking about is making me %^•*]+£’ bc how!! is that real!!! #okay ALSO just throwing in brinksy like a casual AHAHA have brainworm for a year (my autocorrect tried to go bringst like angst which. lmao) #connor and dylan… all of my journeymen… we did not touch that because i WILL start yelling about sam gagner and marc staal and #the chrysalis and the caterpillar

[misslovasstuff]

Dazai x reader

Prove it

“Her? Mhm, well….”- Dazai itches his head, shifting his gaze to the floor. - She is nice. Yeah, nice.”

Atsushi and Kunikida raise their eyebrows as the bandaged brunette seemed to avoid a simple question:

Do you like Y/n?

“I mean, we don’t doubt her niceness, what we’re asking is if you fancy her by any chance?”- Oh, Kunikida was enjoying too much what seemed to have turned into a silly interrogation. He fixes his glasses with a smirk, leaning over Dazai’s shoulder:

“She’s totally your type, isn’t she?”

Dazai sighs, shaking his head with a vague smile.

“Just because Kunikida-kun doesn’t have an interesting love life it doesn’t mean you have to start investigating mine.”- he claims with a silly voice, once again provoking his colleagues’ nerves as Atsushi could have sworn he heard Kunikida’s glasses break as he grabs Dazai by the collar of his shirt, whispering all sort of funny insults, to which Dazai is completely immune by now.

“Kunikida-san, perhaps Dazai-san is not comfortable talking about his relationship with Y/n. Perhaps it is better to leave him be haha.”- Atsushi claims with a weak smile, trying to calm the chaotic situation.

Dazai sighs, rubbing his temple then explains:

“Look, to extinguish your curiosity, there is absolutely nothing going on between me and her. Are you blind to fail to see that she has no interest whatsoever in me? Plus, I’ve heard from Yosano she’s seeing someone already so…”

Kunikida widens his eyes to a rare sight; Dazai sighing and looking out the window as if the most beautiful tragedy had happened to him. The kind of misfortune that makes people write poems, listen to music and take long walks by themselves. The tragedy of loving someone you can’t ever have that makes you fragile but yet unbreakable, strong but weak in the heart and it gives you a slap back to a reality that you don’t want to accept. It hadn’t occurred to Dazai before, thus he wonders what this feeling is about and if he can do anything about it.

“Have you ever been rejected by a woman before?”- Atsushi asks, after which he hits himself mentally for asking such a question.

“No. - Dazai answers frankly, to which Kunikida scoffs.

“Well, at least Y/n will ground you a bit.”- he claims, putting his hands in his pockets. - How does it feel to love someone you can’t have?”

“Terrible.”- Dazai says, seemingly not sad, nor happy, he had a rather empty expression on his face, not letting out much emotion to understand what was really going on inside his head. - I see her, and I am struck by her beauty. God, when her eyes meet mine, each and every motioning becomes more intense for my heart. When she greets me and smiles at me so genuinely and gently like she knows how much that smile affects me, making even the sun jealous of her radiance and cheerfulness. Don’t let me get into how talented she is, and her cooking skills, oh and also did you know that she reads poetry? She gave me her favourite book and underlined all verses she found beautiful and meaningful. On page 63, poem two, she had underlined two verses which were:

“I may not know your heart, but it knows me quite well. Am I resident or a foreigner to it?”

And she had written a smiley face on the corner of it, with a little note that said: “Mhm, Dazai?”

Not only that, but she is such a great-

Dazai kept blabbering about how fascinated he was by you while both Kunikida and Atsushi listened and came to a very unbelievable conclusion.

Dazai is so oblivious when he truly falls in love. Either that, or he’s trying to avoid that but still digs the idea of being in love and being loved so beautifully.

“I’m afraid to tell you this buddy but, - Kunikida touches Dazai’s shoulder. - You’re an idiot.”

Atsushi scoffs as he turns around to contain his laughter. Dazai’s face freezes with a smile like 😀

“Homegirl knows you like her, she literally wrote it down, what’s wrong with you?”- Kunikida snaps at Dazai, who now seems to be confused.

Little did they know that you were listening to all this go down, hardly containing your laughter.

The truth is, you and Dazai had been together for a while and no one is the agency knows. You told Yosano you were seeing someone, but funnily enough, even though they’re detectives, they don’t have a clue about your relationship, and you’re thinking is because your lover messes with their heads.

“Kunikida-kun, stop tormenting me! I’m telling you, she doesn’t like me. End of discussion.”- Dazai claims, getting up from his seat and stretching a bit.

“Where do you think you’re going?”- Kunikida asks as he watches Dazai’s tender figure walk away.

“To think about this unbearable pain of my weak heart, since my friends and colleagues don’t care.”

Atsushi holds back Kunikida from going after Dazai:

“He’ll never admit it that he likes her.”- Atsushi claims which gives Kunikida a rather sinister idea.

“Oh he will, I have a plan.”

There is a sudden change of atmosphere which leaves Atsushi a bit scared.

“Kunikida-san, w-what exactly are you planning to do?”- he asks, noticing a smirk from his mentor.

A little bit later/ Coffee shop

You are taking a sip of your hot coffee as rain hits the window by your seat. Although it is raining, you were feeling rather warm, and even though you were by yourself, you were fully enjoying your own company until the door of the cafe opens.

“I’ll take a black coffee, please.”- a unfamiliar voice says, which gets your attention. You turn your head and notice a tall man, build figure and blonde hair. He turns and faces you while waiting for his coffee.

“You don’t mind if I sit next to you while I wait for my coffee, yes?”- he asks with a beautiful smile, blue eyes shining right through.

“Mhm, sure it’s okay.”- you reply, mirroring a smile and scanning the man upfront.

The probability of a very handsome person, coming to this coffee shop while I’m the only one here and all the seats are empty, asking to sit next to me, and furthermore-

“So, what is such a beautiful lady doing here all by herself?”- he asks, looking at your hands holding the coffee cup, then looking directly at your eyes which made you gulp hardly.

“Drinking coffee.”- you reply rather coldly, not warning to give this guy the wrong impression.

“By yourself? Have you no one to accompany you? Maybe a boyfriend of yours?”- he continues to bring up weird questions. What was even weirder, was the fact that he was reaching for your hand, now holding it.

“Since you’re not answering, I’m assuming you do not have a man in your life. Such a catastrophe indeed. - he brings your hand close to his lips, caressing it. - I can offer myself as a candidate.”

“She’s not running any elections. - a sudden voice from behind makes your heart drop. - if that were the case, I would have known.”

You glance over your shoulder and see Dazai. He reached for your hand, shooing away the other guy’s who immediately flinches to the touch.

“Is it a habit of yours to approach lonely women in coffee shops? That’s kinda desperate and disrespectful.”- he continues, glaring at the guy who had widened his eyes.

“I’m just waiting for my coffee.”

“Wait for your coffee somewhere else. - Dazai claims with a cold tone of voice, making you shiver in what you would describe fear, but with a hint of pleasure.

He was so hot right now, for real.

“She didn’t tell me she had a boyfriend.”- the guy claims as he gets up from his seat.

“She doesn’t need to inform you about anything, really. Plus, I’m never too far away. - Dazai winks at you, getting your cheeks all heated up.

Now, - Dazai smiles, - get out of my sight.”

The guy gets out of the coffee shop, forgetting about his order which was now being served in your table.

“I’ll take that, thank you.”- Dazai claims, sitting down in front of you, not noticing the looks you were giving him.

That is, until he takes a sip and his eyes meet yours.

“Mhm? - he hums. - what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is the fantasy im having to have you right here, right now.”

“Woah woah, belladonna~, - Dazai almost spits his coffee. - What has gotten into you? I mean, I’m not complaining but-

“Dazai, do me right now, I swear I’m barely hanging on.” - you explain as Dazai notices your flushed cheeks and heavy breathing.

Damn, what happened? - he wonders.

He smirks and leans in, whispering: “But the coffee will go cold, love. Are you sure?”

“Don’t start teasing me. - you claim. - or would you rather have me do you at the agency while everyone watches so they can finally know that you are mine?”

“That’s … interesting. You’re so hasty, belladonna. Did I do something to turn you on this much?”- Dazai asks, biting his lip as he looks at you up and down with those gorgeous eyes of his that consumed your entire soul with one single glance.

“The moment right now, you being possessive and all, gosh. That was so hot of you.”- you lean in, exposing a bit of your chest to your boyfriend, on purpose obviously, to which Dazai responds by raising his eyebrows and staring at it for a bit.

“Oh really? You know what else I can heat up?”

“No I don’t know, enlighten me.”- you two lean even closer to one another, as Dazai is ready to whisper in your ear:

“That little -

“ALRIGHT THAT IS ENOUGH, point proven Atsushi let’s go!”- you hear Kunikida shouting from behind. They were not only seeing all this go down, but also orchestrated the whole thing.

“So you guys are together, awwww.”- Atsushi says, giving a weirdly firm handshake to you and Dazai. - Congrats, omg. Dazai-san that was so manly of you, Kunikida-san didn’t predict you’d actually go wild like that-

“Kunikida planned this?”- you ask, giving a disappointing nod.

“A perfect executed plan, and Dazai fell right into it. Now, you’ll stop lying and admit that you love this woman.” - Kunikida claims with a smirk, thinking that his partner would still pretend to be in denial.

“I love Y/n.”- he claims, still sipping his tea and acting unaffected by this whole scene, although in truth he was a bit conflicted on how to feel about it.

Upon his declaration of love, you melt, of course.

You caress his hand, to which Dazai smiles, starting to gesture you weirdly.

He means to get out of here. Now you had heated him up.

You nod, looking at Atsushi and Kunikida who are still looking at you both.

“Oookaaayy, - you get up, Dazai following you. - Since you put us into so much trouble, I guess you can pay for our coffee, no?”

As you walk towards the exit, holding hands, Kunikida’s shoutings accompany you:

“If anything I helped you! You owe me one, Dazai!”

You close the door behind you, giving a small sigh.

“You’re so troublesome you know that?”- you poke his nose, so which he responds by pulling you closer by your waist.

“I put you into so much trouble, huh? You’re the one making me go crazy over and over again.”- Dazai answers as you pull him by the belt of his pants.

Remind me, where were we?”- you ask and he smirks grabbing your hand, leading him to somewhere.

“I’ll remind you shortly.”

#bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs dazai #bsd dazai #bungou sd #dazai osamu #dazai #dazai x reader #dazai imagines #bsd anime #bungo stray dogs #dazai bsd #dazai x you

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Shifting Wings: Chapter Four

Shifting Wings: Before the Raven Matthew, there was Jessamy, and Jessamy came with a little sister by the name of Adrienne. Dream adores his two little Ravens, but after over a hundred years of imprisonment and the death of Jessamy, Dream will find that he has not just lost his companion, but his beloved little Raven Adrienne no longer brightens the halls of his Palace. None of his staff wish to speak of where the Raven has gone, but the silent new resident of the palace is cause for question. After all, she was the one who aided in his release. If none of his subjects would help him find Adrienne, perhaps she could lead him to the whereabouts of the missing Raven. If only the woman wasn’t so flighty and hard to track down.

Warnings: Angst.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x FemaleRaven!Reader, NAMED Reader (I like the name).

Word Count: ~2.1k

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1916, The Dreaming

Morpheus was reading to you, a past time you had wormed out of him much to his confusion for why you wanted him to read to you. You knew perfectly well how to read these days, could flip your own pages, had read an innumerous amount of books since becoming a raven. But he found that it was, at times, hard to say no to you. He would never admit that he enjoyed your active seeking of his company. So here he was with you perched on the arm rest of his throne while he read you one of the newest books to appear in the library.

It was a book of poems, The Road Not Taken, by a mortal named Robert Frost, you found that you rather liked listening to the poems. Or maybe it was Morpheus’s voice. You liked the sound of it just as much. Morpheus finished up the last poem in the book and slowly closed the heavy leather bound book.

“Are you still awake, my raven?” Morpheus softly asked, knowing that on occasion, you fell asleep. A sight he rather enjoyed. But no, you had not fallen asleep this time and waddled your way to the end of the arm rest.

“Quite so,” You replied, tilting your head. “And I don’t always fall asleep.” Morpheus raised an eyebrow in counter and you stamped your foot. “I mean it! I’m listening!”

“So you say,” Morpheus echoed, enjoying the way you worked yourself up. It was when your true personality shone the brightest and your melancholy of being a raven was momentarily forgotten. Morpheus’s eyes dropped to the little anklet wrapped around your left leg. It had a little ruby hanging off of it that matched the one he wore around his neck. It was a gift that he had gotten you  years past after Jessamy mentioned your birthday.

While mortal celebrations such as birthdays were not celebrated within The Dreaming, Jessamy had planned out a small party for your 150th birthday. Many of the palace staff had given you unique trinkets from around the realm, even some found in other realms. Morpheus had mulled over what gift to give you, knowing that you already had all material possessions you could want. Certainly when it pertained to your passion of art. Jessamy had saved the day once again, suggesting that you would love something he created.

Morpheus had thought a ruby would be appropriate, as the red color fit nicely against your midnight and pearl colored feathers. It was also nice to have every visitor in the realm see that you were his beloved raven. You had glowed when he presented to you and you glowed every time it was mentioned, and then showed it off to anyone who would look.

“You’re staring, am I molting again without realizing it? Do I have pin feathers sticking out?” You asked, titling your head to the side before turning in a circle and inspecting your plumage. You couldn’t see any wayward feathers… but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

“Be at peace, Adrienne, for there is naught a single feather out of place,” Morpheus assured you, fingers catching the side of your face and drawing your gaze back to his. “I was merely appreciating the divine Corvus perched upon my throne.”

“You’re flattering me… what are you about to do?” You accused him, narrowing your eyes at Morpheus and once again, hitting the nail on the head. Morpheus sighed at your ability to see through him.

“Adrienne…”

“No,” You tutted, hopping a few paces so you were out of reach of his bewitching touch. “I know when you and Jessamy are about to leave The Dreaming, you are consistently trying to get in my good graces. Where are you off to this time?”

“A Nightmare has gone rogue, Jessamy and I will be setting out to retrieve him.” Morpheus explained, running the back of his fingers down your neck. You stared hard into his eyes for a few moments before deciding that he was telling the truth. Not that he had ever told you an untruth.

“A rogue Nightmare,” You mused to yourself, mind thinking over who the fool was to go against Morpheus. “Which one? And why are you going to retrieve them? Can’t you just tell one of the others to go get him?”

Morpheus shook his head.

“I fear that it is one of the great arcana’s, that has strayed from his task.” He explained to you. “I shall go and retrieve him myself.” When it became apparent that Morpheus wasn’t going to tell you who had strayed from their task, you pressed further.

“You didn’t answer which one rebelled.” You pointed out. Morpheus, try as he might, couldn’t hide everything from you. You were the sibling of Jessamy and neither of you missed anything. You took a threatening step (it was hardly threatening to the Endless) towards Morpheus. “Who was it!?”

“Adrienne,” Morpheus started to speak, you cut him off.

“This isn’t something you need to protect me from!” You pointed out. “If it’s a threat to The Dreaming then I should know! You know ignorance is the biggest threat of them all.” Morpheus disagreed, sometimes knowing was far more dangerous, but he wouldn’t argue with you. He didn’t want to argue with you.

“I fear that it is The Corinthian who has gone astray,” Morpheus admitted to you, drawing a finger to the underside of your beak. “But you are not to interfere, Adrienne.” He warned you, his eyes sparkling with his astral power for a moment. “Am I clear?”

You weren’t so rebellious to not recognize a serious warning that you’d do well to heed.

“How bad is it?” You asked quietly, slumping where you stood, worry now filling your tiny body. Morpheus gaze turned gentle once more.

“Have no fear for Jessamy and I, my precious Adrienne, we are only going out to retrieve the Corinthian.” Morpheus soothed and reassured you. “We shall be back before you finish your sketch.”

“I told you that I only have an hours work left.“ You said skeptically.

“Precisely,” Morpheus spoke before rising from the throne and setting the book aside. He summoned his helm and donned it, then turned back to you. “Wait for me, Adrienne, and we shall start the next book in our stack. There is nothing to worry about,” He promised, then drawing out his pouch of sand, you watched as Morpheus transported himself from the realm.

“Then why do I have a bad feeling?” You whispered to an empty throne room.

You were mindlessly dragging your pencil across parchment, in a trance and dissociating from your surroundings. The only sound in your studio was the scratching of your pencil and your little feet twisting around on your work table. Lowering the pencil from the parchment, you examined the sketch of Morpheus with Jessamy perched on his shoulder. You didn’t know why you felt so composed to sketch it. Maybe it was the fact that despite Morpheus giving you his word that he would be back within an hour, both of them had yet to return after three hours.

Then again, time was weird within The Dreaming, so perhaps you had once again let it pull you into its grasp. Your head turned to the silent clock hanging on the wall. No. It had been three hours since Jessamy and Morpheus left. Late. Dream of the Endless was never late. Dream of the Endless never broke his promises. The pencil slipped from your grasp and you let it roll along the table and fall to the floor.

“I’d hate to harass Lucienne, but this is not normal.” You spoke to yourself, not able to hold back the growing worry within your small body. Abandoning the sketch, you took flight and opened a hole in the realm to fly directly to the library. Flying from your art studio to the library, you soared through the shelves and spotted Lucienne shelving a stack of books. You flared your wings and coasted down, landing on the top of the shelf. Lucienne looked up at you.

“Hello Adrienne, what brings you by the library.” You shifted your wings nervously, not wanting to bother her, but knowing that something was indeed wrong.

“Morpheus and Jessamy aren’t back yet,” You explained softly. “It’s been three hours.” Lucienne’s eyebrow went up and she adjusted her spectacles.

“Perhaps they found other business to attend to,” Lucienne offered.

“He promised he wouldn’t even be an hour, Luce, he said to wait for him,” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “He— he promised.”

That had Lucienne’s back going ramrod straight, for she knew that when Morpheus made promises, especially to you, he always kept his word. There was no one in the universe that Morpheus cherished more than you, and if he hadn’t kept a promise to you? Something was gravely wrong.

“Can you still feel Jessamy?” Lucienne asked, knowing that you and Jessamy were connected through your shared blood. You bobbed your head and shuffled in place, your ruby anklet jangling.

“Yes, that was the first thing I checked when the hour was up. You know Jess, she doesn’t play around, she’d make sure they found Cori and brought him back. She wouldn’t let anything get in their way. If they were going to change plans they’d tell me,” You said, your true anxiety leeching into your voice. “Luce, I haven’t heard anything from them.”

Everyone in the palace waited for Morpheus to return. Some with bated breath, others sure that the Endless simply had gotten caught up in business. But then days turned into weeks, and weeks to months. Soon years were trickling by, Endless and raven still missing. You always kept hope in your heart, certain that they would come back. They wouldn’t leave you all alone. But they never came and you sat perched on the armrest of Morpheus’s throne, waiting.

You didn’t know if it was your faith in Morpheus and Jessamy that kept you waiting, or your love for them. Jessamy was your rock, grounding you to The Dreaming and keeping you stable in your immortal life. Morpheus was the one who held you heart. To lose either of them would hurt you irreparably.

Night and day you sat there, waiting. It felt like agony to you, and it was by Lucienne and Mervyn’s despair that you barely took care of yourself. You often found yourself curled up on Morpheus’s throne, hoping that when you woke up they would be there. That Morpheus would be staring down at you in amusement as he chastised you for sleeping in his seat. You would give anything to be chastised by him again. But they never came back. Jessamy never came swooping back into the throne room. Morpheus never returned in a swirl of starry eyes and dark hair.

Then one day, nearly ten years after their disappearance, you were numbly helping Lucienne shelve books in the library. She had convinced you to leave the throne room, a very rare occurrence. Clicking across the table full of books, you were about to tug the next book of a pile when a blinding pain hit your chest and you let out a scream. Lucienne spun around to look at you just as your body flopped onto the table top and you convulsed.

Pain was blistering all over your body, like hot rocks were digging into your flesh. You flailed, your wings flapping like crazy while you struggled to breathe. Just as quickly as that blinding pain had come, it disappeared and you were left feeling a deep emptiness. While you gasped for air and tried to understand what had just happened, Lucienne’s hands gently righted your twisted body.

“Adrienne!?” Lucienne called, alarmed by your scream and worried that something terrible had happened. “Adrienne what happened?” You whimpered, knowing exactly what the hollowed emptiness you felt was. Not able to hold back your choked sob, you let out another terrible scream as tears dripped from your eyes.

“She’s gone!” You choked out, your wings flapping against the wood as you tried to grasp onto something to stop you from truly breaking down. Lucienne didn’t understand what you meant by ‘she’s gone’ at first, but the more your writhed around and the more you cried, the further her heart sank in her chest.

Only one event would cause you this much pain.

Lucienne collected you within her arms and held you against her chest to stop your thrashes, fearing that you would only hurt yourself. But in the end, nothing she could say or do would ever soothe the hurt you felt.

Date Published: 5/24/23

Last Edit: 5/24/23

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#morpheus x reader #morpheus #lord morpheus #dream the endless x reader #dream of the endless #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream the endless #the sandman netflix #the sandman x reader #sandman x reader #the sandman

[danfengfan]

virtual love ; prologue

synopsis : two high school students grew up studying as middle schoolers. although it doesnt seem like they ended on good terms

you tap your pencil on your japanese dictionary as you tried racking your brain for ideas

“愛してる… what else ends in てる?”

you sigh as you scrap your unfinished plan. your japanese teacher had asked you and several other students to create a poem about love in japanese. you knew you made decent poems but youve never attempted making any in said language. luckily your parents allowed you to stay at the library after school for a longer time so you can work more proficiently

you started to get lost in your head, staring blankly at the swarm of people. that was until a boy around your age comes up to your table

“may i sit here? i need to complete an essay”

you stared up with an absent mind at the boy, enjoying how soft his voice was until you realized he asked you something. you scrambled to organize some of the papers that were messily scattered around the small round table

“of course”

you accidentally squeak as you speak, a barley visible blush on your face as you tried to smile. you probably looked like a mess but the young boy didnt seem to mind it as he sat down in a steady manner

once the boy was seated, you tried to continue where you left off. you looked at the dictionary placed in front of you, almost taunting you, before looking up again. the boy had fluffy dark hair, a nice shade of blue makes up his eyes, perhaps he was in a rush this morning with how his hair fell in front of his face, the way you can see knots and tangles in his hair

thats when you notice it. hey, isnt that the uniform for your school? you look down and compare the two, and they were in fact (mostly) identical. you took a breath in before asking,

"hey, dont we go to the same school?"

you could feel your voice shake as you spoke each word, successfully catching the attention of the boy in front of you

"i believe so. youre in 7年级, right?"

"yeah i am"

"im a year older than you then, 8年级"

you start to feel yourself heat up with embarrassment. you werent exactly sure why but you had a guess. you closed your eyes to avoid eye contact with the stranger in front of you

"ohh, i see. thats nice"

you nod your head, soft smile on your face. dan heng only smile back before seemingly returning back to his book. you feel words get stuck on your tongue as you long to talk to the boy more but you simply left the conversation at that and went back to your poem. you have a faint idea in your head from your new interaction but before you could do anything, the dark-haired boy in front of you spoke up

“私は丹恒です”

“huh?”

“私の名前は丹恒です. あなたの名前は何ですか?”

“私の名前は...(name) です, よろしくお願い します”

“非常好”

“谢谢! did you also take japanese?”

your eyes sparkled as you continued to converse with dan heng. now that you knew his name, the air seeming to become more relaxed around you two

“yeah, last year”

dan heng nodded his head, seemingly bashful as his cheeks get coated with a very light pink. the tension between you two gets a lot less awkward as you two settle into a comfortable silence. well, as much you two could get in a crowded library

you softly turn the pages of your book as you let the words run free from your head to the paper. you knew you were being a bit delusional writing any sort of romance story between you and dan heng, a boy you literally met that day, but you cant help but silently laugh as you reread your poem

and just like that the days passed so quickly. dan heng and you still sat down together, even if the library had free seats. even if you guys didnt talk often, you still sat together. it felt like you only knew dan heng a week when it finally hit your one year anniversary

and the next year… and the year after, and as much as you would like to say the year after you cant. theres a bitter feeling in your mouth if you even try to mention it

you were just sitting, innocently waiting for dan heng to arrive, a gift on the table just for him. your eyes lit up as you saw his figure

“happy 3rd year anniversary”

you chirp, a wide smile on your face. your smile was never reciprocated as dan heng spoke up

“im leaving.. tomorrow. if i can, i might see you before i leave”

dan heng quietly tells you, his voice deep with a plethora of guilt and sadness. your smile immediately falters as you look at him with a hopeless smile

“youre kidding? right?”

“no, im not. its… family issues”

you just sigh as you nod your head in defeat

“well, open your gift. least we can do is have a nice day together”

dan heng chuckles at your attempt to lighten the mood. he places his gift on the table before he takes yours, opening it to find a small keychain, in the shape of a spear. dan heng smiles before looking at you with anticipation. at first you were confused before you realized he was waiting for you to open the gift

you blush in embarrassment before grabbing the box, opening it with excitement. you were so curious what dan heng got for you this year, he was always do attentive

this year proved it even more. dan heng had gotten you your own phone, set with a little dragon phone charm. you werent sure why he got you a dragon charm to match but you were still very grateful. how could you ever repay him back?

“ah, this is too much… i cant possibly have it”

“no, no, i insist. take it, you deserve it”

you bashfully nod your head, knowing you could never win against dan heng in these kind of battles

the next day, you didnt expect dan heng to meet you, but he did. except he was different. you almost contemplating not coming but you were glad as you cheerfully greet him, almost crying of relief. you knew dan heng would leave after but you were clutching onto any last scrap of hope that dan heng will still be there the next day

“id like to deliver a message. how about you back off, kay? id say i hate you so thanks”

‘dan heng’ told you brusquely, a fake smile on his face as his eyes closed. it didnt take long for them to open again as he gracefully walks out of the library

you were sat frozen, unsure what he meant. back off? huh? he hates you. was dan heng just leading you on? you dwell on his words, your pen shaking ever so slightly in your hand as you slightly tremble at the thought

and all these thoughts run in your head aided in your tears. the warm liquid flowing down your cheeks seemingly invisible to you. it wasnt until the librarian came up and asked if you were okay. you did your best to answer without a voice-crack

“yeah, yeah, im… okay”

the librarian looked at you suspiciously before nodding their head and leaving back to their post. it didnt take you long before you put back all your books and left the library, vowing to never get tricked like that again, vowing to never fall in love so easily again.

really you wouldnt have minded falling in love with someone. as long as it wasnt dan heng

dictionary (includes japanese + mandarin)

ᵎᵎ im still learning japanese and my mandarin is rusty, please correct me if anything is incorrect

愛してる (aishiteru) : i love you

╰┈➤ てる (teru) isnt supposed to mean anything here, just as something to rhyme

7年级 qī nián jí : 7th grade

╰┈➤ first year of middle school in china

8年级 bā nián jí : 8th grade

╰┈➤ second year of middle school in china

私は丹恒です (watashi wa dan heng desu) : i am dan heng

╰┈➤ im not exactly sure if 丹 would ne perceived as dan still (＞﹏＜)

私の名前は丹恒です. あなたの名前は何ですか? (watashi no namae wa dan heng desu. anata no namae wa nandesuka?) : my name is dan heng. what is your name?

私の名前は...(name) です, よろしくお願い します (watashi no namae wa... (name) desu, yorushiku onegai shimasu) : my name is... (name), its nice to meet you

╰┈➤ replace (name) with your name

非常好 (fēi cháng hǎo) : good job

谢谢 (xiè xiè) : thank you

𖦹 s.list // m.list

𖦹 next // previous

#‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. #honkai star rail #hsr #dan heng #dan heng x reader #丹恒 #₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. #virtual love #‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ #wc : 1287 #i hated editing this btw #it wasnt hard to translate i did rather basic words / phrases #it just a vv long time (￣ ￣|||)

[soracities]

I wanna know how do you read poetry,do you understand all poems when you read them for the first time itself like idk if it makes sense but here are some struggles I go through and I hope you can help me with them -- at times I am unable to understand poems and in those times i feel like I'm just going through the poem just to get over with it 2. probably has to be when i am unable to understand a word,I don't to look it up at that time since it will ruin the flow

oh no i definitely don't understand every poem the first time, not in the least--but i do, however, make sure to read almost all poems more than once--sometimes 3 or 4 times depending on how difficult it is, but i always make sure to look up any words or phrases i don't understand and then i read the poem again once i know what they mean. i understand your worry about interrupting the flow, but in all honesty: absolutely look those words up! if it really makes it hard for you to concentrate on the poem again, then look them up after your first reading, write them down next to the poem where possible, and then read the poem again. you don't only get one chance at a poem--and sometimes you need repeated readings in order to get used to the flow and the structure of a poem first so that, through that familiarity, you can start concentrating more on the words themselves (this is especially true for longer and more complex poems)

sometimes i think it also depends on what your reading background is, what kind of poems you're reading and what kind of poetry (or any literature) you're used to reading, because sometimes you have to adjust your pace accordingly: someone like Sara Teasdale is far more straightforward than Emily Dickinson, and you can't read them both the same way because they do not use their language the same way. for me the main thing is not really focusing on "understanding" a poem, in the way we usually mean it, and more about just letting myself follow the poem's own logic and structure: if it's a rhyming poem, or one with a very strong rhythm then i let myself by taken by that rhythm. if it's a poem with a very strong focus on a particular image, then i try to pay attention to that image as i read and what is being said about it (what words are the poet tying to this image? what kind of verbs, adjectives? what kind of tone or feeling do all of these produce in me?). at the end of the day a poem is not a maths equation with a single answer: it's journey and in that journey you are watching a landscape or a story unfold in front of you. the poet is trying to take you somewhere, not for the sake of getting from a to b, but in order to spend time w you as they share something that has caught their attention. once you give up on "understanding" a poem--by which i mean, wondering what the "correct" answer is, like in an exam, it becomes a lot easier to be receptive to the poem itself because you are no longer so worried about missing what it's trying to say--does this make sense? please feel free to message me again if this doesn't help anon and if you want to tell me what poems in particular are giving you trouble and i can try and help x

#ask #anonymous #book talks