stares out of window

Rain rain go away (Zeezee) - Bitney.

Summary: Courtney gets stood up on a date. When she decides to leave the embarrassing scene, it seems luck isn’t on her side. Drenched, she hitches a ride with an old friend she hasn’t seen since High School graduation. 2 years later, she’s still blonde, New York lights still kill the stars, and she’s still obsessed with the lips of Del Rio…

A/N: Inspiration came from the song ‘Strangers’ by Halsey/Lauren Jauregui. 20 year old lesbian fic. I hope you enjoy! - Zeezee

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The Second Sun

I’m so sad, because I was drawing the fanart and my computer just stopped working. The screen is black and doesn’t works… Fortunately, the progress was saved ;; but I’m not sure that I can upload fanarts according to the day during the week. Maybe I’ll be late for it ;;
Well, at least I have the fanfic for you! So here’s the chapter 5 uwu

Chapter list:

Chapter 1 - The Distrust.

Chapter 2 - The Reflection.

Chapter 3 - The Fear.

Chapter 4 - The Lie.


Chapter 5 - The sun?


Days passed, turning into weeks, and Yoosung didn’t understand when everything had become so different. Each visit was colder than the previous one, and Saeran no longer responded as before. It was as if they had gone back to the beginning, where he only stared out the window and ignored his presence, even knowing he was there. Yoosung began to wonder what he could have done wrong to make it all turn that way, but he couldn’t find an answer. Only managed to associate it to that day when he began to talk about Rika and V, when Saeran asked about his career. Had that made him angry? Perhaps Seven was right that it was a tricky subject for him? If that was the case, then he understood that Saeran would get upset, though he didn’t think the change would be so abrupt.

What was happening hurt him a lot, especially since Saeran had become someone very important and special to him. He didn’t have many friends off screen, and for him, Saeran was that and much more. He was grateful that someone with his past had trusted an ordinary person like him. It was different from the friendship he had with Saeyoung. Saeran… made him feel more than that. By his side he felt that he could talk about anything and he would listen, even if he didn’t care about the subject. He noticed it, since he seemed to be an observant and attentive person from the beginning, despite his indifference.

Day after day of visits, he tried to keep the thread of the conversation going, but Saeran’s indifference made him want to see him carefully, waiting for him to turn to look him in the eye, as before… but this didn’t happen.

One day while Yoosung was trying to find a topic of conversation as he struggled with Saeran’s rejection, Yoosung began to despair.

What could he do?

“You know… Maybe this doesn’t matter to you, but I don’t have many friends —He began to say—. When I went to school it was different, there I was quite popular, but after entering the university everything changed… I wanted to change my image, and I even found a hobby that is LOLOL… I… I haven’t said this to anyone else, but the truth is that I feel so envious of people like you. Jumin, Zen, Jaehee, Seven, Rika, even V… and you too —His voice cracked a little, causing Saeran to turn to him slyly after weeks of pretending to ignore him. Then he noticed that Yoosung was doing his best to hold back a pout, it seemed that he was about to cry—. I am just an ordinary person, without grace. I don’t have great talents beyond playing all day. If it wasn’t for the university, I would be a total slacker… It hurts a lot to think that you are good for nothing, that you will never reach those you admire no matter how hard you try. And it hurts even more when the one you want to reach insists on steadily getting away from you. I… Ah, I don’t know what I do saying all this, I must be making a fool of myself” He finished saying, covering his face with both hands.

He really felt he was making a fool of himself, but just when he was going to resign himself and run, a presence alerted him.

He removed his hands from his face, and could see that Saeran was only inches away. He gasped, because he didn’t even notice when he got out of bed and crouched in front of him.

What a bad day to sit on the floor and not the usual chair, huh?

His cheeks burned, his heart felt like it was coming out of his chest. Saeran’s eyes were fixed on his again, after weeks of rejection.

What was happening?

“Ah…” he tried to articulate.

“You are not an ordinary person.”

“What are you saying…?” he murmured, looking away to the floor.

“In my opinion you are not an ordinary person. A normal person wouldn’t have insisted so much on me.”

“Is that… a compliment?” He asked himself.

Saeran sighed and returned to his place on the bed by the window, watching the sky. He knew that if he stayed much longer near Yoosung something could happen, although he couldn’t define exactly what.

What Yoosung made him feel was an indescribable for him, and after weeks of rejection he couldn’t stand it anymore. Again he hated his weakness and lack of courage, but he knew that sooner or later his punishment for being so pathetic would come, and that comforted him in a very particular way, although he didn’t stop worrying.

Yoosung, for his part, still had his face reddened by what had just happened. He tried to think of something else, but the image of the other boy’s eyes so close to him was lingering in his mind. His heart was racing faster and faster, so he thought it would be a good idea to try to talk about something else to forget it or at least to distract himself.

“This… —He began to stutter— Why do you always look at the sky?”

The moment Saeran heard that question, his expression changed to one of nostalgia and some sadness, causing the blond to regret immediately for having let that doubt out of his mind. He thought it was very foolish of him to ask Saeran something like that, since he knew it was something he did insistently. It probably had to do with his painful past and he didn’t know… But to his surprise, Saeran left any negative thoughts aside and replied.

“When I see the sky, I feel free —He starts to explain—. There is no pain. Clouds always change its shapes, so it’s also interesting to guess what they look like.”

Yoosung felt relief in his chest after Saeran answered his question, and inadvertently —And in the midst of emotion— he screwed it again.

“Oh, I see… Hehe, Rika used to watch the sun a lot after V died. It must be something similar…”

After realizing that he had begun to talk again about his cousin, he covered his mouth, but Saeran was sympathetic and followed the flow.

Deep down, he missed talking to him. Even if it was about her.

“Maybe… Why did she see the sun?”

Yoosung was puzzled by the sudden question, even more so with a question about his cousin. But since it was something that would not happen any often, he tried to remember everything Rika had told him about it.

“Well, Rika said… She said that V was like the sun.”

Saeran looked at him in confusion.

“V?”

“Yes —he nodded— that’s what she said. I remember that many times while we were talking, she mentioned that V was like the sun. She used to tell me that with him she felt safe, because she knew that in his company she could show her true self without fear. That he would accept her as she was… To her, V was the light of her life, radiant as the sun, bathing her with his warm soul and leading her way. I don’t understand very well what Rika was trying to tell me, but I always interpreted it as that he was a very good person with her… Well, Rika also said that I wouldn’t understand it until I tried it, hehe…“

When Yoosung finished explaining, Saeran was thoughtful about it.

The sun… radiant, warm, a light that guided your path. That made you feel sure to be who you really are, as it would always come to illuminate your life.

Saeran glanced up at the sky once more, then hid his head between his knees, which he held lightly.

Yoosung started to worry when he saw him act like that all of a sudden.

“Hey, do you feel bad? Do you want me to bring you something?”

Saeran turned his head so that only one of his eyes could see Yoosung.

“No, I’m fine. Just … let’s talk about something else.”

“Let’s talk…” Thought Yoosung with some excitement. Okay, they had been talking for a while, but it made him happy to think that everything would be back to normal.

“Okay” He murmured with a smile as he tried to think of some subject that might be of interest for him.

The afternoon passed just like it used to do be a few weeks ago when everything was fine. Sunset was already approaching, so Yoosung decided it was best to leave. He said goodbye as usual and retired in silence with a smile in his face.

After talking about the sun with Yoosung, Saeran couldn’t stop thinking about the subject. He felt suffocated by being in his room, so he got ready and left without his brother seeing him, because it was obvious that he would stop him. According to him, he was not yet able to go to the outside world.

Saeran could live with that, since he never felt the need to leave… but this time was different.

It was starting to get dark and Saeran was just wandering aimlessly down the street. He managed to reach a nearby park, where he looked for the most distant tree and sat by the foot of it. To his luck, it was surrounded by other trees, so it was a perfect hideaway.

The wind began to blow quite strongly, and Saeran supposed that it was due to recent climate changes. However, he didn’t give it more importance and continued there, leaning on the trunk with his eyes closed.

As Saeran tried to calm his mind, Saeyoung became aware of his absence and began to despair. The first thing he thought of was to call the only person with whom he had contact. He knew Yoosung would never take him without warning, but he wanted to make sure he was okay. Although, to his bad luck, the instant of answering the call and hearing the question, Yoosung replied immediately that his brother was not with him. Both began to worry, and then Yoosung offered his help to the older twin, which he accepted delightedly.

What worried Saeyoung the most was the latest weather report, where they had announced heavy rain during the evening.

every time an artist draws dick grayson looking so pale he doesnt have a drop of blood in his body i find a window to stare dramatically out of and question my own mortality

anonymous asked:

Bucky, I'm guessing you fly a lot to missions and stuff and I have a 23 hour flight to New Zealand coming up. Any advice on how to not die of boredom?

1. sleep. 

2. sleep

3. read a book

4. read the briefing you were supplied with before takeoff, or you might ACCIDENTALLY CAPTURE THE WRONG BASE CLINT

5. bother the people sitting near you by singing dirty lyrics to songs they know and love, thereby ruining them forever

6. sleep

7. no matter how bored you get, DO NOT JUMP OUT OF THE PLANE

6

What’s been going on in this house isn’t just some affair. No. No, it isn’t.

theguardian.com
Ten things I learned about writing from Stephen King
The novelist James Smythe, who has been analysing the work of Stephen King for the Guardian since 2012, on the lessons he has drawn from the master of horror fiction
By James Smythe

Stephen King is an All-Time Great, arguably one of the most popular novelists the world has ever seen. And there’s a good chance that he’s inspired more people to start writing than any other living writer. So, as the Guardian and King’s UK publisher Hodder launch a short story competition – to be judged by the master himself – here are the ten most important lessons to learn from his work.

1. Write whatever the hell you like

King might be best known – or, rather, best regarded – as a writer of horror novels, but really, his back catalogue is crammed with every genre you can think of. There are thrillers (Misery, Gerald’s Game), literary novels (Bag Of Bones, Different Seasons), crime procedurals (Mr Mercedes), apocalypse narratives (The Stand), fantasy (Eyes Of The Dragon, The Dark Tower series) … He’s even written what I think of as being one of the greatest Young Adult novels of all time: The Long Walk. Perhaps the only genre or audience he hasn’t really touched so far is comedy, but most of his work features moments that show his deft touch with humour. It’s clear that King does what he wants, when he wants, and his constant readers – the term he calls his, well, constant readers – will follow him wherever he goes.

2. The scariest thing isn’t necessarily what’s underneath the bed

Horror is a curious thing. What scares one person won’t necessarily scare another. And while there might be moments in his horror novels that tread towards the more conventional ideas of what some find terrifying, for the most part, the truly scary aspects are those that deal with humanity itself. Ghosts drive people to madness, telekinetic girls destroy whole towns with their powers, clowns … well, clowns are just bloody terrifying full stop. But the true crux of King’s ability to scare is finding the thing that his readers are actually worried about, and bringing that to the fore. If you’re writing horror, don’t just think about what goes bump in the night; think about what that bump might drive people to do afterwards.

3. Don’t be scared of transparency

One of my favourite things about King’s short story collections are the little notes about each tale that he puts into the text. The history of them, the context for the idea, how the writing process actually worked. They’re not only invaluable material for aspiring writers – because exactly how many drafts does it take to reach a decent story? King knows! – but they’re also brilliant nuggets of insight into King himself. Some people might think that it’s better off knowing nothing about authors when they read their work, but for King, his heart is on his sleeve. In his latest collection, The Bazaar of Broken Dreams, King gets more in-depth than ever, talking about what inspired the stories in such an honest way that it couldn’t have come from another writer’s pen. Which brings us to …

4. Write what you know. Sort of. Sometimes

Write what you know is the most common writing tip you’ll find anywhere. It’s nonsense, really, because if we all did that we’d end up with terribly boring novels about writers staring out of windows waiting for inspiration to hit. (If you like those, incidentally, head straight for the literary fiction section of your nearest bookshop.) But King understands that experience is something which can be channelled into your work, and should be at every opportunity. Aspects of his life – addiction, teaching, his near-fatal car accident, rock and roll, ageing – have cropped up in his work over and over, in ways that aren’t always obvious, but often help to drive the story. That’s something every writer can use, because it’s through these truths that real emotions can be writ large on the page.

5. Aim big. Or small

King’s written some mammoth books, and they’re often about mammoth things. The Stand takes readers into an apocalypse, with every stage of it laid out on the page until the final fantastical showdown. It deals with a horror that hits a group of characters twice in their lives, showing us how years and years of experience can change people. And The Dark Tower is a seven (or eight, or more, if you count the short stories set in its world) part series that takes in so many different genres of writing it’s dizzying. When he needs to, King aims really big, and sometimes that’s what you have to do to tell a story. At the other end of the spectrum, some of King’s most enduring stories – Rita Hayworth & Shawshank Redemption, The Mist – have come from his shorter works. He traps small groups of characters in single locations and lets the story play out how it will. The length of the story you’re telling should dictate the size of the book. Doesn’t matter if it’s forty thousand words or two hundred, King doesn’t waste a word.

6. Write all the time. And write a lot

King’s published – wait for it – 55 novels, 11 collections of stories, 5 non-fiction works, 7 novellas and 9 assorted other pieces (including illustrated works and comic books). That’s over a period of 41 years. That’s an average of two books a year. Which is, I must admit, a pretty giddying amount. That’s years of reading (or rereading, if you’re as foolishly in awe of him as I am). But he’s barely stopped for breath. This year has seen three books published by him, which makes me feel a little ashamed. Still, at my current rate of writing, I might catch up with him sometime next century. And while not every book has found the same critical and commercial success, they’ve all got their fans.

7. Voice is just as important as content

King’s a writer who understands that a story needs to begin before it’s actually told. It begins in the voice of the novel: is it first person, or third? Is it past or present tense? Is it told through multiple narrators, or just the one? He’s a master at understanding exactly why each story is told the way it’s told. Sure, he might dress it up as something simple – the story finding the voice it needs, or vice versa – but through his books you can see that he’s tried pretty much everything, and can see why each voice worked with the story he was telling.

8. And Form is just as important as voice

King isn’t really thought of as an experimental novelist, which is grossly unfair. Some of King’s more daring novels have taken on really interesting forms. Be it The Green Mile’s fragmented, serialised narrative; or the dual publication of The Regulators and Desperation – novels which featured the same characters in very different situations, with unsettling parallels between the stories that unfolded for them; or even Carrie’s mixed-media narrative, with sections of the story told as interview or newspaper extract. All of these novels have played with the way they’re presented on the page to find the perfect medium for telling those stories. Really, the lesson here from King is to not be afraid to play.

9. You don’t have to be yourself

Some of King’s greatest works in the early years of his career weren’t published by King himself. They were in the name of Richard Bachman, his slightly grislier pseudonym. The Long Walk, Thinner, The Running Man – these are books that dealt with a nastier side of things than King did in his properly attributed work. Because, maybe it’s good to have a voice that allows us to let the real darkness out, with no judgments. (And then maybe, as King eventually did in The Dark Half, it’s good to kill that voice on the page … )

10. Read On Writing. Now

This is the most important tip in the list. In 2000, King published On Writing, a book that sits in the halfway space between autobiography and writing manual. It’s full of details about his process, about how he wrote his books, channelled his demons and overcame his challenges. It’s one of the few books about writing that are actually worth their salt, mainly because it understands that it’s about a personal experience, and readers might find that useful. There’s no universal truths when it comes to writing. One person’s process would be a nightmare for somebody else. Some people spend years labouring on nearly perfect first drafts; some people get a first draft written in six weeks, and then spend the next year destroying it and rebuilding it. On Writing tells you how King does it, to help you to find your own. Even if you’re not a fan of his books, it’s invaluable to the in-development writer. Heck, it’s invaluable to all writers.

A Finite Amount of Love

The first time Rose did it, it was out of ignorance.

The second was desperation.

The third time she did not do it. If she had, it would have been purely malicious.

She resisted it the fourth time too, and the fifth, the sixth and the seventh. 

The eighth time she never got the choice: she died first.

The first, though—the first was Adam. An eager and honest bucktooth man with blond hair in ringlets that reminded Rose just a bit of her own. Adam was the first human Rose fell in love with, and it was different. It wasn’t her normal human love, that soft and gentle maternal kind. This love was bubbly and effervescent. It was walks alone just the two of them that felt giddy and new and anxious eager jolts in her mind of touching his skin and investigating his lips and getting close, close like humans do, in a way that wasn’t fusion.

And 58 was far too young an age, Rose thought, for Adam to fade. He burst out in sores that corrupted his human form and could not heal, would not heal, and no human could save him. So Rose did. Adam died, and Rose shed just enough tears to bring him back into existence.

Things didn’t change all at once. For years nothing was different than the novelty of Adam’s ringleted hair truly matching Rose’s. But humans experience the passing of decades different from Gems. Adam grew solemn when all his friends died. He made new ones. Then 50 years later, they all died as well.

Adam’s body remained healthy. But it seemed the human mind wasn’t equipped for centuries of life. Maybe humans had a finite amount of love packaged into them, meant to well up from the soul for 70 or 80 years at most. Adam ran out of love. He packed his things, just a single bag on his shoulder, and he told Rose he would leave forever.

Rose let him go, but her heart still broke, because Gems work on a much larger time scale.

Samuel was the next man in her life, a mere 30 years later, and he was spry, bubbly, energetic, overflowing with a sort of giddy love that Rose felt would last and last. She swept him up in her arms and spun with him on the briny beach front, her bare feet molding in the sand as they swirled and danced, day after day, year after year. She and Samuel married, as was a custom among Samuel’s kind, and he gathered a batch of humans larger than Rose had seen since the victory against Homeworld.

Samuel turned 75 faster than Rose could measure. He was gray and worn, thin and knotted at the joints, senile and immobile when Rose still wanted to dance with him on the beach. He did not wake up one morning, and it was too soon for Rose. She wept, honest heavy wet tears that poured the life back into a husk that dried too soon.

Samuel lasted another 75 years after that. But he burned down, slower than Adam but still the same. His human light died. He wept too hard for his family and friends, for the children of his first marriage and his children’s children, and their children… He grew solemn, and cold, and inconsolable, and one day he told Rose he wanted to explore the ocean with his infinite age. Alone. Without her. His human love had burnt itself to the wick.

The heartache hit worse. Rose gave her hand and heart and time to no other man for decades. Not the curious sailors who came hat-in-hand to the Temple. Not the outcast townsfolk who came to investigate the myths of the magical women out by the briny shore. She waited, and waited, until that ache in her chest grew too heavy, and she let a young and spindly man named Wilson woo her. He took her out to sea on a rickety hand-crafted boat, and he pointed out the wonders of the vast sea to her, and Rose wondered silently if ever they might cross Samuel’s path.

Wilson grew old when Rose was not paying attention. She went to visit him one day, and found only a sickly man curled up in bed, breathing in wheezes, blinking through milky eyes. Garnet found her that evening, Garnet with the ability to see the paths laid out ahead of her. She warned Rose not to follow through this time, and Rose did not. And Wilson died.

Mark with the thick orange brows was slowly whittled down to thin scraggly gray hairs, like fuzzy caterpillars resting on his lip and brow the day he died. Seth had only hit 30 when his carriage was lost off the side of the road in a blizzard, his body found days after. Wallace made it to 76. Jeremy to 64…

When she met Greg, Rose reached a selfish conclusion. She would be the human this time. She would be the human wife that Adam, Samuel, Wilson, Seth, Mark, Wallace, Jeremy never had…she would be the one to give him a child.

And she would die first this time.

The other men had seemed so peaceful when they passed, Rose thought in hindsight. A life well-lived. A life fulfilled. Not like Adam, not like Samuel, whittled down to husks and then nothing but a puppet on strings, in a body strewn about, too spent and stressed for a human. She wanted to know that peace of a life lived to its end. She wanted to pass on her chance of experiencing the world to a new human, a new generation, like all humans were so happy to do.

Rose died first. Steven lived on.

Lars has not visited Beach City in centuries. Pearl, Garnet, and Amethyst still live there, he knows that, but he never knew them well. He never properly met the green and blue ones either.

He travels sometimes. Mostly he lingers. Wherever he ends up. It’s all a blur. Where he’s been and where he’s going. Just not Beach City. He’s visited those old homes too many times, and he saw them all demolished over time. Nothing’s left for him there.

Lars does not quite know where he is. He does not particularly care. It’s indoors, and dim, and a man is logging orders on a holographic tablet one table over. It’s a restaurant of sorts. Lars doesn’t need to eat, but if he orders a coffee, they will probably let him linger longer.

Lars stares out the window. He does that often. He’s run out of other things to do over the years. He’s gotten numb to most of it.

A shadow of a man slides into the booth with Lars. He takes the space on the opposite side of the table. He’s wearing a rain poncho, a thin and ultra-light orange material for maximum hydrophobic effect. He looks old, eyes lined with wrinkles beneath the hood. Lars swallows the urge to ask him what he wants as the man lowers the hood.

His hair cascades in ringlets, each the same pale and luminous pink as the hair on Lars’ head.

He sticks a hand out, and offers a thin smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes.

“I’m Adam. I noticed your hair from the other side of the bar. Sorry to intrude, but could we talk a moment…?”

using your time wisely on public transport

The bus ride to my university takes an hour there and back each day. Those hours spent on the bus tend to feel like a waste of time. However, that time doesn’t have to be useless. 


General tips:

  • Check out the transit schedule before you make your timetable. For me, there’s no bus at 3 pm so if a class ends at 2:30 I have to wait till 4 for the bus.
  • You can’t always be productive the entire time. When I’m on the 7 am bus on Mondays I make a deal with myself: Be productive for at least the first half of the bus ride. After that, listen to music and stare out the window all you want.
  • Pack your bag lightly. Your back is gonna hurt if you try to bring everything with you. If you and a classmate have a break together, make a deal that only one of you will bring the textbook each week. Or buy a binder-ready copy of your textbook (so you can bring individual chapters with you).
  • Bring snacks and a water bottle always! You’ll be thankful for that granola bar on your way back, especially on days when you’ve been on campus for 12+ hours!

Things you CAN do on public transport:

  • Study flashcards. Bring a stack of flashcards with you or use Quizlet. Quizlet is a good app because you might find that someone else has already made flashcards for the class you’re taking, you can star which terms you already know, and you can have the app read out the flashcards to you (I find I remember thing better if I hear them as well)
  • Do your readings and/or prelabs. I wouldn’t recommend bringing more than one textbook otherwise your backpack will be super heavy all day. Read through a few chapters. If you like to write down notes as you read, bring a pen and a pack of big sticky notes. If you have labs like me, finish up your prelabs for the following week when you’re heading home after a lab. I’ve managed to finish my physics and chemistry prelabs on the bus, every week so far this semester.
  • Catch up on that Netflix show you’ve been watching. Not so productive, but I see it as a way of unwinding. And if you’re going to watch an episode when you get home anyways, why not do it on your commute? So download those episodes and relax (I recommend The Office and Brooklyn Nine-Nine if you need a laugh)
  • Read over your lecture notes. You should be doing this anyways so why not do it on your commute? Looking over your lecture notes from classes you had that day will help reinforce the content in your mind. Look over notes from weeks or months ago too. Reviewing older content will help you so much when finals come along.
  • Watch some Khan Academy videos. Did you know that Khan Academy has an app!?? Download videos beforehand and watch them on the go. Since this requires a bit more focus I’d recommend not watching videos for stuff you just learned that day – go home, read your textbook, and then watch a video the next day to clarify things/learn the info in a new way.
  • Catch up with people you haven’t talked to for a while. Send a text to your mom or that friend who’s studying across the country. Trust me, they miss you and talking to people who support you is good for your mental health.
  • Get out your planner (or bullet journal) and plan your week. If you’re feeling overwhelmed making a to do list for each day of your week can help. This also ensures you won’t be forgetting about an essay due the next week.

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