Oh my goodness! You don’t even want to know how in love with this song I am right now!
Thank you to the Anon who sent me this request! I had never heard this song, never heard of Rusty, but now, after listening to the song, going over the lyrics, and watching the Youtube video, I totally want to be friends with him! How frickin’ adorable is this song?!
Here is my little story for this sweet little love song called, “How I Know” by Rusty Clanton, which you can NOW find on my Spotify playlist called I Love You Long Time right HERE!
Mwah to you, Anon!
I can tell you’re mine.
Just like a bell the lines all around your nose ring out to me when I get closer.
Here’s how I know I’m yours:
If I’m a shell I’m shore you would be the sea, always within reach to wash on over.
“Hurry! Come sit, love!” Harry hollers into the kitchen to you from the living room.
You quickly walk in, holding a large bowl of popcorn, handing a bottle of water to Harry and sitting next to him.
“I had to wee, sorry. What are we watching?” you ask, ready for your weekly movie night with the man you love.
“It’s a surprise tonight!” he says with a huge smile. “Something I picked out especially for you.”
“Hmm,” you think. “I’m guessing a rom-com,” you giggle. “No complaints, love them!”
“Yes, it is definitely a rom-com!” Harry laughs. “A rom-com like you’ve never seen, I think.”
“Excellent!” you say, setting the bowl of popcorn between the two of you, only for Harry to pick it up, scoot closely to you so that your bodies are meshed together on the sofa, and setting the bowl on his thigh.
“Ready?” he smiles.
“Ready!” you return with a smile to him, accepting the kiss he offers to your lips.
And you don’t have to speak a word to me.
I already think I know… (ooh-ooh)
As Harry pushed the play button on the remote, he watches your face to see your reaction to his choice. You look at the large screen of the tv hanging over the fireplace, and gasp happily as you see video of the two of you, playing in the snow from your last winter holiday. Living only part of the year in England, and part of the year at the other homes you shared with Harry, you had loved this holiday in particular, spending time with Harry’s family during a big snow.
“Where did you get this?” you exclaim questioningly.
“Had mum send it to me,” Harry said. “Been so fuckin’ hot here in LA lately that I thought we could use a little winter.”
Harry moved his arm behind you and pulled you against his side, kissing your cheek.
“We had loads of fun that holiday, didn’t we, love?” Harry asked, as you kept smiling at the movie. “Getting snowed-in was never so fun as it was then!”
You both laugh, watching the snowball fight you, Harry, and his family had had that day, and the snow town you built with several snow people around.
I feel it in the way you wrap around me.
I know it when you’re running down my spine.
It’s how you always let me know I still belong to you.
That’s how I know you’re mine.
You look at Harry as the movie switches to the trip you took together for a long-weekend getaway. The TV projects Harry’s own home movie he had taken from the balcony of your private beach house, the ocean in the background as he scans your bikini-clad body up and down, giggling on the film, followed by his giggling next to you.
“Harry!” you shout and laugh.
“For posterity, babe!” he laughs. “Need our children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren someday to see how beautiful you’ve always been.”
You watch as Harry’s video zooms in on your ass then moves upward to your breasts.
“Going to share this with our babies, are you?” you ask with a hiked brow.
“Well, maybe not that part,” Harry giggles, his hand moving up and down your side. “Can’t have them thinkin’ their dad and grandad is a sex-driven perv, now can I?”
“But you are a sex-driven perv,” you tease.
“Only for you, baby,” he says, a kiss planted below your ear. “Only for you.”
It’s how all your words sound right.
Every hello goodnight sings me off to sleep
and puts me on my feet when it comes morning.
And if it’s love I’m in I’d much rather sink than swim.
I’m over board. I might be far from shore but my heart’s soarin.
As you step out of the washroom after getting ready for bed, you start to walk to the bed, where you see Harry lying, recording your every move into his phone.
“Harry…” you scold, but with love. “What are you doing now?”
“You’re so beautiful, baby, and I love you so much,” he says sweetly. “Just want to keep as much of you as I can for the future. It’s why I pester the shit out of you, taking photos and videos of you all the time. Have to preserve you so I can always have something to look at when you’re not around me. Reason to sit on the sofa next to you with my arm around you, watching together, for years to come.”
You smile at him, sitting next to him, then kissing him sweetly.
“Alright then,” you say with teary eyes. “Let me have the camera a minute.”
“What? Why?” he says, not wanting to relinquish it to you.
“Because I have a moment for posterity for you,” you say. “Hand it over.”
Harry giggles as you turn the camera on him.
“So what is it then?” Harry asks, looking into the camera and making a silly face. “What’s so important that you need to get my ugly mug on video?”
“Your gorgeous mug…is going to be a daddy!” you say excitedly, as you watch his face go from possible misunderstanding, to confusion, then from shock to excitement, and finally tears.
“I’m gonna…be a dad?” he asks you, his hands reaching for you as the camera view becomes a crazy mess of ceiling, picture on the wall, and Harry’s hair, as he holds you tightly. “Oh my god! I’m goin’ to be a daddy! Oh, I love you, baby! Thank you!”
Harry kisses you, laying you on your back with him over you, then grabs the phone from your hand, focusing it on him kissing you, then the two of you looking into the camera as he speaks.
“And this, my beautiful babies and grandbabies, is where you all started.”
No you don’t have to speak a word to me
I already think I know… (ooh-ooh)
I feel it in the way you wrap around me.
I know it when you’re running down my spine.
It’s how you always let me know I still belong to you.
Tips On How to Write Characters with Wings (For both fanfic writers and original content writers)
So I’ve been reading a lot of fics lately where people are either
A) Putting wings onto canon characters
B) Making OCs with wings
So I decided that, with the influx of people who are writing winged characters (and therefore the influx of errors that come with writing winged characters), I’d make a little thing to help you slap a pair of wings onto anyone!
This is also a bit personal, too, because the MC in my upcoming novel has wings!
1. Know that there are a lot of types of wings to choose from
Part of being a writer is the desire to take something (whether it be a pre-existing work or an idea in your head) and make it into your own. So, instead of just going with the classic bird wings, why not spice it up a bit? If your character is an angel, you certainly don’t have to stick to the classic depictions of angel wings. Why not give them butterfly wings or dragonfly wings?
Here’s a small list of different types of wings to choose from:
Note that these wings are for animals who can fly. There are also animals who can “fly” that actually glide, such as sugar gliders and flying squirrels.
Yeah, so the options are pretty limited, but feel free to make up your own kinds of wings that aren’t necessarily based on a pre-existing creature’s wings!
2. Be familiar with the anatomy of your character’s wings and their limits
If your wings are completely unique, draw them out. A diagram or picture is key when it comes to things like description. I’m not gonna tell you what everything does and give you Animal Wing Anatomy 101, that’s for you to research. Know that there are different types of wings and that they have different uses, strengths, and weaknesses.
3. Never use the full extent of your research!
“But wait, Maddy!” you cry, writing utensil in hand and poised to stab me. “I thought we were supposed to were supposed to show our research!”
Well, you are. Technically that’s not wrong. But, readers don’t want to know ALL of it. Over-described wings are sometimes worse than under-described wings; what sucks more than not knowing what a character’s wings look like is having to look up wing anatomy in the middle of the chapter!
Only use the most basic of vocabulary when it comes to describing the parts of the wing. Most of the time, you just have to say “bat wing” or “feathery wing” and the readers get the basic idea. (Like seriously, do you think the readers know what a dactylopatagium brevis is????? It’s a part of skin on a bat’s wing btw)
4. Don’t bring your character’s wings up only when they’re needed!!!!
Unless your character’s wings can fade away when they’re not needed, wings are a 100% real, 24/7 thing! It’s bothersome when writers mention the wings in one chapter and then only bring them up when there’s a daring escape that needs to be performed! Most of the time, I forget that the characters even have wings at all!
There is also the fact that wings aren’t all pros and no cons. If they’re functional, they’re probably big, and if they’re muscular, they’re probably bulky. If your character is clumsy, they’ll probably knock things over constantly, and if they’re not clumsy, they’ll still knock things over constantly.
Your wings are two (or four, or five, or six quintillion) extra appendages; they’re a part of your character! You don’t have to spend every second reminding the readers that they’re there, but don’t go long stretches of time without even mentioning them.
5. Your character’s wings can be a good way to indicate their mood or to provide for that little bit of description that you think you make be lacking
Why wouldn’t you want to describe the wings? I mean, you don’t want to describe every minute detail over and over again, but it’ll boost your word count a lot more than you think. They can also be used to convey your character’s feelings without explicitly telling the reader! It’s like a new set of facial expressions!
See? You can tell he’s wary and ready to fight from the movement of his wings! Also he’s crouching next to a dead body but that’s not relevant right now
Here’s a list of wing language (?) that you can incorporate into your story that will not only increase your word count, but will also add to the sustenance of your story!
Kick someone’s legs out from under them
Snap someones neck (only for muscular wings like bat and bird wings)
Problems that may come with having wings
Poke out from under blankets and let all of the cold air in
Get pins and needles from being folded for too long
“…I’m gonna show you tonight! I’m alright! I’m just fine! And you’re a tool so, so what?”
You belted your heart out up on stage, pumping your fist in the air to empower your words even further. It was a good thing you knew all the words, too, because your mates had bought you so many drinks your vision was crossed and blurred you couldn’t have read the lyrics to an unfamiliar song. Then you would have just been a blubbering fool butchering a karaoke performance. And that would have been embarrassing.
Singing yourself blue in the face—and drinking yourself into oblivion—served as the perfect outlet for your aching heart. Hours earlier, you’d been dumped. Or more accurately, replaced.
It’d been a week since you’d heard from your long-term boyfriend, and while you knew he was on holiday with his mates—a holiday you hadn’t been invited on—it was still odd that you hadn’t heard from him at all. Not even a text to let you know that he’d made it to Amsterdam. You didn’t expect too much communication; you trusted him to treat you right, but, silly you, you thought your boyfriend might actually miss you and want to say hi.
Last night after seven and a half days of nothing, you completely lost it and called him forty-seven times in a row. And not a single one was answered. So you rang your closest friends and they came over, laptops and tablets in hand, and intense cyber-stalking commenced.
It only took thirty-four minutes for your good mate Lindsey to unearth a damning post on Insta that your boyfriend was tagged in by a girl you kind of knew. The picture itself wasn’t awful; honestly you couldn’t make out much besides silhouettes and drinks. Even the caption wasn’t much; all it said was, “this guy” with a random slew of emojis. But the funny thing was, when you tried to search for it yourself, nothing came up. Meaning you were blocked. You weren’t meant to see this picture.
Twenty-two minutes of super-sleuthing was enough time for your oldest friend Ashley to find every social media account the girl had, and then eventually uncover her phone number.
In thirteen minutes you had a text drafted to her that was so long it was broken into five different parts when you hit send.
And one minute and fifty-four seconds is all the time your boyfriend—well ex-boyfriend—allowed you to speak to him today before he told you he was coming back tomorrow and there’d be no need for you to come see him. Tomorrow or ever again.
So your mates did what they knew best. They took you out, got you absolutely smashed, and then got you up on stage to pour your heart out. Somewhere in between I Will Survive and Total Eclipse of the Heart, you got a bit weepy and ended up calling your brother from the toilet. It took you awhile to realize you weren’t actually sobbing to him but his voicemail, and as soon as you did you pulled yourself back together and headed out for another drink and a rousing rendition of Since U Been Gone.
The few other patrons in the pub were hardly paying attention to your drunken warbling on stage, only breaking from their conversations when your mates would cheer at the end of each song, some of them even offering half-hearted claps. If they were annoyed, they certainly didn’t let on. Most likely, they pitied you; for Christ sake, you pitied you.
When your song ended, you finished the rest of your drink and began flipping through the songbook. Liberation was surging through you and you wanted a song to match your mood; something to serve as a proper fuck you to the twat you’d wasted the last few years of your young life on.
The book closed on your fingers, and you stumbled back in surprise. Were books automated now too?! You still weren’t over the automated tills at Tesco, would you now have to get used to robotic books closing on you when they’d had enough?!
You looked up, your blurred vision slowly coming into focus as you swayed on the spot. A robotic book didn’t close itself on you, a person had closed it. Which was rather rude of them.
“[Y/N],” he repeated. Finally he came into view and you cocked your head in confusion.
“Hazza?” you slurred, taking a step closer to get a better look. You nearly toppled off the stage, but Harry was quick to grab you by the waist and steady you before easing you down.
It’s decided that the Eighth Years should do a Secret Santa gift exchange to continue the newfound effort towards House Unity that was started at the beginning of the new term.
So of course, because Harry can’t catch a break, he managed to draw Draco Malfoy as his person.
He’s stressed AF and wracking his brain to think of something that Malfoy would even want, something he won’t spit on.
Harry gets annoyed when Malfoy plays it off like it’s going to be super easy to get his person a gift, which makes Harry even more Determined™
Except, secretly Draco is also stressed AF because holy shit everything he thinks of is stupid, what can he possibly get the Boy Who Lived??? Fuck, fuck!
Draco trails through Hogsmeade looking at Quidditch supplies, expensive leather-bound journals, and fine bottles of goblin wine before deciding that all of those gifts wouldn’t matter to Potter — with the exception of Quidditch, obviously.
But he’s certain that gifting Potter something Quidditch-related won’t have enough of an impact.
He wanted to get a gift that meant something, something to thank Potter for saving his life.
Harry nearly gave up as the day to exchange their presents drew nearer, but then he found Malfoy’s wand in the bottom of his trunk.
He knew it was the perfect gift.
After a few false starts, Draco finally figured out something clever to gift to Potter, something that no other Secret Santa would have thought of.
He was proud of himself for figuring out the puzzle, and he’s actually eager to see Potter’s face when he opened Draco’s gift.
When the time finally came to exchange gifts in a circle around the Eighth Year common room, they each went last to give their gifts.
When it’s clear that they had presents for each other, they both nod to leave the room.
Malfoy insisted that Harry open his first.
Harry fully expected something over the top, expensive, and uselessly ridiculous.
But his breath caught when he opened the leather-bound text, engraved with a family crest on the cover with the name Potter emblazoned on a scroll in the center.
As he flipped through the pages Malfoy explained that he tracked down a complete family history of the Potters for Harry.
And holy shit, Malfoy’s present made Harry’s heart pound in his chest while his throat went all tight and dry???
Harry got choked up over his gift as the reality of it sank in. He carefully ran his fingers over the engraving while Malfoy shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously, blurting out facts about the gift that Harry only paid half of his attention to.
Harry wiped at his eyes roughly, a little embarrassed, but Malfoy gave him such an important gift.
He took a breath and held out his own gift for Malfoy.
“I thought it was about time you had this back. It served me well, so, er, thanks.”
Draco didn’t even speak for a full minute, his eyes were just locked on his wand in Harry’s outstretched hand.
Harry could see his hand shaking at his side.
When Harry finally handed Draco the wand, he hugged Harry really tightly and whispered thank you.
Draco kissed Harry’s cheek as he pulled away, startling Harry.
His lips felt so soft and warm against Harry’s skin.
They stared at each other until Harry slowly, carefully pulled Draco back to him, and lightly kissed his cheek in return.
They smiled tentatively at each other, each clutching their gifts, as they reached for each other’s hand.
Absolutely no one was surprised when they walked back into the common room holding hands.
HOLY SHIT MY LAST POST ABOUT WRITING WINGED CHARACTERS (which you can findhere) GOT A SHIT TON OF NOTES! SO I DECIDED TO MAKE ANOTHER ONE ON SHAPE-SHIFTERS!
are a lot of shape-shifting fics and stories out there. Like. A lot.
Whether they be about were-creatures or about characters that just have
the ability to shape-shift, a lot of the times- like with winged
characters- these shape-shifters are not written very well.
may be unoriginal, or they may be super Mary-Sues/Gary Stus when it
comes to the fact that they have an infinite amount of power or
whatever. So I decided to tackle the issues that come with creating a
shape-shifting OC or making a canon character into a shape-shifter.
1. Decide what your character’s shape-shifting will be mainly used for
can be used for a variety of reasons, and that’s why it’s critical for
you to figure out what your shape-shifter will mostly be using their
Here are some reasons why shape-shifters can use their powers:
-Battle (transforming into a bigger creature to overpower enemies)
-Disguise (transforming into something that blends in with the environment around them to hide from enemies)
-Forced to shift (AKA werewolves)
-Spy work (transforming into antagonist’s lackeys to infiltrate the base or even vice versa)
2. Set Limits Right Off the Bat
are incredibly powerful, and in theory, they can be practically
invincible when it comes to battle and hiding from enemies.
that should ONLY be in theory. Your shape-shifters CANNOT be
all-powerful like their abilities can call for them to be.
Here’s where Mary Sue/Gary Stu elements come in, because many writers
just state that their characters can shape-shift and leave it at that.
That brings up questions like:
“If he was running from the Big Bad™, then why didn’t he just shift into a wall or a chair and disguise himself?”
“If she had to fight the Big Bad™, why didn’t she just transform into a dragon and deep fry him?”
“Couldn’t they just masquerade as the Big Bad™’s minions and get inside the secret lair?”
the author tries to make up for the lack of rules by giving us some
half-assed explanation halfway through the third book.
As soon as the reader finds out that the main character is a shape-shifter, you have to lay down the groundwork for the limits.
Can they only transform into animals?
Can they only transform a certain amount of times at any given point?
Is there something that distinguishes them from the object/person/animal that they’ve transformed into?
Can they only transform into inanimate objects?
Can they only transform into other people?
Does transforming take a lot of energy and therefore they don’t do it often?
Is transforming painful?
Take Beast Boy from Young Justice/ Teen Titans/ various other things as an example:
He can transform into a lot of animals, yes, but they’re all obviously green and unnatural, making it difficult for him to blend in with other animals. his means that his shapeshifting would be most used for attack than for disguise.
need to set limits, or else your character will be all-powerful and the
plot won’t be all that intriguing to the readers; they know that the
protagonist will win, so they won’t bother to really get invested in the
3. There are many forms of shape-shifters. Just
because the mainstream media is all about werewolves with sixteen packs that
can cut glass doesn’t mean that you have to make werewolves only
Did you know that technically, a werewolf is just a subdivision of were-creatures?
prefix “were/wer” means “man” and is usually followed by the name of an
animal, ANY animal, to imply that the man (or woman) is transforming
Therefore, there could be werecats, weretigers, werelions, wereunicorns, and were[insert plural name of creature here].
should really look up the different kinds of shifters from all
different cultures and regions of the world. They’re actually quite amazing!
Here’s a list of some of my favorite shapeshifter creatures (Note that these are not all of the shapeshifters, just my personal favorites some of which I feel needed to be represented more in literature):
-Were[insert name of big cat here]
-Animaguses(Animagi?) (don’t use these they’re JK Rowling’s I just really like Animagi)
-Generic, run-of-the-mill shapeshifters
-Were creatures that are actually just the creature trying to masquerade as a human/ a creature that has a human form
-Transforming into huge gruesome monsters (it’s good shit 10/10)
4. You don’t have to describe the full transformation every single time. The first time is enough.
don’t want to have to go through long, agonizing paragraphs of
description every time your character changes, especially if they change
during a battle. They don’t want the bloody, gory action to be
disrupted by a description of a transformation that they’ve read a
hundred times before.
If you truly want to describe the
transformation more than once, though I highly advise against it, never
describe it more than three times, and make sure to make it unique every
single time. If you don’t think you can do that, just describe it once.
should, however, describe the symptoms that come with transforming. Is
it painful? Is it uncomfortable? Does it feel incredible because it
makes the character feel a rush of power? Gimme the deets, but not all
Things that happen during transformation that you can describe:
- Fur/scales growing (stinging and itchy)
- Bones breaking and reorganizing, as well as new ones appearing and old ones transforming
The end had finally come and despite the amount of time you spent preparing for it, it still felt like a punch in your stomach. The knot in your throat was painful and your lungs still struggled for air to breathe. Tears clouded your eyes and turned your vision blurry until his face was unrecognizable.
At first, Lance had thought they were beautiful. He wasn’t exactly sure when they got there or even how they got there, all he knew was that they were lovely.
The first time he noticed them was when he was changing out of his pajamas and saw a sprinkle of blue gracing his stomach in the mirror. Amazed, he had glanced down and stare at the light blue freckles that dusted his stomach, like a sky full of stars. He remembered how they seemed to glint under the soft lighting in his room like jewels.
He also remembered the pain that came soon afterwards.
As soon as his fingertips touched the marks, they began to glow harshly and that was when the stinging began. It felt as if someone was stabbing him with a million thumbtacks, which was not a fun feeling. Yelping, Lance immediately stopped touching his stomach, dulling the sting of the marks. For a second Lance thought he was still asleep because when did freckles stab you? He was pretty sure that was not normal.
“Paladins! You are needed in the control room, immediately! I repeat, you are needed in the control room immediately!”
Sparing one last look at the blue marks on his skin, Lance quickly pushed away thoughts on the freckles and focused on the task at hand, getting his paladin gear on in two seconds. After all, it was just a little pain right? And it wasn’t like his hand was going to be on his stomach anyway, so what’s the problem?
It only took a week for the freckles to span across his entire abdomen. Which presented a problem as they team didn’t exactly have time to deal with the marks, especially with the big diplomatic mission they were embarking on soon. Not like the marks cared, they just seemed to cause more trouble.
Ever since he first noticed them, there’s always been this dull sting in the back of his mind, just barely noticeable but always there. Not only that, Lance seemed to be… freezing things now? Of course he wasn’t turning anything to solid ice but if his hand lingered to long in a certain area, tendrils of frost would begin to dance across the surface (The first time that happened freaked him out just a tad). The freckles also began to glow more often, mostly at random times. He would just be chilling on the couch and BAM, his chest was now a light up display (yet another thing that freaked him out).
The logical decision would be to tell the team, but how could he? Sure the diplomatic mission was a huge deal, but that wasn’t the only reason Lance wasn’t coming clean about the strange things that were happening. This was his chance to prove his worth to his team, that he was more than just Lance-the-jokester or Lance-the-screwup. That he was worthy of being the Blue Paladin and of Blue herself.
He could live with a little pain and some weird ice magic if it meant he finally had a thing.
It took a matter of days before the freckles spread to his arms, stopping a few inches short of his wrists. They were currently on the planet Eyena, a relatively peaceful planet that were known for their mines and the valuable ores within them. Lance couldn’t mess up this meeting, this alliance with a species that could help the team immensely. He wasn’t that selfish.
It wasn’t like the marks would listen to him though. The pain only worsened and suddenly everything he touched with his hands froze. He was forced to wear gloves constantly to hide the power he now had, the delicate loops of blue that now covered them. The pain was constant and even Blue began to worry at this point. However, Lance put up his brave face and pushed through it all, the pain, the ache, the emptiness…
It felt like only hours before Lance could feel the chill of ice spreading across his body, practically crawling up his throat. There was a ringing in his ears now and he somehow managed to freeze the gloves he wore as well. The only good thing was that the meetings were almost over and soon Lance could be back on the castle, away from prying eyes to finally fix whatever was happening.
Until then, he nodded along with whatever one of the Eyenians were saying, playing his part as the Blue Paladin and knowing he was slowly, finally becoming worthy of actually being the Blue Paladin.
How minutes had flown by? Lance couldn’t recall what had happened in the past few moments, as he was now in his room back at the castle. It had only been a few minutes right? Lance could feel his breath quickening as he glanced wildly around, how did he get here in just a few minutes? The room seemed to grow colder with each sharp intake he took, the bed beginning to freeze beneath him. Had it been more than just a few minutes? The ringing was now a roaring storm in his ears. It couldn’t have been than just a few? Lance could feel his hands shaking, the marks glowing a bright blue as the ice spread farther, faster around the room. It had been just a few minutes. Maybe two or three? Lance felt like tearing his hair out, he felt so confused at the moment, so out of place, out of time.
Was it only seconds now? How many seconds had flown by? He knew his room wasn’t always this cold and shiny, and it certainly hadn’t been a second ago. The marks burned harshly, and was that someone calling his name? It couldn’t have been. Because only a second ago he had been fine, he is fine, is he fine?
“Dude. It’s paintings and poetry. Together. It’s ‘swasome as hell. Da Vinci said it himself — painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.”
“Wow. You have all quotes just ready to go, don’t you?”
“Nah, I just opened my book on a random page,” Nursey said, one arm still wrapped around Dex’s shoulders, and showed Dex the page he had read the quote from, making his defense partner snort. It was a side note, written in italics and underlined with a purple marker by Nursey — purple pen meant personal interest, Dex knew already. Just like he knew the red pen was for important stuff, the blue pen was for additional notes, the yellow marker was for the stuff his professor deemed especially important, and the green pen was to underline the lines in poems that were just “mad chill”. Dex had his colored pens right down to an art already and pretended that it wasn’t weird to know so much about Nursey’s studying habits.
“I’d read you one of the poems, but I thought you wouldn’t get it,” Nursey chirped as he finally closed the book. His arm was still around Dex’s shoulders. It was … nice. Weirdly nice.
“You got that right,” Dex chuckled. Seriously, Painting as Poetry? It sounded like a douchey book, assigned for a douchey class. No wonder Nursey was so over the heels for it. “Aren’t those artsy poems meant to be looked at, anyways? Not read out loud? If I remember anything from high school, that shit just sounds weird spoken out loud. Like a broken record.”
“Meh, I guess. But they’re pretty to look at,” Nursey shrugged. His arm was still around Dex’s shoulders. It was getting infuriating. Infuriating in a whole different way than Nursey’s presence usually was.
Dex tried to pretend he didn’t mind, though. In fact, he was almost afraid to move, aside from walking, in case he accidentaly ended this whole new, getting along thing they had going. They were always just one wrongful curve away from an argument, albeit that curve started to getting farther and farther away with each conversation, and he was just curious to see how long it was able to go. It was pure science.
Besides, it was nice. In a way he could all too easily get used to.
Synopsis: Yoongi loves the world of music. He falls even harder when he finds that entire world within you, his muse.
Pairing: Yoongi x Reader // soulmate au
Word Count: 2.8k
A/N: just a little short story i screamed about with @itsrainingmin and later yelped with @seoulscapes // it was originally supposed to be a series but i’m more on the fence with leaving this as is… yikes
Min Yoongi is hopelessly in love with the world of music. He lives for the melodious sound, charming harmony behind each track, and wholehearted lyrics that can draw back dilapidated sentiments and memories. He spends hours on end in his life easily creating songs in the confinement of his dim bedroom, which he gladly defines as his studio. The lyrics and rhythm flows to him effortlessly, countless notebooks filled with messy scribbles of random words. The rare times he steps into the open his fingers still tap to the silent tune that echoes over and over in his mind like a record player, head bobbing to it as he tries to draw lyrics to pair with the melody. Frankly, his inspiration never runs dry.
Well, he wishes it never does.
For the past five tiresome months, his inspiration has been dwindling, motivation to create music now dissipating at the seams. Yoongi has fallen into the horrible habit of starting his musical pieces the same way he finishes them; laying in the soft of his mattress with too much thought, wrinkled papers barely stained with his musical genius scattered among the surface.
Etched in his brain throughout those five months is the same chunk of a melody that he graciously plays on his piano with forbearance, hopes of the rest of his song soaring to him high — though it never does. His friends have grown worried about him, pondering how he can stay cooped up in such a small space for so long, only time he would willfully leave is for the restroom or a quick snack.
Two things constantly run through his mind; the refrain that lies fugacious, and the silly, tiny tattoo of a bass clef gracing the side of his left ring finger. When music is not on his mind, the titivating tattoo invades his thoughts because someone, somewhere has the treble clef at the exact same spot to indicate the matching mark of soulmates.
And the sublime element of music is the only clue he has of his destined lover.
Get ready for the #ClexaWeek2017! From February 27th to March 5th each day will have a different theme to celebrate Clexa.
How can I join?
You can write fanfics, make fanart, edits, aesthetics, gifsets, music, games and whatever the hell you want. If you don’t have any artistic skill, you can even make fic rec lists for each day! You just have to post on the right day and tag it with #ClexaWeek2017, or you can send submissions to @clexaweek2017
For any other info, guidelines, suggestions and to keep up with #ClexaWeek2017, follow @clexaweek2017
Now go and share it!
Tell your favorite writers and artists about it, start the preparations. And let’s celebrate everything we love about this ship. One year ago the 3.07 may have happened, but they’ll never take Clexa from us.
genre: fluff and just a little angst / stripper!au
pairing: you x jimin
word count: 3.3k
You still couldn’t believe Jae-Eun called Jimin dad. That was his first word. Yeah, he’s mumbled words here and there but never once called you mom. He normally just screamed to get your attention and that seemed to work pretty well. The fact that Jae-Eun called Jimin dad shocked you. It was so unexpected and crazy because the two haven’t even been together much and even when they were, it was for only a couple of minutes.
Jimin felt so bad, not because Jae-Eun called him dad but because he still hasn’t called you mom. You understood, though. He was only around 7 months old and you figured his brain hasn’t quite figured everything out yet. As much as it hurt your feelings, you knew Jae-Eun would never understand, let alone do anything on purpose considering his age.
Your phone buzzed you out of your thoughts and you looked down to smile at who it was that was texting you.