and-that-stupid-music

Took the afternoon to go watch disasterpiece King Arthur.

It was actually a lot of fun?? I wouldn’t call it a groundbreaking film of its genre but I enjoyed the hell out of it. I described it to Abby as “If Return of the King had the same tone and editing as the RDJ Holmes movies”. If I went in to be a critic, yeah, I can see why its reviews didn’t come back stellar, but I knew going in that I was just there to watch a stupid movie.

Go see it if you like stupid movies with good music.

‪Important things ronan did for adam: ‬ ‪ 

  • carried his stuff into monmouth and sat with him in noah’s room till he was ready to join the others ‬ 
  • helped him move into his st agnes apartment and never tried to make him move into monmouth because he knew that’s not what adam wanted
  • fixed adam’s rent when he got the letter from aglionby before adam even opened his own letter and told anyone because he already knew adam wouldn’t be able to afford it 
  • gave him a shitty mixtape for his car
  • dreamed up hand lotion for adam because he noticed how adam’s chapped hands were a discomfort to him  
  • sat with him after persephone died so he wouldn’t have to mourn alone 
  • messed about with him in shopping carts and on moving dollys probably helping to distract him from all the bad stuff 
  • helps him with his scrying in trk 
  • gave adam a reason to come back and a place to come back to if he really wanted to 
  • makes him feel blissfully happy 

 Important things adam did for ronan: 

  • never pestered him about school because he knows ronan hates it and always will 
  • pressed charges against his father so ronan wouldn’t go to jail even though he knew it would leave him homeless 
  • fixed the ley line for him 
  • let him sleep in his apartment 
  • made time in his jam packed schedule to go to the barns with ronan and research greenmantle 
  • thought of an incredibly clever way to take down greenmantle even though it was extremely dangerous 
  • made cabeswater play stupid music just to seem him smile 
  • saved his and opal’s lives 
  • slept next to him in the car so he didn’t have to be alone when he was mourning for his mother and told ronan to wake him if he needed to 
  • makes him feel like he caught happiness without meaning to

Being a music major is bad, because you have to deal with all the awkward acquaintances and distance family members going “oh sweetie what are you going to do with that?” In a horrible condescending way.

But being a music education major is worse because they ask the same question and apparently they’re too stupid to put together “music” and “education.”

Honestly, this isn’t even a matter of whether or not I like “Karamel” as a pairing.

Barry’s reason for breaking up with Iris was stupid.  And this musical showed him that.  Perfect.  Good.

But Kara’s reason for breaking up with Mon-El was a good reason!  He LIED to her about something big.  She has every right to be mad.

Mon-El is the one who did something wrong.  NOT Kara.  If they’re going to get back together in any meaningful manner, Mon-El is the one who needs to make this right.  NOT KARA.

But thanks to this musical, SHE’s the one who’s rethinking HER behavior?!

Kara is not the one who is at fault here.

This is genuinely infuriating!  

✏️ Tips for Learning a Language ✏️

✏️    Talk To Yourself 

- this helps me so so so much. I start thinking my languages when I complain about my cats when they’re being annoying.

✏️    Keep Yourself Interested 

- It’s hard work to learn a language. Find ways to keep yourself entertained. Aesthetic notes, fan fiction or buying your favorite books in your language is helpful.

✏️    YOUTUBE 

- this shit is so helpful. look up videos, listen to music, watch stupid challenge videos, it’ll immerse you into the language.

✏️    Pocket Dictionaries

- I have a whole self of german dictionaries (thanks mom), and honestly, it’s so helpful to look through them. Keep them on hand to find words that you don’t know

✏️    Accept Mistakes 

- You’re learning an entirely new way to communicate. Honestly, you’ll make a lot of mistakes. When you accept it, it becomes less traumatizing to mess up

✏️    Change your phone and games

- Ok, I didn’t wanna do this, but I did. The moment I switched my phone to french, oh my god, it was so immersive. I didn’t even know how much time i spent reading on my phone until I switched. I did switch back, and I felt less immersed. So honestly, it helps. I’m an active Minecraft player, so I changed my game to French. Holy fuck did that help.

✏️    Take notes ALL THE TIME

- Find a quote you like? write it down. Find a new word? write it down. Song? WRITE THAT SHIT DOWN.

✏️    Tumblr blogs are helpful

- I follow a les mis blog that posts about the french election in french and honestly, seeing memes and slang in french is so helpful, like yes.

Not all of these will work for you, but they help for me, so I hope that you benefit from this.

~ Rin

“She likes to sing,” the father continues on the subject of Frances Bean. “She’s practicing her vocals. And she seems to be fascinated with the acoustic guitar, which kind of disturbs me. One of my favorite things to say to her is, ‘Leave that stupid rock'n roll music alone; you’re going to be a classical musician, rock'n roll is dead.’ I’m sure I’ll let her do whatever she wants. But Courtney and I both hope she isn’t too interested in rock music. I just couldn’t imagine what rock music will be like for a kid 20 years from now.” - Kurt

House Aesthetics, as Written by House Members

Gryffindor [by Olga]:

Gryffindor is laughing at your jokes and not caring what others think. Gryffindor is falling in love with life every day when you wake up when the sun touches your face. Gryffindor is emptying a water bottle over your head on a hot day and not changing your wet clothes. Gryffindor is always telling the truth even if it hurts. Gryffindor is knowing that brave doesn’t mean not being afraid but doing something despite experiencing fear. Gryffindor is kissing strangers at a party. Gryffindor is blasting music and singing the lyrics wrong. Gryffindor is the strong wind playing with your hair as you’re leaning out of the window. Gryffindor is crying with the rain and screaming with the thunder. Gryffindor is the friend who takes you by the hand when you need them to. Gryffindor is staring at fireworks with wide-opened eyes. Gryffindor is stargazing with that one person and feeling eternity. Gryffindor is the smirk you give someone right before you punch them in the face. Gryffindor is the one person you’ll always remember for being loud and strong yet always there when you needed them. Gryffindor are the memories of your youth that never fade. Gryffindor is the song stuck in your head that you associate with something that happened to you when you heard it for the first time. Gryffindor is slipping into sweatpants and an old t-shirt and not getting out of them for the whole day. Gryffindor is the red and yellow leaves in Fall that rustle beneath your feet. Gryffindor is the river flowing so fast and reckless taking everything with it. Gryffindor is dancing around a fire and singing songs from old days. Gryffindor is staying up all night to talk. Gryffindor is belonging to no one and everyone at the same time. Gryffindor is running so fast that your legs hurt. Gryffindor doing without thinking and living with the consequences.


Slytherin [by Tory]:

Slytherin is hanging an old diploma that belonged to a long-deceased family member you’ve never met in a place of honor in your house. Slytherin is clutching smoke and loving the feeling of it slipping through your fingers. Slytherin is turning off all the lights in your house and letting the last glints of the setting sun peek in through your window. Slytherin is smiling and laughing and never letting on that you secretly want to hit the person you’re talking to over the head. Slytherin is weaving in and out of traffic. Slytherin is the sunlight that ripples down onto the floor below you when you’re submerged in a pool. Slytherin is sometimes lying to others, but never to yourself. Slytherin is playing up the shadows and contrast when you’re editing a picture. Slytherin is dressing up on your days off. Slytherin is expecting the very best from those around you, and yet also turning the other cheek when the ones you love hurt you. Slytherin is missing the school bus and, instead of calling a friend or family member for a ride, walking home instead. Slytherin is falling in love with historical figures. Slytherin is skimming through photo albums by the light of a fire at Christmas time. Slytherin is wanting the freedom to change your mind whenever you want, but not actually doing so. Slytherin is a Venetian mask. Slytherin is a velvet curtain on a stage. Slytherin is an instrumental music track that pulls at your heartstrings. Slytherin is a piece of refreshing mint gum. Slytherin is the pair of eyes that says much more than a mouth ever could. 

Hufflepuff [by Jinxy]:  

Hufflepuff is sweaters with fraying sleeves and fading covers. It’s skipping stones sending up ripples as they sink in a lake. It’s the last dandelion seed clinging to the stem and a half-written letter. Hufflepuff is hair escaping a braid. It’s extra buttons collected in a jar on the bookshelf. Hufflepuff is empty birdhouses and open windows. It’s a garden of sunflowers reaching for the sun. Hufflepuff is the moment of anticipation right before something exciting happens. It’s trumpet music and untied shoelaces. Hufflepuff is old, flowery wallpaper. It’s singing along to a song, but only knowing the words to the chorus. It’s waiting, but not giving up hope. Hufflepuff is the nostalgia of entering a childhood home. It’s thunderstorms. Hufflepuff is forgetting a word mid-sentence. It’s a smile hiding tears, blurred family photographs, and the kitchen in wake of cooking. Hufflepuff is glasses clinking together in toast and friends reuniting after too long apart. It’s a long exhale and the first step into a new adventure.

Ravenclaw [by Abigail]:  

Ravenclaw is the quiet patter of rain at night, leaves falling in fall, finding a geode, converse, hair falling onto the floor after being cut.  Ravenclaw is purple flower petals blowing in the wind, glitter, the smell of hot chocolate in the winter, the sound of water flowing over rocks in the creek, trying new ice cream flavors, stupid puns, new sheet music, the seat heater in the car. Ravenclaw is scribbling with a brand new pen, quiet giggles at a campfire, spinning in a dress, the new book smell, space, lavender, newly painted nails, fluffing a pillow right before bed, making a fresh cup of tea, Ravenclaw is the moment you get something perfect after working hard on it, snowflakes falling on your nose, petting a dog after a long day, a half smile, water dripping on your nose after a shower, a perfectly baked treat. Ravenclaw is catching fireflies once the night has gone completely dark, the wind in your face and hair while walking, dark lipstick, a new pair of heels, curly hair. Ravenclaw is staring up at the stars on a summer night with a friend, the feeling you get after learning something new, crazy socks, perfecting the messy bun. Ravenclaw is standing on the beach as the waves come up and hit your knees, the sound of a clock ticking, the feeling of when you just jump in without thinking. 

  • Oswald: [ Sneaks up on Ed] Edward Nygma. The time has come. You betrayed me, and now it's time you payed the price!
  • Ed: Oswald?!
  • Oswald: Yes it's me. And like I said, it's time to pay the pr-
  • Ed: What are you doing here?
  • Oswald: I. Just told you. PAY ATTENTION!!! I AM HERE BECAUSE YOU SHOT ME AND BETRAYED ME!!! I AM HERE TO GET RE-
  • Ed: No. No NO! YOU NEED TO GO! LEAVE NOW!
  • Oswald: Are you.... are you shooing me away?
  • Ed: Yes Oswald I am shooing you away I have to much on my mind and too much to do so I don't have time for a stupid musical number-
  • Oswald: Musical number?
  • Ed: Or for you to try to make me feel guilty that your dead
  • Oswald: But I'm not dea-
  • Ed: Now! Please just go away. You shouldn't even be here I haven't even taken any pills
  • Oswald: Pills?
  • Ed: goodbye
  • Oswald: ...
  • Oswald: I have never been so confused in my life

The paladins teaching Allura stupid party games. Musical chairs. Spin the bottle (nice lil kisses on the cheek there). Never have I ever.

Lance insists she learns seven minutes in heaven so Keith shoves Shiro in while Lance isn’t looking and then they lock the doors on them and play hide-and-seek. When they let them out Shiro is very red in the face and he won’t say why, but Lance keeps smirking at Keith and he doesn’t like that shit at all.

So when they do truth or dare Keith first goads Hunk into choosing dare, then only gives him options he’d never do; everyone joins in on that and Hunk is freaking out until Keith’s just like ‘dare you to kiss me’ and Hunk just grabs him and sucks face.

When Hunk lets him go Keith just slouches against him and winks at Lance. Lance doesn’t care for that shit at all.

Back to the Past (Hamilton x Reader) 1

Words: 1600+

Request: [screams] tIME TRAVEL AU WITH A. HAM (like bam u wake up one day in the 18th century) 👌 @ghcstflower

Warnings: Cursing, small mention of linnamonroll

A/N: making this into a series peeps! i didn’t think that a one-shot would suffice for what i wanted to write, soooooo, here it is!

Part 2


You grew up in Northeast New Jersey, so taking the bus back from NYC and your hometown wasn’t as hard as many might think. You soon heard about this new musical that many were anxious to see, and even your friends were constantly telling you about it. You ignored them, of course, because Broadway felt like an opera to you. Listening to showtunes and watching a show about one of the founding fathers just was not your cup of tea.

“Come on, Y/N! Just one song, please!” You friend begged, holding out their phone to you. You sighed, sipping on your coffee. It was freezing outside, below zero. You wore the biggest coat you owned, with giant earmuffs you found in one of your boxes.

You recently moved back to NJ, tired of the city life in Manhattan. Your family was right; living in the city was for people who were always on the go. Since you were the opposite of that, a writer, bumping into people in the streets every day, passersby’ stepping on your toes, was not the most entertaining thing you’ve done. Living there for four months was enough for you.

“No.” You grumbled, looking out the window of the local coffee shop. Your friend continued to whine about the stupid musical, and you eventually gave in, putting on the earbuds that she gave you. She played the opening song, called Alexander Hamilton. You smirked at the cheesiness, but pressed play.

“How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore, and a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean…”

The song trailed on, and you bumped your head to the beat unconsciously, listening to the lyrics. You were surprised on how it sounded more like a mainstream song than a play. You didn’t notice your friend grinning at you, doing a little fist pump.

After the song finished, you gave her back her phone, sipping on your coffee once more. She looked at you, expecting a reaction. You shrugged, playing with your straw.

“It was alright.” Her eyes widened at your response. You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of saying that you actually liked it, so denying it was the best way to go.

“Alright? It’s amazing, Y/N! Lin Manuel worked on this play for years, it’s anything but alright.” She mocked your tone, and you frowned at her.

“I told you, I don’t like Broadway shows. They’re boring and follow the same theme. I’m not interested.” She put her face in her hands, shaking her head slowly. You grinned at her actions, bringing your gaze back to the scene outside. Everyone seemed to be always on the move; headphones in and ignoring the world around them. You pitied them; they will never understand the world outside their screens.

“How am I friends with you?” She mumbled.

The rest of the time you were enjoying your break, she told you all the facts of the musical, even showing you some of the cast members. You couldn’t help but stare longer at the man who created the musical; Lin Manuel Miranda.

He was handsome, really handsome. You made a mental note of searching him up later, when your friend wasn’t bugging you about some tickets that she got. She convinced you to join her to see the musical, since your other friend cancelled on her last minute.

“If I go see this with you, would you stop trying to make me listen to the rest of the soundtrack?” You asked, throwing away the empty container into the recycling bin. She nodded quickly, to the point where you wondered if she gave herself whiplash.

“See you tomorrow!” She skipped away, trying to catch the next bus to bring her back home to Manhattan. You looked the train back to your town in NJ, taking less than twenty minutes to get there. You dragged yourself up the stairs, and into the apartment, closing the door behind you.

Later that night, you researched Lin Manuel Miranda. You were surprised that he wrote other plays, and won various awards for things that he created. It was a shock that he was single, his good looks and achievements made you think he’d be married and have children already. As you stalked this man online, your eyes began to close, blinking slowly. Before you fell asleep, you clicked on a link. Your eyes drooped closed, your face falling on your keyboard.

The sun shined in your face, causing you to blink quickly, glaring through your semi open lids. You groaned, rolling over. You reached for your phone, feeling a plant tangled in your fingers instead. You blinked, pushing yourself off the grass.

Wait.

Grass.

You were sleeping outside.

On the grass.

You looked around you, realizing that you were in an open field. It was eerily quiet, not even the birds chirping or the scurrying of squirrels climbing trees. A tent a few hundred feet away caught your attention, so you decided to approach it. You were still dressed in your sweats and tank top, what you thought you wore to bed. Before you reached the tent, a man came out, dressed in what seemed like a colonial uniform from the 1800s. His back was to you, but you noticed that his brown hair was long, pulled back into a hair tie. For some reason, your stomach churned staring at the man.

Did you stumble across some revolutionary reenactment? Is that why the man looked threatening, like he would shoot you at first glance? You searched your mind for some reason as to why you were outside, but the last thing you remembered was sitting next to your laptop.

You went against every instinct that told you not to go to the man, pushing your feet forward. He stopped moving, and you hesitated. He held his musket tight in his hand, quickly turning around to face you. He pointed his gun at your chest, an angry look on his face. You raised your hands quickly, shaking.

His eyes met yours, and he lowered his gun, confused. You gasped at the face in front of you.

It was Lin-Manuel Miranda. The famous guy you were researching last night.

“Miss, what are you doing out here?” He questioned, his hands still tight on the gun. You stumbled on your words, star-struck.

“Uh, I’m, um…” He put his gun in his holder on the side of him. His eyes were stuck on your body, the heat rising in his face. You wondered if he never saw a woman in a tank top before. “Excuse me, my eyes are up here.”

His eyes quickly made it back to your face, clearing his throat. “You did not answer my question, miss.” He replied, standing up straight.

“I’m sorry, but I have no clue why I’m out here. I woke up on this field. Maybe I sleep walk?” You said, lowering your arms. The leaves rustled on nearby trees, causing you to shiver, holding your arms tight against his chest. Lin realized how cold you were, and took off his overcoat, passing it to you. You thanked him, quickly throwing it on your body.

“Do you know where your home is? It must be close by.” You looked around, recognizing nothing in the vicinity. You turned back to Lin, and he had a small smile on his face.

Strange.

“Well, I live in an apartment complex near 42nd street. I don’t remember seeing any open fields in the middle of the city.” You mumbled. He stared at you, a puzzled look on his face. He chuckled softly. “What?” You questioned.

“Are you okay, miss? I never heard of this forty-second street or an apartment complex? We’re in Virginia.” He stated, crossing his arms. “Were you sent by Laurens to play a joke on me? Wait, are you trying to seduce me?” He moved his hand back to the gun on his side.

This guy must be crazy. He lives in NYC, he grew up in Washington heights. For crying aloud, the Richard Rogers theater is right in the heart of Manhattan. You glanced around him, noticing more tents around. Wait, there was more than just ten.

There were hundreds.

You stared at Lin.

His outfit seemed quite authentic, to the dirt under his nails to the blood-stained pants. You don’t recall seeing the pictures online having red marks on the pants. He looked young, too, maybe in his early twenties. Not the man you recall seeing on the internet that was in his late thirties. He was staring at you as well, still cautious.

“What’s your name?” You asked.

“Alexander Hamilton.” He said simply, with a small bit of pride in his voice. You still fought off the idea that this may not be the time you were supposed to be in.

“Do you know who Elizabeth Schuyler is?” He shook his head, his foot tapping against the ground.

“What is a television set? A laptop?” He frowned.

“Are you telling me about a new weapon the British created? Who are you, miss?” He took out his gun from the position on his hip. “Who sent you here? And I’m not going to ask again.” You realized what’s going on.

“Tell me the year.” You said, your eyes widening. He didn’t say anything, his mouth in a straight line. “Tell me the year.” You repeated sternly. He smirked at you, rolling his eyes.

“1776.” He said, and you dropped onto the ground. He jumped back, confused.

1776. The year, it’s 1776.

What the hell is going on here?

The Notebook Ch.1

Title: The Notebook
Character: Lin X Reader
Prompt: When the reader runs into Lin in the airport, (literally “runs” into him), an accidental notebook swap occurs in the confusion, and they go home with each other’s work.
Word Count: 2,859 (wowie)
W/T: none???
A/N: wow it’s been a while. Two things; 1, this is literally a dream I had. 2, I blame @secretschuylersister for wearing off on me enough to write this.
~SJ

———

The blinding lights and bustling streets of New York only seem like background noise to you at this point in your life. You’ve lived here since you graduated college, and it hasn’t been as bad as you’d originally thought. Sure, the towering skyscrapers and ceaseless shouting or honking outside of your apartment was much different than the silent cricket chirps outside of your family’s home back in Missouri, but it was a much needed change.

In fact, living in New York has changed your life completely. You were still the same kiddo from the small country town back home, aspiring to do great things. You still said “y'all”. You still lived off of sweet tea. You still had all of your little traits you’d gained from growing up there. But once you hit New York? “Culture Shock” was really the only way to describe it.

It seemed like you were never alone in the “City that Never Sleeps”. The streets were never empty, the lights glaring from the billboards outside of your window were your new night stars, and you always saw something new everyday. It’s was probably one of the best places for you to be with your dream job; writing. A new thing seen on the side of the street fueled a new song lyric, a new poem, a new story, and new something. You were constantly jotting stuff down in your favorite black notebook, usually adding to your current project; a musical.

“Hey, Y/N, do you want me to go get you something before you leave for the airport?” Your roommate’s voice inquires from the opposite side of the dining room table, her head resting in her hand defeatedly from her work. You don’t even bother to peal your eyes away from your page, frantically scribbling down yet another lyric for one of your main characters. “Nah, I’ll probably just grab something quick on the way to the airport. Thanks though, Ky.” She raises an eyebrow at you, obviously doubting that you will. “Uh huh. Like all of those other times that you’ve said that you’ll get something to eat on the way out, and proceed to not go out, continue to write in that stupid notebook of yours, and stay up until I wake up the next morning?”

“Okay okay, you’ve got me there.” You breathe, allowing for her to pull the black leather bound pages away from you. “But what can I say, Ky? I’m basically a writing machine, I just can’t help it. There’s too many ideas locked up inside of my mind to not write them all down. I wanna share them with the world!”

“You can keep writing about those silly little characters you’ve got after you eat something, Y/N. There’s my leftovers in the fridge I’ll let you have if you eat them right now.” Kylie offers, gesturing to the stainless steel door behind her. “Yeah yeah, okay. No need to blackmail me here.” You retort, rolling your eyes and nudging her aside. Slipping your hand around the cool handle, you yank the door open and pull out the white styrofoam box, ready to devour it in order to keep writing. “You never talk to me about anything besides your stupid musical now, Y/N. I wanna talk about other stuff.” Kylie huffs, flopping into the wooden chair across from yours at the table.

“That came out of nowhere.” You chuckle, settling back into your spot, this time eating instead of writing. “I know, but I feel like you’ve just been kinda distant lately. I don’t think you’ve actually talked to me about your life for at least a month-oh my god you’ve never talked to me about your love life. Tell me. Now.” Kylie gushes, her eyes widening at the thought of not knowing. “I’ve never talked about it because it’s non-existent.” You joke through a mouthful of a quesadilla. “When was your last relationship?” She questions, her eyebrows furrowing slightly with concern. You simply shrug. “Last kiss?” “Never had one.” “Last time you were in love?!” “Does the kid I hated in 1st grade count?”

“Oh my god, why have you never told me that you’re helpless?!” Kylie cries, flailing her hands around frantically. “I didn’t realize that my love life was a big deal to you?” You snort, suddenly reconsidering if you should’ve just lied to her and said you had a boyfriend. Wow, that actually did make you sound really lonely. Nice going. “Um, hello?! Being in love is one of the-no, IS the best feeling in the world?!”

“Love is a choice, not really an emotion, KyKy.” You correct, gently pointing your fork at her in correction. Or at least, that’s what you’ve always known it as. Throughout high school, you saw relationship after relationship go strong for a solid three months, and then crash and burn because the “feeling just wasn’t there” and they’d already moved on to a new lover. You never understood how people could just hook up because of “a feeling”, and then not try to fix it if they thought it was that important. It’s always seemed like it should be an effort from both parties, not just “run with this instinct”. That and everyone in your school were a bunch of idiots.

“Wow. Okay I need to take you out with me sometime, you’re going to get a boyfriend to call your own.” Kylie breathes, making it sound like it’s going to be a hassle. “Hey! I’m perfectly lovable, thank you very much.” You snap, narrowing your eyes at her. “Oh are you now, little Miss No-Love-Life?” She throws back just as quickly. “By the sounds of it, you really aren’t.”

“Well it’s not just that nobody’s ever had a crush on me, I can name off a couple. It’s a matter of them not sharing the same ideals and such as me.” “Oh, please do go on. I’m curious of what these ideals could possibly be.” Kylie teases, leaning into her hands playfully.

“Simple. None of them have ever understood my love for writing, how I need to throw my thoughts onto paper, how I want too make something out of thin air.” There were a couple of people from high school you can remember having a bit of a thing for you, but at the same time you can remember how you cast them away way too quickly when you got to know them. In retrospect, you were probably kinda cruel to them, but you’ve always stood by what you learned from growing up. Your stubbornness wasn’t about to give in on the one thing that you’ve always loved.

“Oh, so you want someone who’s just as insane as you about writing, so that you two can die together because you forgot about your needs for survival? Got it.” Kylie laughs, still in disbelief that guys had crushes on you. “Whatever, Ky. Just give me my notebook back already, I’ve gotta get going.” You fume, shoving the empty takeout box at her from across the table. “Okay, geez. Didn’t know you were such a crabby person when you’re away from your paper.” She sighs, handing back your notebook. “Most people would get upset if you held their child hostage.”

“Wow, you really are obsessed with that thing, aren’t you?”

“Goodbyeeeee Kylie.” You draw out, wrapping your hand around the handle of your luggage, and tossing your backpack over your shoulder as you head for the front door. “Waitwaitwaitwait.” She fumbles, racing towards you. She wraps her thin arms around you, embracing you tightly. “Stay safe, Y/N. And find yourself a boyfriend while you’re at it.” You roll your eyes jokingly and hug back, the resentment from moments ago melting away.

“Okay, now get going you lug. I want the apartment to myself for as long as I can get.” Kylie finishes, gently pushing you out the door and into the complex’s hallway. “Whatever. I’ll see you in two weeks, you snot.” You call back, rolling your bag towards the elevator.

Tucking an earbud into your ear, you bury your phone into your pocket and pull you pencil out from behind your other ear, already jotting some more stuff down about your main characters and their backgrounds. Maybe have them meet at a party? No, that’s too High School Musical-y. Maybe in the park? Meh, cliché. What about if they just run into each other somewhere-literally run into each other? That’s a good one, adds to the comedic effect. Would their best friends push them back together? Is there going to be a huge fight, or will there be a tragedy for one of them that makes the super withdrawn? Why not both? Will one of them die in the end? Will one of them leave and fall for someone else? Will there be a happily ever after-ew no. Happy endings always happen by happenstance, and it’s just not logical. That doesn’t happen in the real world. No happy endings.

Thoughts continue to flood through your mind and onto the paper as you hit the outside of your apartment building and whistle for a taxi, hoping that one stops within the next five minutes. Luckily, the first one manages to see you and pulls over, letting you climb in the back. The driver’s gruff voice calls to you, “Where ya headed?”. “JFK.” You quickly respond, scratching something out on another page just to rewrite the idea. “Ya don’t sound like yer from ‘round here, little lady. You headed back home or sometin’?” He asks curiously, his voice rather warm and inviting, like your favorite uncle or something.

“Is it that easy to tell?” You laugh, forcing yourself away from your journal for a little bit to keep a conversation with him. “Trust me, lil’ lady, I’ve had ma fair share of outta-towners in this her’ girl. Ya sound kinda southern, but not really. Midwest maybe?” He guesses, tilting his dark sunglasses down to look at you from his rearview mirror. “You’re good.” You nod, smiling at his correct answer. “That’s what I thought.” He smirks, pushing his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Anytin’ in particular yar’ leavin’ for?”

“Nothing more than returning home for a couple of weeks at this point. Maybe busting with some old friends, who knows.” You answer distantly, the thoughts of what could happen at home overcoming you for a moment. There’s so many people you haven’t seen in what feels like forever. And you haven’t seen your dog in ages, either. “Simple 'nuff. Wish I could go back home fer’ a lil’ bit, ya know? Get ta visit with ma Nana again, see how she’s been doin’.”

“How long has it been since you’ve gone home?” You question, taking in his features as you do so. A bit larger, receding hairline pretty evident, dark sideburns, and an impressive beard to match. They all seem to fit his voice perfectly. “Uh, let’s see her’. Probably when I graduated, so… Eleven ye-nah, that’s too short. Probably somewhere closer ta fifteen or so, s'uppose.” He draws out, scratching his curly beard. “Fifteen years?!” You instinctively blurt out, instantly regretting it. “Ya, I’ve been stuck up her’ in da Big Apple fer’ a long while now, ya know? I just haven’t really given myself a chance ta get outta her’. Glad ya can, doh. Helps lift ma spirits a bit, seein’ ya off.”

“Speakin’ a which, her’ ya are, lil’ lady! The famous plane port of da Big Apple!” He presents, parking the cab along the curb next to the front entrance. You blink a bit, taking in the sudden appearance of the airport and its towering parts. “Oh wow. We got here fast. How much do I owe you?” You start pulling your wallet out of your backpack, but a gentle, calloused hand sets itself on your shoulder. Slightly confused, you turn towards the front seat, only to be greeted by the same smiling face as before.

“No charge fer’ ya, lil’ lady. It’s been a bit since I’ve had a good ol’ conversation with someone, ya know? Ever'one her’ is always in a rush and snappy, wantin’ ta get somewhere quick. Thank ya for given ma a good laugh today.”

You don’t know how to respond. Your mouth has opened to try and deter him, but nothing comes out, which only makes his grin wider and more toothy. “Now get a move on, lil’ lady. Don’t want ya ta be a missin’ dat flight of ya’s cuz’ I’m bein’ nice.”

Flabbergasted, you slowly climb out of the backseat and onto the sidewalk, bag and notebook in hand, and watch the dandelion yellow taxi pull away, leaving a thin cloud of exhaust in its wake. You glance down at your watch, the minute hand hovering over the 6 is all the indication you need to start booking it to your gate.

Weaving between as many people as you can while still jotting stuff down about that taxi driver in your notebook, you hurry across the airport, trying to multitask and catch your plane all in due time. It’s not as hard as you thought it would be, considering everyone was clearing a path for you as you plowed towards them.

Well, except one person.

Your notebook goes clambering to the glossy tile floor as you topple to the ground, your backpack slipping off of your shoulder and your luggage rolling out of reach. Your back crashes against the hard ground, and your lungs collapse in on themselves for a moment on impact. Thank god you had the wind knocked out of you for a second, because if you hadn’t, you probably would’ve said something utterly embarrassing about the rather cute guy on top of you, his face inches from yours.

“Oh shi- I’m so sorry! Here lemme-uh-…” He fumbles, trying to push himself off of you as quickly as possible without making it more awkward. He manages it, (somehow), and offers you a hand, which you take, a bit dazed from the impact still. Wow, he’s stronger than he looks. “Uhhh…” He sounds off, awkwardly brushing some invisible dust off of your clothes. “Sorry about that. I get kinda caught up in my head sometimes.”

“No, it’s fine, I do too. I should’ve looked where I was going in the first place.” You apologize, leaning down to pick up your notebook. “Oh, let me get that for you.” He instantly states, snatching it up in his hands. “Huh, this one looks like the one I have.” He chuckles slightly, patting his pocket for a second before going into a panic. “Wait, where is my notebook?” He stammers out, spinning around to look for it.

“Oh, is this it?” You ask, picking up an identical notebook to yours next to your slightly rolled away luggage. His face immediately softens at the sight of it, his eyes almost brightening. “Wow, we really are a mess, huh?” He laughs nervously, swapping notebooks with you.

“Y/N.”

“Lin.”

A single best of silence passes between the two of you, before your watch beeps at you. You glance down to it to see that your flight leaves in five minutes, and panic washes over you. “Sorry Lin, but I don’t wanna miss my plane. Nice talking to you!” You shout over your shoulder as you take off in a dead sprint for your exit, which is now within sight.

Frantically waving down the flight attendant like in the movie Home Alone, she graciously reopens the door to the plane for you, and you quickly take to your seat, pushing your carry on into whatever overhead space you can find.

The seatbelt light flickers on overhead, and you try to settle into place. Luckily, not many people are on the flight to St. Louis, so you have the row to yourself. The flight attendants flow into the isle to do their normal routine of safety, but you tune them out and set your notebook on your lap, digging out a pencil from your backpack, ready to write again. That taxi driver really gave you a new idea for a character that helps advance the plot of your musical.

Flipping open to a random page, you skim over everything, trying to find the right area to start again. Let’s see, Laurens and Hamilton have a thing for each other, Angelica has a thing for Hamilton, Jefferson is a magenta ass-wait. Since when did you have a Laurens? Or a Hamilton? Or an Angelica? Or a Jefferson? When did they all develop a thing for each other? This handwriting doesn’t look like yours, it’s too nice for scribbles.

You thumb through the other pages, becoming more and more frantic as you see the same penmanship sprawling across the other yellowing pages. Where did all of your work go?! When did it get replaced with this- this- what do you even call this?!

Then it hits you. The clumsy yet cute man that tackled you. The awkwardness of the encounter. The panic over notebooks.

Oh no.

Lin has your notebook.

And you have his.

———–

Please give me feedback on this story, because I’ve been away so long!

anonymous asked:

can you write a trimberly fic where they're already dating and during an argument one of them says something hurtful, but doesn't realize it cause of how mad she is and the other just gets kind of quiet because she's actually really hurt? super angsty with a happy ending?

Thanks for the prompt!


Kimberly is well aware that her walking personification of an angry cat girlfriend is actually the softest softy to ever soft, and while the other girl mostly keeps to herself, there are various moments when she just drives Kimberly up the wall. She hates when the other woman leaves her dirty clothes all over the bathroom floor, hates when she doesn’t pick up after herself and she ends up tripping over gadgets the Latina steals from Billy’s lab without his knowing, hates that she’s always leaving empty water bottles on the kitchen counter or on the coffee table, and she hates when Trini blasts music while she paints in their apartment on the nights before Kimberly has a big exam. It makes her groan in frustration as she glares down at her notes, reading the same line at least three times before understanding the first half of the sentence.

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