this was from a poem I wrote but my writing has been shit lately

❝ ※ *. :。 → verse/otp tags pt. 1

i know there’s a lot of these floating around and already made, but i wanted to have my own list with my personal favorite lyrics that i can refer to for my own tags. i thought it might be helpful to others, so here we are !! under the cut, you’ll find 1,000 different lyrics that are organized into various categoriesgeneral/misc, slow burn, betrayal, unrequited, & more ) based on my interpretation on them. this list has everything from smokey robinson to dear evan hansen to eminem, so it should also be very diverse. trigger warnings will be placed in the categories they have them in. also, some words have been changed so they make more sense. let me know about any spelling mistakes or triggers i may have missed, as well as any lyrics i may have put in the wrong section. please like/reblog if you use or found this helpful, and most importantly, enjoy !!

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Diary of a Black Male: Entry #46

I met this girl at work a few of months back. I thought she was cute so I gave her my number, but I told her we would talk business. Her name is Melanie– short, brown skin– one of those delta sorority sisters who sounds mad country. She wanted to work on this piece with me– at least that’s what she made it seems like. She wanted to do a spoken word visual about growing up in poverty as black people. I thought she had a great vision. I let her know that it was a really good idea. I was kind of excited to be honest. She called me that same night to talked about it and everything sounded like a go.

We made arrangements to meet up to actually discuss this vision. We sat down and thought about different ways to portray the different ideas. We had gone through a lot in our short time on this earth. We came from different backgrounds, so she never saw the things that I saw. She told me I introduced her to a new world. She told me she liked that about me. I wasn’t sure if it was the compliment or not but at that moment I felt some real ass chemistry. Before you know it we started to share some personal thing about our life. She told me she appreciated how open and transparent I was. Things had got really deep.

Maybe a little too deep, I could tell it had gotten a little overwhelming so I asked if she wanted to go for a walk. She agreed and we went outside and just start walking. It felt great. I love nature. I love everything about it. It kind of helps me feel free. I could tell she felt a little better herself. Finally, we had a seat on the bench that was right outside this coffee shop. She told me that she was glad she ran into me when she did. She told me I seemed like a great guy and she could the two of us becoming really great friends. I agreed. I definitely saw that too.

I cannot lie. That shit made my dick tremble a little bit. Don’t ask me how or why– just know that it did. I made the suggestion to link up again some other time. I told her we would have fun and the next time we link up we didn’t have to talk about the heavy shit. After that we kind of said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. Later on that night she thanked me for listening to her. She told me she has always had so much to say but no one to really say it to. She told me that was the reason why she wrote– to say the things she couldn’t say to anyone else. Ironically, that was kind of the reason why I started to write. I used to write just to clear my mind. I wrote anything from poems to essays– outside of university work to journal entries.

The more she revealed about herself the stronger my attraction towards her became. Sometimes when she would speak I could just hear the passion in her voice. It was the sexiest thing ever. She made my dick tremble quite often and didn’t have to be talking about sex. Bruh, she told me a story about how she had to go off on her co worker– I swear I couldn’t help myself. That shit was sexy af. She just started going in and I could hear myself saying, “damn, I love you” I was thinking to myself, “this chick might be wifey.”

Over the span of couple months we had gotten really close. Sometimes when she came over she would spend then night. We had gotten really close. I felt like it was about that time to take our relationship to the next level. I felt like I could be myself with her and I felt that wholeheartedly. We had already gone on a number of dates. There was no reason why we weren’t already a couple. I had been thinking about it for weeks. I had even called my best friend to ask for his opinion. He gave me his blessings and that was all I needed. I trusted his word. He always had my best interest at heart.

That night I called her and asked her if she could meet me at the coffee shop. The coffee shop was the symbol of our relationship. It symbolized the pinnacle of our growth. It was apart of our history. We met there often to talk about our project ideas and to talk about life. That coffee shop meant a lot to our relationship and I wanted it to continue to be apart of us.

That night I told her to meet at the coffee shop so we could talk about this idea I had. It had been awhile since we actually sat down and talk about our ideas. My ideas often came to me while I was laying in bed. I would usually write them down before I go to sleep. We called each other every night before bed. I guess that’s why I’ve been thinking about her so much lately. I didn’t think about much of anything at night other than spending time with her. I guess you can tell how much I really liked her.

She called me to let me know she was close. I had already ordered some tea and sat on the outside. Before she got off the phone she told me that she had something to tell me. I had no idea what she had to say but it made me nervous. I was already been kind of nervous to finally ask her out despite being so close but it added to my anxieties. All types of things started to go through my head. I called my boy back real quick to calm my nerves but as soon as he answered the phone I could see Melanie pulling up.

I told him I’ll call him back and greeted Melanie. She smiled and gave me hug as usual. Everything seemed to be fine and my nerves seemed to have calm down. She asked me about the ideas I had. I kind of wanted to know what she had to say to me before I got into why I asked her to come out. I just told her away. I told her about a few project ideas for this short film I wanted to do. I wanted to document black hair and what our hair means to our identity. I wanted to focus on standard of beauty and natural hair for both men and women. There were some other things I wanted to discuss but I was too anxious to find out what she wanted to say to me.

She started to mention the weather and asked me if I wanted to go for a walk. She knew I loved shit like that. I thought it was going to have one of those romantic moments you read about in story books. After awhile my anxiety dissipated and I was actually feeling pretty good about everything. While we were walking she grabbed and held my hand. She told me that she really like me and maybe even loved me. I was excited and a little relieved but I also had butterflies in my stomach. I could only smile despite the discomfort.

She mentioned her ex. She told me she wanted to tell me something and it had to do with him. I could feel myself getting sick to my stomach. My anxieties were going through the roof at this point. I stopped walking. I stood there and waited for her say something disappointing. I just had this feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me I wasn’t going to like what she had to say. Then she looked over to me and said “my ex is actually my husband” I just looked at her in disbelief. Apparently they hadn’t gotten a divorce but they were just separated– legally at least.

He had been overseas for six months on a mission. She said that he was coming back and that he was going to kick her out the house they had together. She told me they had some type of agreement but that didn’t matter to. She lied to me. She was never really honest with me. This entire time I thought I had really found someone to me. I thought I finally found someone. There was not enough unconditional love that would make me forgive her so easily. I couldn’t believe I let this happen to me.

She had a whole ass husband. A whole ass military nigga. I got so sick that I actually puked. I had to leave. I had to get away from the situation. I didn’t know what else to do. She could have told me about this. I don’t know why she hadn’t told me this to behind with. There had been so many opportunities for her to tell me about this but she waited until the moment I thought she couldn’t do any wrong.

She told me that she had more to say but I couldn’t take it. I didn’t want to hear it. I just went home. I didn’t even call my boy. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. She had been hitting me up that entire night but I refused to answer. I just put on some Jazz music and internalized everything gotdamn thing that has ever happened in my entire life up until that point until I just fell asleep of exhaustion.

I felt so empty and incomplete but I also had this heaviness about myself. I didn’t want to talk to her but I knew I wouldn’t feel better until I found out what else she had to say. I shut myself out from the world for a couple days. I just hadn’t been feeling like myself. I hadn’t returned any of her calls and to be honest it was eating me alive. I needed something to help me take my mind off of Melanie. I thought if I invited another woman over that she would help me take my mind off of things. I thought she would make me feel good– make me feel like myself again.

I called Jasmine. We used to mess around from time to time. I hadn’t seen her in awhile. I ask her if she wanted drop after she got home from work. That usually meant she would come through for sex. I thought that was something I needed but when she got there I just wasn’t feeling it. I could barely function let alone entertain a woman while the entire time I was thinking about someone else. I didn’t make me feel any better. I actually felt worse. I thought she would be fun. I thought she would’ve brought me out of that shitty mood I was in but all she really wanted to do was to have sex. I guess I got what I was asking for.

I had been too detached to do anything remotely close to sex and Jasmine didn’t like it. She had gotten really upset so I just asked her to leave. While escorting her out Melanie pulled up.

Okay so @chirpingisflirting said she’s been having a real poopy bday, so I thought I’d take a crack at a nurseydex hc (which became this lame ficlet chimera) for her! Here goes nothing! Literally!

I’d imagine that, early in Nursey and Dex’s relationship (say, four months in?), school starts hittin’ Dex hard; boy’s got assignments up the wazoo, some emergency fees come up and he takes a small job a few days a week at the school bookstore/convenience store, his life’s just a mess. Nursey’s trying to keep his cool and be understanding, but it’s driving him nuts. He hasn’t seen Dex outside of practice in like, a month and a half, and he keeps trying to text him and make the best out of a crappy situation, but Dex tends to fall asleep or get bogged down by a new assignment and just forgets to text back and or it’s been almost a day and it’d feel really awkward to answer now and… yeah. It’s really fucking with Nursey.

He’s been taking it slow with Dex (whom I headcanon as only recently really coming into his sexuality?) since the start, but it feels like he’s the only one who gives a crap sometimes. Nursey reminds himself that’s obviously not true, though, and that Dex is just obscenely busy and just… lays on the supportive texts, or brings extra snacks for Dex after practice/before class. Still, this can only go on for so long.

And it’s driving Dex crazy too, because he’s reading all the texts, and he can see how upset Nursey is every time he splits up with the rest of the team after breakfast to head off to class, and it weighs on his mind when he’s knee-deep in some cs problem. It’s his first real relationship (with a dude?), and he’s crazy for Nursey, but he feels like he’s only giving 30% when Nursey’s constantly giving 100% (which ISN’T TRUE; boy’s running himself ragged, here!).

So he works double time for like a week to give him enough slack to slack off for an evening. It’s Tuesday, and he texts Nursey around lunch to get dressed in something comfy and wait outside the Haus for him after dinner. Nursey’s totally confused and is so… idk? Anxious? What could Dex want to talk about? Can Nursey even take this anymore? Is this fair to him? He almost doesn’t reply or want to show up, but he’s a sucker for Dex, so he puts on a cute li'l sweater over a collared shirt and waits out front.

Dex pulls up ten minutes late (definitely unlike him), and Nursey and him drive off silently.

They pull up to this hill hidden between these real posh houses that overlook Samwell and the surrounding town, minutes pass, and Dex pulls a scrap of paper and a single, haggard looking rose from behind his seat, but he still won’t talk. He just stares down at the things in his hands, and Nursey’s somewhere between concerned and pissed.

“I stopped by the flower shop before they closed and picked this up for you,” Dex starts, hands on the rose he’s now jerking in Nursey’s direction, “but I realized I don’t even know if you like roses, and this is completely fucking cliché, and it got all fucked up because I kept fiddling with it, and- Jesus, Nurse. I’m sorry.”

Nursey just looks up and locks eyes with Dex for the first time all night. Concern is winning out over anger now. He takes the rose, and his eyebrows wrinkle in an almost sad way.

“Shit, Nur- Derek! Derek. Are you okay? I’m so, so–”

“I love it.” Nursey places his hand over Dex’s. Dex just blushes and goes silent again, his eyes returning to the scrap that’s getting closer to becoming, well, scraps.

“I know I’ve been really shitty about, well, us, recently.” Dex is breathing deeper now. “But I know how hard this is for you, and I think about you all the time, and I thought I could balance everything, but I-” Dex shrugs. “I guess I can’t,” he chuckles.

“And I guess I know how much you like poetry and stuff, and- just- I brought you here to tell you…” He stretches out the paper in his now shaking hands, and sucks in a sharp breath. Th- this. Just read this.“ He passes the scrap over to Nursey:

‘You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.’

"Yo, you know plagiarism is probably the least effective way to my heart, right?” Nursey chirps.

“I know that, idiot,” Dex starts. “I- I’m not saying I wrote it. I just-”

“I know, man.” Nursey’s hand tightens around Dex’s.

And then Nursey’s kissing him, and Dex could almost cry for all that he feels he doesn’t deserve it after this past month. They break apart soon, though, and Dex takes the moment to hold Nursey out at arm’s length.

“I'msosorryDerekyoudeservebetterthanthisI'lltryharderforyou,” Dex breathes out.

“Hey, chill. I’m not blind, you know? You’re doin’ everything you can, Will. Just… just let me help you too, y'know? If you’re too busy to leave your damn room, let me come to you. It’ll kill me, but I can catch up on my readings and… not distract you.” He waits a beat for Dex to answer, and when he doesn’t, he continues, “Or I can meet you in between classes and walk you to your next one, or we can call each other… I just miss you.”

Dex’s eyes start darting here and there, like he’s looking for something in Nursey’s, and he finally answers: “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.” He’s sniffling now. “Let me do better.”

And with that, Dex leans in to kiss the smile sprouting on Nursey’s lips.

(And then vehicular cuddles. A lot of them. To the point where Nursey has to drive them back because Dex is half-asleep.)

Just A Lock Screen, Right?

Originally posted by youngjaelesbian

45: “I’m your lock screen!?” - “You weren’t supposed to see that”

Ship: Bambam x Reader

Genre: Fluffy/Friends to Lovers Drabble

Word Count: 1,314

A/N: I finished my last exam today so I celebrated by finally finishing this drabble! Thank you so much anon for giving me my first request! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :) Also the beginning thoughts of the reader are from a free verse poem I wrote called “Love Like Soccer” and I thought it fits this scenario really well!
- Cas <3

All it took was one day, which happened to be the first day we met. One glance from him to me that made my heart explode.

But there was no way in hell that I was going to tell him that.

So my lovestruck heart stood on the sidelines like the kid who is only good at doing one thing when he plays soccer. And so my lovestruck heart just sat there and watched us as we developed our friendship while it wanted nothing more than to stop the game and run up to him and scream at him, “CAN’T YOU SEE THAT I LOVE YOU?”

But it was way too risky. What if he didn’t feel the same way?

So that brings me to my current situation. And my heart is about to be thrown into the soccer game. But this time, there’s nothing I can do because it’s about to be painfully obvious that my heart does NOT know how to play soccer at all.

- - - - - - -

The quiet calm of my sleep is fizzling out with each buzz and ding from my phone. I twist to the right to check the time on my alarm clock. It reads 8:39. Seriously, who is texting me this early on a Saturday morning? I sit up slightly and twist back to sit normally. I unplug my phone from the charger and turn it on.

“4 New Messages from DabKing ;)”

Of course HE would be texting me at this hour. I open the messages.

DabKing ;) : Hey Y/N

DabKing ;) : Heyyyyyyyyy

DabKing ;) : Do you wanna hang out today????

DabKing ;) : I miss my friendddd :(

My heart rate quickens slightly at the fact that he wants to see me and that he misses me. I quickly type a reply,

Y/N : You little fucker you woke me up >:(

Y/N : But yessss ofc i would love to hang with u!

DabKing ;) : Yayyyyyy!!!!! meet at the usual spot in 10?

Y/N : Ugh fine, but I’m gonna have to go barefaced :/

DabKing ;) : That’s ok! You look pretty without makeup

WHAT?! Did he just say I’m pretty?

Y/N : ummm thanks

I throw my phone across my bed, acting like that situation didn’t just happen and that I totally didn’t just respond in the dumbest way possible. I do some very light makeup and change into something cute and comfy because I want to look cute for myself and because I don’t need to try and look nice to go hang out with Bambam. If anything it would be weird if I wore something fancy when we hung out. I still have just under 5 minutes to get to our favorite cafe. Good thing its only a block away from my apartment complex.

I run down the stairwell of my complex and start walking a steady pace towards the cafe. I check my watch. Dammit I’m gonna be late. I pick up my pace slightly. By the time I arrive to the front of the cafe, a certain lanky boy, drowning in gucci and everything that’s expensive, wearing a pair of sunglasses that don’t look designer but they are, is standing right next to the door leaning against the wall as if he had been waiting on me for an hour. My heart starts beating faster. He looks like the bad boy (who’s really a sweetheart) that just popped out of a drama.

“Hey! BamBam!” I wave, then jog up to him.

“Hey Y/N! Its been a while since I’ve seen you face to face” He stretches his arms out, asking for a hug.

Oh shit…This is not what I need right now…

I go in to hug him despite my conscience yelling at me to stop and pull away. My heart is beating even faster now.

“Yeah it has.” I say shyly.

“Let’s go inside and get some breakfast” He smiles, opens the front door, and gestures for me to go inside. He is being oddly polite today.

I walk inside and BamBam shortly follows. I scan the room to find an empty table. Luckily, the corner table we used to always sit at up until a few months ago was open. I turn over my shoulder to ask Bam.

“Hey do you wanna sit at our old table?” I ask.

“Yeah sure” he replies.

We make our way over to the table and sit down. The waitress comes over quickly, with 2 menus in hand.

“Hello! Welcome.” she smiles as she hands us the menus, “Can I get you started with anything to drink this morning?”

“Can I just have a water?” I ask.

“Me too” BamBam says.

“Sure! I’ll have 2 waters back out in just a minute!” She flashes her smile again and walks back to the kitchen.

“I need to use the restroom, I’ll be right back” I say as I stand up from the table and make my way towards the bathrooms, leaving my purse behind and my phone on the table.

I go to the bathroom to calm myself down. I didn’t need to go to bathroom but my heart rate had been jumping ever since he hugged me. I splash cool water on my face and dry it off without ruining the little makeup that I have on. I take a deep breath and head back out to the table where BamBam is waiting. I sit back down across from him. He stares at me for a second before I realize and he places my phone on the table rather harshly and looks at me with confusion and a hint of joy and mischief.


“So, Y/N…” he says as calmly as possible.

I can hear myself swallow hard. I know what is coming.

I’m your lock screen?!” He borderline shouts as he turns on my phone, displaying my background of a high quality fansite photo of BamBam himself.

“Y-You weren’t supposed to see that. Anyway its been nice talking to you I have to go, urgent thing for work-” I stutter as I grab my things and stand up, ready to bolt out due to embarrassment.

“No. Sit down.” he strongly demands.

I accept my fate and approaching doom as I wave my white flag and slump back down into the chair.

“If you could please explain Y/N…” he says with the same calming voice that I listened to on the phone many nights when I was sad and emotional over who knows what. He always knew how to calm me down.

This is it. Now or never.

“Okay look, I’m obviously a fan of Got7. You know that. But, even before we met, I kinda had a thing for you. And meeting you in real life and spending actual time with you didn’t exactly help my case. But I’m not used to liking people or relationships or anything like that. So that’s why I’ve stayed away and chose to become friends with you instead of trying to get with you. Also, because I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries as an acquaintance and being friends with you is better than not knowing you at all. I’ve been avoiding you because it all got too much for me and I couldn’t handle myself being around you so often. I didn’t want to blow my cover. I just really like you. And now I’m so worried because I don’t know what you’re gonna make of this and I’m sorry for not saying anything.”

“No need to worry” he smiles warmly at me and reaches to gently cradle my hands in his, “I like you too.”

Love Is For the Strong

She said love was for the weak when he told her of his true feelings, and really, who was he to argue? Because of love, his knees shook, his heart beat fast, and his palms sweat, all in anticipation of seeing that cruel girl again. But, my darling, don’t you understand? Loving someone takes so much courage and strength, so much passion and verve, and yet she thinks of you as weak for it. I try to tell you, sweetheart, that love has been felt by every person, and if love is weakness then humanity is too.


“I… I don’t know, it just came to me. It’s really bad, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” I hastily try to take the journal from my friend, and he hesitates to give it back, knowing I won’t show it to him again.

“No, come on, Y/N, that was amazing! Look, I know you’ve been feeling really insecure about your writing lately, but I can assure you it’s still amazing as always.” Spence smiles widely, trying to convince me, but I still feel doubt over the quality of it. “Look, please, sign up for the open mic tonight, I can promise it’ll be worth the experience!” His eyes widen, hopeful, and I can’t say no.

“I’ll think about it. Maybe.” Then again, I can’t say yes. Still, he grins and starts leading me out of my apartment and into the warm autumn air. I make sure to drop my book into the bag dangling from my shoulder before following his long strides. He starts talking about fall and the mythology associated with it, starting with the first known celebration for Halloween and moving to local traditions, all the while smiling and taking in the red leaves and crisp breeze. We make our way down to our favorite coffee shop, and though I slow down at the door, he pulls me inside and grabs us two seats by the front window.

A microphone sits at the back of the room, surrounded on three sides by bean bags, chairs, and tables. A poster on the wall indicates that we have a little over an hour before the readings start, but people are already making their way to the makeshift stage, whispering and laughing. Spence glances at me and fidgets, looking guilty for a moment, but when he catches my glance he smiles and asks if I want to move closer to the stage.

“Spencer, my lovely brunet boy, I don’t want to go anywhere near that microphone.” I smile so he knows I’m not too serious. The next hour passes fairly quickly, with more and more people filing into the small cafe until the chairs are all taken and the only open space left is the stage.

“Wow… who would have thought there would be so many people here?” As more people shuffle in, I notice the guilty look in Spencer’s eyes again, and he starts fidgeting more and more.

“It’s not too bad. You okay? You look like a kid that got caught with his hand in his mother’s purse.” Spence nods a little, mumbling about too much caffeine, and excuses himself for a moment. He practically runs up to the barista, motioning to the list of names meant to perform, and I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach. A few moments later, I’m joining him at the bar with my bag in one hand and our drinks in the other.

“Spence, is something wrong? You look like you’re gonna be sick.” He nods fervently.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I just didn’t think there would be this many people.”

“Spencer Reid… did you sign me up for the reading?!” He hears my accusing tone and is quick to reassure me.

“What? No, no, I just…” He clams up as the first performer takes the small stage, looking completely comfortable despite the crowd.

“Alright, beautiful people! Tonight we have quite a few people lined up, but the first, I think, will be the best. Allow me to introduce the one and only, Spencer Reid!”


“Shit, gotta get up there. Hope you like it.” Spence stumbles onto the platform, looking nervous and queasy. I shout encouragement, earning a few smirks and laughs, and he starts.

Before the flood,

My love had fell,

Into a world of pain.

She felt no courage,

Only shame,

Yet tried to find her way.

The world was cruel,

The people harsh,

Her heart beat in her chest.

Yet I still found

Her beauty truly

Would out-shine the rest.

I fell for her,

And to this day,

She doesn’t know a thing.

She is my friend,

Her name is Y/N,

And I confess my love to thee.

Blushing, Spence sprints off the stage, despite the roaring applause of the audience. He disappears quickly, and as people start glancing at me I start leaving, running out the door into the cool October air. I can barely catch my breath but I still manage to wander home, where I strip down to pajamas and wait by the phone. Has he really liked me, or even loved me, this whole time? God, imagine if he has. What a cruel joke for him to play if he really hasn’t.

I feel tears well up in my eyes. Thirty minutes and nothing to indicate it wasn’t a joke, no text messages or calls, just silence. It really was cruel of him to play with my emotions like that. And stupid me for believing it, why would he like a screw-up? I can’t do anything right, I keep losing jobs, and he just wants to rub it in by getting my hopes up. I stop holding back, and tears spill down my cheeks and onto my shirt.

“Y/N?” Oh fuck, fuck, what’s he doing here?! I wipe at my face, trying to hide the evidence of my panic, and run into the restroom just as the door opens. A minute later I manage to look less teary than I was, and I walk into the living room, seeing the back of Spence’s head poke up from behind the couch. He turns when he hears me, and starts blushing as his eyes travel from my face, to the huge t-shirt I’m wearing, then to my bare legs before travelling back to my face.

“That was some poem you wrote.” My tone isn’t irritated, exactly, but he still notices the shaking in my voice. I walk behind the counter for a glass of water and watch as he stands, revealing a bouquet of beautiful red and white roses.

“Did… did you like it?” It’s his turn to be nervous. My hand tightens around smooth glass and I bite my lip, wondering if I’ve actually misinterpreted things so badly.

“Did you mean it?” I can’t answer his question, not yet. He glances at my trembling hands, and finally, finally he understands why I’m acting so scared.

“Oh… Oh god, did you think it was a joke? Y/N, please, you can’t believe I would do that to you…” He gasps, and walks towards me leaning over the counter. “L-look, I know that there’s a huge chance you don’t like me like that, but I needed you to know, and you’re always so passionate about writing that I just figured you would rather hear it that way and-” I put a finger to his lips and he stops, breath rattling in his throat. His hand comes up to meet mine, moving it away, and I can barely breathe I’m so nervous. Moment of truth, I won’t let him stumble around in the dark for too long.

“Spence, I’ll have you know that I… I feel the same… just, you know how- how shy I am about this stuff. About romance and- and relationships. It’s a hard thing for me to discuss. But… I would like to be more than friends, if that’s what you want too.”

“Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since the day we met. Of course that’s what I want. Can… can I give you a kiss?” He lets go of my hand and walks around the counter, stopping just in front of me.

He looks so nervous, god, I wonder if I look the same? I nod, but I don’t know what to do with myself. My hands hang at my sides before moving to grab his, but I stop short when he gently grabs my face and presses his lips against mine, feather-soft and gentle, before quickly moving away.

“Wait, no, do that again, please?” I smile shyly and put my hands on his shoulders, and he obliges, seemingly eager to oblige my request. This time we both pull away blushing, him almost as much as me. Then, in a quiet and embarrassed voice, he mentions the reason behind his sudden courage and timing.

It was the goddamn journal entry.


Alright guys, time for me to tag you in my shite writing again.

@lukeassmanalvez @hetgevoel @furmicl @dontshootmespence @spxcxrrxid @bleedreid @spencerdamnreid @gubl-oser @ilikepipecleanerswitheyes @left-wingedlesbian @criminallyyoursdrreid

Please don’t hate me. 😂


Prompt: Song fic with Burn from Hamilton
Pairing: Warren Worthington III x Reader
Word Count: 1,091
Warnings: Mentions of Cheating, some swearing
Notes: This is set in the late 1790s-Early 1800 kind of like the song in the show. Also, I actually really liked writing this. Also Maria Reynolds is Psylocke, since in the comics they’ve actually been in a relationship before.

Originally posted by heaven-by-the-sea

(Y/N) didn’t like to cry, especially in front of other people. Oh no. She was the type of person who would hold in all her tears.

Today wasn’t different. Warren Worthington, a man who she thought loved her, who she had married. He had an affair. He had sex with another woman, and had been doing it for years! And her heart was broken.

The only reason everybody had found out was because he had admitted it. He had admitted it, and wrote it down for everybody to see!! And that had been because of a stupid ass accusation by Peter Maximoff, Scott Summers, and Kurt Wagner.

Keep reading

star songs & piano keys
pairing: sugamon
words: 946
rated t for this is disgustingly fluffy idek
(since i am absolute trash for rapperline + also yoongi playing paino, i wrote a yoonseok fic with pianist!yoongi too if you wanna check that out)

Min Yoongi sees the world in sounds. In notes, that sometimes don’t make much sense but he loves it anyways. The complication, and the mystery of them. The way they sound when he plays them. Like he’s solving a puzzle. Like he’s discovering the secrets of the universe. He’s always loved the sounds.

Namjoons world has always been quieter. The quiet was a strange thing, Namjoon thought. Where everything is too loud but there’s never sound. So he writes, he writes down all the quiet. All of his thoughts till he can’t hear them. Chases away all the sounds, till the quiet seems like the quiet again.

The first time he sees Yoongi he doesn’t wish so much for the sounds to go away. For the first time the noise doesn’t hurt. So he goes home, and writes about the boy with hair much like gold. Who plays the piano. Who makes music that sounds like the stars are whispering every secret of the universe.

The first time Namjoon sees Yoongi, he can’t find the right words. Cant put words into sentences. Yoongi laughs like a song that he wants to listen to all the time. And soon it’s his favourite thing.

Yoongi sees namjoon the first time at an old bar. A fancy place where he plays every Saturday for bastards who couldn’t care less about the music.  But Yoongi doesn’t care, because he gets to play the piano.  And he plays for hours on end. Till the world around him was surrounded by notes and symphonies. Mozart and Beethoven. Sometimes he plays songs he’d composed too. And that’s how they meet.

“That was beautiful,” Namjoon says. He’s trying his best not to sound like his heart is about to hop right out of his chest. What if he can already hear it?

“Thank you,” Yoongi smiles, sheepishly. They never notice him. The rich. He plays for them, but they never hear. But this boy, tall, dressed in a crisp black suit, all glitz and glamour. He notices. 

“Did you write it? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before?”

Yoongi who is always calm and confident,  for the first time feels nervous almost, “I did. You play piano?” He asks.

It’s Namjoons turn to be flustered, “no I-I always hear you play certain songs, so l looked them up,” Namjoon’s cheeks are red, like the colour of the sky at sunset. And they are hot, hot, hot.

Yoongi laughs and Namjoon is mesmerized and he wishes he could make him laugh like that always. To see his face break out into that wide smile. He wishes he got more chances to do that.

“I’m flattered,” he looks at Namjoon, hopeful, “Maybe someday I could play some of my other favourites for you.”

Namjoons cheeks are pink like peaches in the summer time, and he’s smiling. Dimples. Yoongi’s heart is beating faster, and faster, till he thinks it’s not even beating anymore.

“I would like that, ” Namjoon says finally.  And that’s how it begins.

They kiss the first time in the studio.  Yoongi plays his songs, and Namjoon writes down his stories. It’s almost as if writing down the sounds, making stories of magic from the music.   It’s moments like this Namjoon loves most.  Where the quiet doesn’t need words. Where the quiet isn’t lonely.

“What are you thinking about?” Yoongi asks. Namjoon hadn’t noticed that Yoongi had stopped playing, or that he was staring at him.

“Oh, nothing,” Namjoon says, flustered.

“Come here I want to teach you how to play piano,” Yoongi says. Moving over to make room for Namjoon.

Namjoon walks over and sits beside him. Shoulders touching ever so slightly. Hands brushing. Yoongi is so precise about his instructions. Like he knows the keys, knows the very construction of them by heart. Namjoon finds himself falling a little bit in love with the he plays. A little bit in love with him.

He’s in the middle of explaining when Namjoon kisses him. On the mouth. He swears he taste the music on Yoongi’s lips. To Namjoon’s surprise, Yoongi kisses him back. Soft, and slow. Fingers moving on Namjoon’s skin, smooth, like he were playing a song.

“You’re a shit student,” Yoongi says. Their foreheads touching, both of them, slightly out of breath.

Namjoon smiles, “Yeah, I know.”

Yoongi has never been much of a reader. He can’t even remember the name of the last book he read. But namjoon loves to read. And he loves to listen to Namjoon read. The way the words roll of his tongue low, and smooth. The way his voice changes ever so slightly when he comes across a line he likes. Or how he gets so immersed into a story that he forgets where he is. He loves to listen. He loves to listen to Namjoon read.

They lay in bed late afternoon, when its far too hot outside, tangled between sheets. Yoongis head resting softly on Namjoons shoulder. Eyes shut as he listens to the rise and fall of namjoons voice. To the soft beat of his heart.

“This is my favourite,” Yoongi whispered softly.

“This poem?”

“No, your voice,” Yoongi moves his head slightly, placing a hand on Namjoon’s chest, “and this,” he looks up at Namjoon. “They’re my favourite sounds.”

Yoongi listened to the soft thumping of his heart. The heart that loved to hard. The heart that sang the most beautiful words. If stars had a sound, Yoongi thought, it would be this. Like burning, like light.

“You’re my favourite.”

Namjoon smiles. Because he knows exactly what that means.

“You’re my favourite, too”

so people have been doing their favourite lines from every song in hamilton and i wanted to do it too


aaron burr sir: “i’m getting nervous” + “you’re an orphan? OF COURSE. I’M AN ORPHAN, GOD, I WISH THERE WAS A WAR THAT WE COULD PROVE THAT WE’RE WORTH MORE THAN ANYONE BARGAINED FOR” + “well if it ain’t the prodigy of Princeton college”

my shot: “you and i, do or die, wait till i sally in on a stallion with the first black battalion” + “burr, check what we got, mister lafayette, hard rock like Lancelot, i think your pants look hot, laurens, i like you a lot” + “a bunch of revolutionary manumission abolitionists” + “I’M PAST PATIENTLY WAITING, I’M PASSIONATELY SMASHING EVERY EXPECTATION, EVERY ACTION’S AN ACT OF CREATION, I’M LAUGHING IN THE FACE OF CASUALTIES AND SORROW, FOR THE FIRST TIME I’M THINKING PAST TOMORROW”

the story of tonight: “tomorrow there’ll be more of us”

the schuyler sisters: “burr, you disguuuuust me” “ah, so you’ve discussed me? im a trust fund, baby, you can trust me” + “AND WHEN I MEET THOMAS JEFFERSON, I'MMA COMPEL HIM TO INCLUDE WOMEN IN THE SEQUEL, WORK!” (fun fact: i started reading common sense by thomas paine just for this song lol)

farmer refuted: “is he in Jersey?” + “DON’T MODULATE THE KEY THEN NOT DEBATE WITH ME!”

you’ll be back: “my sweet submissive subject” + “i will kill your friends and family to remind you of my love”

right hand man: “GEORGE WASHINGTON” + “shboom goes the cannon, watch the blood and the shit spray” + “there’s another ship BOOM we just lost the southern tip” + “YOU NEED ALL THE HELP YOU CAN GET, I HAVE SOME FRIENDS, LAURENS, MULLIGAN, MARQUIS DE LAFAYETTE, OKAY WHAT ELSE”

a winter’s ball: “wE’RE RELIABLE WITH THE LADIESSSS” + “is it a question of if, burr, or which one?”

helpless: “i’m so into you, i am so into you” + “eliza, i don’t have a dollar to my name, an acre of land, a troop to command, a dollop of fame, all i have’s my honour, a tolerance for pain, a couple'a college credits and my top notch brain” + “and long as i’m alive, eliza, swear to god you’ll never feel so helpless”

satisfied: “i’m sure i don’t know what you mean, you forget yourself” + “so i’m the oldest and the wittiest and the gossip in New York City is insidious, and alexander is penniless…that doesn’t mean i want him any less” + “nice going, angelica, he was right, you will never be satisfied”

the story of tonight (reprise): “raise a glass to freedom, something you will never see again!” + “you are the worst, burr” + “well, iiiiii heard you’ve got a special someone on the siiiiide burr, what’re you tryna hiiiiiide burr” + “she’s married to a british officer.” “oh, shit”

wait for it: “i am the one thing in life i can control, i am inimitable, i am an original, i’m not falling behind or running late, i am not standing still, i am lying in wait” + the rest of the song but i love that bit especially

stay alive: “yeah… he’s not the choice i would have gone with, he shits the bed at the battle of monmouth” + “EVERYONE ATTACK” “RETREAT” “ATTACK” “RETREAT” “WHAT ARE YOU DOING LEE GET BACK ON YOUR FEET” “BUT THERE’S SO MANY OF THEM” “I’M SORRY, IS THIS NOT YOUR SPEED?!”

ten duel commandments: “can we agree that duels are dumb and immature?” “sure!” + “okay…so we’re doing this”

meet me inside: “this should be fun” + “you’re absolutely right, john should have shot him in the mouth, that would have shut him up” + “I AM NOT A MAIDEN IN NEED OF DEFENDING, I AM GROWN” + “go. home.”

that would be enough: “will you relish being a poor man’s wife? unable to provide for your life” “i relish being your wife” + “look around, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now” + “let this moment be the first chapter, where you decide to stay”

guns and ships: literally all of it except washington’s bit at the end

history has its eyes on you: “let me tell you what i wish i’d known when i was young and dreamed of glory, you have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story” + “but remember from here on in, history has its eyes on you”

yorktown: “immigrants— we get the job done” + “weapon in my hand, a command, and my men with me” + hercules mulligan’s entire rap + “FREEDOM FOR AMERICA, FREEDOM FOR FRANCE”

what comes next: “awesome! wow!”

dear theodosia: “i’m dedicating every day to you, domestic life was never quite my style, when you smile, you knock me out, i fall apart, and i thought i was so smart” + “yeah, you’ll blow us all away, someday”

non-stop: “corruption’s such an old song, we can sing along in harmony and nowhere is it stronger than in albany, this colony’s economy’s increasingly stalling and honestly, that’s why public service seems to be calling me. i practiced the law, i practically perfected it, i’ve seen injustice in the world and i’ve corrected it” + “yO WHO THE EFF IS THIS” + that fucking bit where all the major songs from act 1 are sung together + “I AM ALEXANDER HAMILTON, HAMILTON JUST YOU WAIT”

what’d i miss: “treasury secretary, washington’s the president, every american experiment sets a precedent, not so fast— someone came along to resist him, pissed him off until we had a two party system! you haven’t met him yet, you haven’t had the chance, cause he’s been kickin’ ass as the ambassador to France, but someone’s gotta keep the american promise, you simply must meet thomas— thomas!” + literally the whole song but mostly that lol

cabinet battle #1: “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, we fought for these ideals, we shouldn’t settle for less, these are wise words, enterprising men quote ‘em— don’t act surprised, you guys, cause i wrote 'em” + “damn you’re in worse shape than the national debt is in” + “such a blunder, sometimes it makes me wonder why i even bring the thunder”


say no to this: “half dressed, apologetic, a mess, she looked pathetic”

the room where it happens: “and all he had to do was die” “yeah, that’s a lot less work” “we oughta give it a try” + “really?” + “madison and jefferson are merciless” “well, hate the sin love the sinner” + “well, i arranged the meeting, i arranged the menu, the venue, the seating” + “oh, ho” “a quid pro quo” “i suppose” “wouldn’t you like to work a little closer to home?” “actually i would” “well, i propose the potomac” “and you’ll provide him his votes?” “well, we’ll see how it goes” “let’s go” “noooo” + “my god, in god we trust” + “god help and forgive me, i wanna build something thats gonna outlive me”

schuyler defeated: “no one knows who you are or what you do” “they don’t need to know me, they don’t like you”

cabinet battle #2: “UH WHO PROVIDED THOSE FUNDS??” “…france” + “i’ll remind you that hE IS NOT SECRETARY OF STATE” + “daddy’s calling”

washington on your side: “WHICH I WROTE” + “i have to resign” + “i’m in the cabinet , i am complicit in watching him grabbing at power and kissing it, if washington isn’t gon’ listen to disciplined dissidents, this is the difference, this kid is out!” + “soutHERN MOTHERFUCKING DEMOCRATIC REPUBLICANS”

one last time: “pick up a pen, start writing!”

i know him: “they will tear each other into pieces, jesus christ, this will be fun!”

the adams administration: “WELCOME FOLKS, TO THE ADAMS ADMINISTRATION” + “jefferson’s the runner up, that makes him the vice president” “washington can’t help you now, no more mister nice president” + “say what”

we know: “though virtue is not a word i’d apply to this situation” + “an immigrant embezzling our government funds” + “ya best gwarn run back where ya come from” + “as you can see, i kept a record of every cheque in my checkered history, check it again against your list n’ see consistency”

hurricane: “i wrote my way out of hell, i wrote my way to revolution, i was louder than the crack in the bell, i wrote eliza love letters until she fell” + “this is the only way i can protect my legacy”

the reynolds pamphlet: i love every single bit of this song

burn: “you built me palaces out of paragraphs, you built cathedrals” + “your sentences border on senseless, and you are paranoid in every paragraph on how they perceive you” + “let future historians wonder how eliza reacted when you broke her heart, you have torn it all apart, i am watching it burn” + “the world has no right to my heart, the world has no place in my bed, they don’t get to know what i said”

blow us all away: “how 'bout when i get back, we all strip down to our socks” + “george! george!” “shh, i’m tryna watch a show!” “shoulda watched your mouth before you talked about my father though!” + “i know where to find you, piss off, i’m watching this show now”

stay alive (reprise): “no!” “eliza!” “is he breathing? is he going to survive this? who did this, alexander, did you know?” + eliza’s whole part with philip

its quiet uptown: “and i pray. that never used to happen before” + “you knock me out, i fall apart” + “eliza, do you like it uptown? it’s quiet uptown.” + “look around, look around, eliza” + “there is a grace too powerful to name” + “…it’s quiet uptown” “forgiveness. can you imagine?” + “if you see him in the street, walking by her side, talking by her side, have pity. they are going through the unimaginable.”

the election of 1800: “john adams shat the bed, i love the guy, but he’s in traction; poor alexander hamilton, he is missing in action” + “and they say i’m a Francophile, at least they know i know where France is!” + “aHAHAHA YEAH RIGHT” + “ooh you know what, we can change that! you know why?” “why?” “cause i’m the president.”

your obedient servant: “if you’ve got something to say, name a time and place, face to face” + “here’s an itemised list of 30 years of disagreements” “sweet jesus”

best of wives and best of women: “why do you write like you’re running out of time? come back to bed, that would be enough” + “well, i’m going back to sleep.” + “hey. best of wives and best of women”

the world was wide enough: “WHY? IF NOT TO TAKE DEADLY AIM? IT’S HIM OR ME, THE WORLD WILL NEVER BE THE SAME.” + “eliza! my love, take your time. i’ll see you on the other side. raise a glass to freedom…” + “they say angelica and eliza were both at his side when he died” + “and history obliterates, in every picture it paints, it paints me and all my mistakes”

who lives, who dies, who tells your story: “i couldn’t undo it if i tried… and i tried” + “i rely on angelica, while she’s alive, we tell your story, she is buried in trinity church near you, when i needed her most, she was right on time” + “the ORPHANAGE” + “oh i can’t wait to see you again, it’s only a matter of time” + “will they tell your story? who lives, who dies, who tells your story?”

lost letters: vol i - iv

January 15th
i write to you as the sun splits the clouds for the first time this week. i’ve finally changed those nets on the window in the study that were covered in mold. 

i began this month as everyone else does, drunk, with two-faced optimism. i gave up cigarettes for scratch cards; stopped drinking, started jogging. yeah. jogging. i can hear you laugh from here. i can barely do 10 minutes.

lately, though, the shadow that stalks my bedroom has reared its head from beneath the floorboards again and reminded me i miss you as ever. 

this is actually really tough. i don’t know if you’ll receive this but…i hope you’re well. it’s been so long. did you finally cut your hair short?



January 20th
Darling, my hair runs past my waist now. It’s been months since I last held anything sharp. In fact, everything’s softer these days. Even the words that come out of my mouth have grown kinder. They’ve grown wings and I watch as they circle about the single bulb above my head. It’s only a matter of time before they grow tired and start hitting the windowpane with their soft, frail bodies because there is no light bulb.

It’s been a while. I hope you’d write me more often. It gets lonely here.



February 6th
jesus. it’s really you. i’ve read your letter more times than i feel comfortable admitting to…wow. my little soldier. i’m so glad you’re okay. i’m so sorry i didn’t write sooner. i really didn’t expect you to respond. in fact i don’t know what i expected.

i feel like i’ve been going a little crazy the past few days, and i’m paranoid it’s getting obvious. to emma. she moved in just before christmas. we recently found out we’re expecting but she works nights so it’s been so damn tough. really tough. it’s so much fucking darker when you’re on your own, you know? 

the phone rang at 3AM the other night and i sprang down the stairs and expected to hear your voice on the other end. now i’m not even sure if it really happened. i guess it’s kind of funny, really. it’s just i’ve barely stopped thinking about you since…i’ve even started reading your horoscopes after mine in the paper again.

jesus. it was so good to hear from you. so damn good. 
i’m glad you kept your hair long.



February 10th
Emma. Rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it? Unlike my name. Anyway, I bet she’s lovely as ever. I bet she still has that pretty face of hers. You never really introduced us properly, you know. I’ve always thought that maybe we would have gotten along just fine. Maybe. Well, I bet Christmas was great for you. I bet you’d do just fine with a little time. I mean, I’d bet on a lot of things but I don’t have that much now, do I? But you know what? I bet you know nothing about being on your own. I mean, really being on your own. You’ve always had it easy for you. Right from the beginning. Spoilt kid. Mommy and daddy always giving you whatever you wanted. Excellent marks. All the girls loved you. But what did you do? You fucked it up. You always do. If you had just been, I don’t know, grateful to you folks and maybe went to uni and I don’t know, maybe if you never set your sights on me? I mean, I thought we were happy. For a while, I guess. But oh, I almost forgot, you always find a way to fuck things up. Congratulations and good luck with the baby. Here’s to hoping all the poor, little thing gets from you is your pretty face.



February 14th
i wrote this the other night over 18 cigarettes and a bottle of cornershop whiskey. its fucking nasty stuff. what you said hit home. you’re right. happy fucking valentines.

i once longed
for the sun,

for the moon
no longer 
pleased me

now i long 
for the moon

burnt and in 
the dark.



February 20th
You really haven’t changed that much, have you? You still think that a bit of time and - and poetry could fix everything. Well, you’re half right, I’ll admit. 
I’ve been thinking and I guess I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have written all those nasty things to you. I was just angry and upset and it felt like a bubble just burst and everything’s louder again. Remember those winged creatures I told you about a month ago? Well, they’re all dead now. 

But anyway, thanks for the poem. I miss this. I really do. You’re a great writer, you know. Do you still write? I hope you do. I hope you get published or something. I’d love to see your name on my shelf. That would be a nice thing to wake up to every morning, I think. I really do.

I hope you write me more soon.



March 28th
everytime i pick up a pen my hand shakes. you have no idea how many versions of the same letter i’ve wrote to you have ended up in the paper shredder. 

baby boy. it’s due july 15th. is it fucked up that i remember that day? it was one of the best days of my life. i hope you remember it as well as i do.

you were right you know. i don’t know if you meant all of it but it’s all true. i fucked up. you don’t owe me anything. never mind an apology. can i ask you something? have you…moved on? i hope you have; hope you have someone who treats you right. 

i burnt my breakfast twice this morning. i dont have a fucking clue what i’m doing. how can i be a father or a husband when i can’t even work a gas oven.

it’s funny right? 

i miss you little soldier. 

by the way, me and emma aren’t together anymore. she found a bunch of pictures i’d kept of us…of you. they were lying out. it’s kind of fucked. it was ugly. i told her the truth. i was always a shit liar.



March 30th
“I fancied you’d return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”



April 7th
There’s a cup of piping hot tea by my elbow and the curtains are drawn for the first time in weeks. I’m watching this year’s first April shower. It feels as though the world would stop moving if I take my eyes off it, even for just a fraction of a second. 

I’m sorry I haven’t written you back. That last letter you sent me – it sounds familiar. I think you’ve read it to me two, maybe three years ago? By the beach. And the waves were crashing against the massive pointed rocks like shark’s teeth that never really took a bite. It was late in the evening, wasn’t it? The seagulls shrieked overhead but your voice was the only sound in the world.

There’s someone at the door. I forgot to mention, I’m going to the mountains for a few weeks, maybe a month. I thought it would be good for me. I’m sorry to hear about Emma, by the way. I hope you work things out with her. For the kid, at least.



April 12th
i remember the soft murmurs at 4am as you slept, the smell of african violet infused with coconut, the drapes lifted by the open window. i remember sleep. not as if it were yesterday, but as though, in another lifetime, i could breathe, i could actually…

i’ve been painting my bedroom a mixture of ivory and teal. feels nice. emma came round two nights ago. we’re trying to be amicable. we had some wine and sat on the couch together. i started crying halfway through watching ghostbusters. 

the last letter i sent you was sylvia plath. i can’t believe you remembered that night. i think i said. it was one of my favourite days with you. i never told you this, but it was the first time in my life everything felt…right.

i’ve decided me and emma aren’t gonna work. together i mean. not right now. not when all i can think about is us, how much i fucked us up. what i did to you. she doesn’t need that. i make it sound as if it’s not mutual. i’m sure it is. 

i’m sorry. i’m really not sure what to say except stay safe little soldier. lose yourself up there.



April 24th
Everything feels right tonight. I watched the sun set earlier today and for once it didn’t feel like the end of a sad movie when the credits roll in and the stranger by the piano starts to play a wistful tune. It seems to me that the mountain fog is what’s keeping me anchored to reality. Without it, I’m afraid I just might float up and up. I could almost touch the clouds here. I could almost taste tomorrow. But tonight, there’s a man on the other side of the bed. What was it you once told me about love? “Let us forget with generosity those who cannot love us.” In a blinding rage, I almost had those words tattooed on my ribs after you walked out the door and never came back. This is what I can remember: I sat back in a reclining chair. For a moment, I was nine and the dentist is pulling out my rotten tooth. A cold solution dampened my skin and I flinched. “It’s just rubbing alcohol.” “Okay.” I opened my eyes. Did I mention I had my eyes closed the entire time? And the lady was asking me if the outline was positioned correctly. That’s when everything began to feel wrong. So I put on my coat and I walked out. If only I still knew how to do that these days. Wouldn’t it be wonderful? To just put your coat back on and walk out when everything’s falling apart? Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Tonight, everything feels right. But I just had to ruin it all because I had a blinding urge to write to you. 



May 17th
forgive me.

i realised last night that i have so much to say sorry for. to you. to emma. to my parents. and christ, this unborn child. how many apologies do i owe him before he’s even born?

which is easier? telling myself that i had true happiness with emma before i wrote you? or telling myself that i only ever had it with you. and now we’re reduced to paper. photographs. ink. memories.

how much weight can five letters carry? is there a point where it just sticks in the flesh like a tumour? the word itself is a filthy addiction, one i cannot curb for a few weeks like the cigarettes i tossed away on new years day.

forgive me.



May 24th
it’s just hit me. i’m going to be a father. 

he’s going to have my eyes.
he’s not going to have his mother’s crooked nose.
he’s going to be whatever he wants to be.
he’s going to travel to fucking mars and back if he wants.
he’s going to be my son.

i hope you’re home soon.
i’m going to keep sending letters to this address anyway.
you must have so many stories. i want to know them all.
i want to know what the air tasted like. i want to know if you could see your breath at night, or if you had to wake up to kick the covers on the floor. i want to know that when you thought of me, it didn’t hurt. that you smiled, cause you were a thousand miles away from the fucking idiot.

P.S. the man on the other side of the bed in your last letter, i hope if he grabs his coat and leaves, it’s because you told him to. 



May 29th

happy birthday.
(i still read your horoscopes)



June 5th
“It’s June. I’m tired of being brave.”

It’s that poet who committed suicide, wasn’t it? Isn’t it sad that decades after her death, that’s what people remember of her – that poet who committed suicide.

I’ve been thinking and that’s precisely it. This is a perpetual suicide. Picture this:

After you left, I put your old coat on and poured myself a glass of vodka. The world is a garage. We’re all locked in here. I suppose my bell jar is an idle car and my lungs are slowly getting used to what’s killing me. At night I die.

Here’s the catch: Every morning I wake up. I get up and I get ready for the day. I unlock the door. I smile at people. I shut the door behind me. Night falls. I fill my glass once more and the cycle begins again.

I’ve been thinking about that but it’s June. I’m tired of being brave.

I think I’ll stay here for a while longer. In the mountains, I mean. Because I could at least blame the fog for my clouded consciousness. I hope you don’t mind me sending you these letters. I hope don’t tire of being brave anymore.


June 12th
this so much reminds me of that old adage, ‘if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?’ in that i’m screaming your name – in fact, i could scream louder if my lungs could permit me to – and you don’t hear a thing. i could write to you telling you how many flakes of bran were in my cereal today, or i could pompously reel off quotes from dead poets cause my own words escape me, or i could send nothing. 

you know i keep getting this mental image of you coming home and pushing the door through a pile of letters. like a scene in a film.

who would you want to play you if they made a film about us do you think? i think orson welles would’ve played me well. he’s just a bit bigger about the jaw. maybe humphrey bogart. or someone alive. i dunno. i might watch casablanca tonight actually. or citizen kane. or both.

you used to drink the cheapest vodka. i can’t put my arms around you and tell you it’s gonna be okay this time but please promise me you’re at least not drinking shit vodka.

stay safe.



June 13th
I wrote a poem for you today. I know, I know. I’m not good at it. I could almost hear that hearty laugh of yours if I close my eyes tight enough - maybe. I was thinking about sending it to you. But wouldn’t that be stupid of me, a non-poet, sending poetry to a poet? Sounds pathetic if I put it that way, doesn’t it? I’m not even sure it qualifies as a poem, you know? I don’t think anyone would want to call it a “poem”. No, I don’t think so. But anyway, what I’m trying to say is this: I am unhappy. And it’s been raining all morning. And I miss you. And I hope you’re well.



June 13th
'what i’ve got to do you can’t be any part of. i'm no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. someday you’ll understand that.’

it’s from casablanca. i can’t believe you’d never seen that film. 

you opened the door, kicked your shoes across the carpet, collapsed into me, we ordered pizza. all we wanted to do was kiss each other. after the credits had finished you said you didn’t like it cause it didn’t have a happy ending. i promised ours would.

stay brave for me if you can’t for yourself.



July 1st

i’ve been trying to stop myself from writing to you. or should i say i’ve been trying to stop myself from writing to your address. it feels like i’ve got a picture of you on my bedside table but i keep it permanently face down. i’ve been trying to stop myself from writing to you, yeah, but this is a guy who also tried to stop drinking and smoking yet sits over his desk, stooped over an ashtray and a full glass. you know the one thing i managed to do was stop writing poetry. and i didn’t even want to do that. what the fuck is that about? this is the first day of a big month. is it a sign? do i even believe in that shit? they say with a death comes new life. haha. is that just people’s way of dealing with loss? isn’t everything in life just that? in a few months does my bedside table hold a picture of a family. this child. is it the first thing i see every morning. am i able to suppress this constant discourse between us. letters and more and more fucking letters. more and more apologies. 

sometimes i don’t even know what to say to you, scarlet. holy shit. where are you? why aren’t you here? i might’ve ran away, you know, might’ve considered it. ran off to find you like they do in films. 

hah. find you. 
i can’t even find my lighter.



July 15th

Today’s the big day, isn’t it? I could lie and say so many nice things. “I almost didn’t remember but it just crossed my mind so I thought I’d write to you // Congratulations // Isn’t that what normal people say? // You’ll be a great father, don’t worry // I’m so happy for you // I’m so happy for you // I’m so happy for you” The truth is:

I’ve been reading those letters you wrote me from back in January. I admit, I packed them among the shampoo and toothpaste. As if they, too, fit in the category of things that clean a human being. 

There is fog. For the past few days, we have been sealing the doors and windows with wet towels. You’d be surprised by the amount of holes a room so small can have. Even light has a way of sneaking in uninvited. We’ve been trying to sleep for two weeks now, but I always wake on the third night. 

A moth flew in the other day while I was brushing my teeth. I wondered how little it had to make itself to get inside and how much getting in had meant to it and if it was worth it all. I could feel its body at the heel of my shoe with every step I took to get back to bed. It’s 4 in the afternoon, goodbye.



July 24th
joshua.  8lb 4oz. born july 18th. 6:52pm. 
has his father’s eyes.

the whole room stopped still as i held him for the first time. he’s so tiny. the world didn’t matter for a few moments. it felt like i was looking into a reflection in the water. waiting for someone to throw in a stone.

emma’s mother still isn’t speaking to me. the rest of her family seem to be treating me sympathetically, i remember they were looking at me as if i was homeless and they had no change. it doesn’t matter. emma looked at me from the bed and she smiled. it was resigned, as if to say. 'i really want to fucking hate you but i can’t.’ everyone was shaking hands, and our families talked but i didn’t hear a thing. my son was laying in his mother’s arms, and everything was quiet.

now i am home again, it is no longer quiet and you are here with me, you’re in my bed at night, you’re next to me when i’m making coffee, you’re knocking on my door. 
i feel hope in my blood. it is not joshua. it is Scarlet.



August 18th

It’s dark and my bags are packed. Remember when I used to tell you that I was afraid of the dark just so you would hold my hand? Remember the time we danced in the rain but you ran for cover when the lightning struck? Remember the bathroom spiders, the Lilliputian elevators, edges of cliffs that look like the monster’s mouth but monsters only sleep under a child’s bed, you said? We were afraid of so many things back then and right now it frightens me that nothing scares me anymore.



August 20th

i was late. you were wearing an ivory dress with a teal cardigan. your hair was always in your eyes. you spent the whole evening playing around with it. you didn’t say much, you kind of hid under a shy smile, and you covered your mouth when you laughed. i did most of the talking. i was nervous. hell, i was nervous for the 3 dates that followed, i was nervous on the third date when we were waiting for the bus and you put your head on my chest. i don’t think we’d touched each other apart from a couple of friendly hugs. you put your head against my chest and i pressed my lips to the top of your head. you leant up to me, the streetlamps danced amber in your eyes, you smiled with just the left corner of your mouth, and we kissed. i was nervous in the morning you stayed the night. i was nervous moving into our first house. i was nervous when i knew i was leaving. i was nervous when i left. i’m nervous now.

i remember everything. i think, now, i just wanted to protect you. i was always afraid. nothing had made sense in my life before you, so i had to protect it every way i could. i had to protect you. but i left you. you were my little soldier and i left you to fend for yourself. to stand in the dark in the lightening in the middle of the street and my door was locked. i walked away and closed my eyes. what kind of a man does that? and what kind of a man does the same thing twice? i can’t walk away this time. i keep trying to shoehorn you into my future. but why? am i doing it for you or for myself? it’s been almost a month since joshua was born. believe me, please believe me scarlet if i had the chance to leave all this behind…believe me i’ve considered it. leaving emma and the baby…i knew if you were here to put your hands on mine and tell me to, i would. but you wouldn’t. you’re an angel. and you’re more of a poet than i ever could be.

i could write for hours, but you’re coming home and i know that this might be the last letter i send to your address. i have to make this work. i have a family. i have a good woman who is willing to wake up next to me every morning. i have a baby boy that shares my name, and i have so much to give. and you have so much more. and there’s a billion other people that deserve it more than i do.

i’m so sorry.



I’ve been home for a week now. It’s some night in September – perhaps it’s October. I’m uncertain exactly but I look out the window and leaves are jumping from the treetops again.

There’s something special about stepping on dried leaves: the sound, the faint feeling at the bottom of your mud-caked shoes. It lasts but a moment.

My fish died. I found him nuzzled between two fake seaweed tentacles. He looked peaceful - as if he slept away death and in a few hours he’ll wake up as a shark in some far away ocean.

I read each letter you sent. It was like reading the script of a tragic play that never ended tragically – except for a couple of extras perhaps and some unknown character whose part was cut off at the last minute. By your final letter, I swear you’ve become a completely different person; someone I’ve never met. I guess that’s a good thing. I guess it’s my turn to become a completely different person. 

Maybe in some far away ocean,



October 11th
scarlet, please don’t talk like that. you know, since i made a promise to emma to stop writing to you, i’ve wrote thirteen letters. this is just the second one that i’m sending. i’m not really sure why anymore. i closed the book, i ended the chapter, i gave you up didn’t i? 

maybe i can’t give up things that fuck up my insides. maybe i’m not supposed to.  i’ve sat here writing to an idea of you, a notion, a ghost in my mirror that never really knew what i was saying. or why i was saying it. you vanished for months and i was still writing to the girl i watched sleep on lazy sundays, the girl that laughed at my shit jokes, the girl that hung on my every word, that relied on me for protection, for safety, for fucking everything, you were everything, i was your everything, but i was writing to you as if you hadn’t changed. as if nothing had changed. 

do you even feel anything anymore? when was the last time you felt something? only god knows how many times i read the letters you sent me, but i never really read them at all did i?

my world has fallen apart, and rebuilt itself around me. and all i’ve done is watch from my window picturing it the way i remember it three years ago. 

tell me to stop writing to you. just. tell me. tell me i’m pathetic, i’m stupid, i’m dumb. tell me that i can’t put it right. tell me what you actually feel. there’s no closure in this. there never will be. it’s in your hands. it has to be.



October 20th
Did you know there are rivers that split into two, that meet again for one final time before they get lost in separate ways into the huge, damning sea? 

I read it in a magazine once. Maybe in another life we are these rivers and our paths were always meant to diverge – as did the ones before us and the ones before them and so on, you know? 

Maybe in any life, this is always the hand we’re dealt with and we really have no say in anything the universe tells us. 

So how about it? We meet again for the last time before we get lost in our separate ways in this huge, damning world. Tuesday morning at the café with the geraniums out front. After that, we could close this book for good. I’ve decided I’d like to settle down in New York. Get my own place, be closer to my family. I might even visit them on Sundays, like I used to. Maybe a restless city would help me forget. 

I’ll wait for you then.



October 30th
the world was ending. we were hiding out in an abandoned camper van. everything was dangerous, and it was our job to protect each other. you had disappeared one morning, with no word, no letter, no note. i panicked. i didn’t understand. i traveled the city in search of you. i’d never been so scared. i called your name because my life depended on it. i thought yours did too. i thought you were in danger. but you weren’t. when i found you. you were huddled tight in the arms of another man. in your left hand, you held a child’s hand.

i woke up, and i finally understood. how cruel it was of me to send you letters. i imagined going back to the camper van in my dream, alone. with the world crumbling around me. after weeks, and months of wondering why, wondering what i had done, i imagined finding a way to move on, but suddenly one morning seeing the silhouette of your body in the distance. you are alone. i start to run towards you, before the silhouettes of the man, the child appear next to your side. that’s what i imagine it was like for you to receive that letter i sent to you in february.  i was lost, and you were still a beacon after all that time. i thought i knew clarity, but i had my eyes closed in muddied water. thank you for helping me see. 


i don’t know what i expected when we met up on that tuesday… a week ago today. i didn’t know what i was going to say, what you were going to look like, or if you would show up. you looked beautiful. your hair suits you, short. i could’ve kissed your face a thousand times, i could’ve reached across the table to touch your hand. i’m glad i didn’t. we chatted like old friends, even our parting hug was not an embrace, not a teary final farewell, it was pleasant, quick, just…nice i guess. i wished you well, as a friend. we go our separate ways again. emma asked me how my day was. i said i bumped into an old friend. guess i wasn’t lying.

i still don’t know why you wanted us to meet for the last time, but i’m glad we did. it is for the best, that we never see each other again. i hope we’re right.

i don’t know if you will even write me again, but when you move this christmas, please don’t give me your new address. 



January 3rd
The shadows have returned. And they’re taking down the fairy lights. Tell them they’d be nothing without the light. Tell them you’re afraid of the dark.

This year, the fireworks were silent. Nothing feels new. My life feels like a hook without the bait - dangling above water. And I see no reflection. The fishes are dead.



Aaron Lennox - @reykogast
Scarlet Vane - @mimickingmaelstroms

Off Day Adventure: Roxane Gay

*So, I went to the Roxane Gay reading in Chicago tonight. My feelings and thoughts are everywhere but, I needed to write about this.  I’m sorry there are a bunch of grammar and spelling errors. I wrote this on my iphone, on the train ride back home. If you read the whole thing you get to see the selfie I took. I hope y'all like it.  

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Poetry In Motion // Calum Hood

Requested; Yes
Summary; (Y/N) is a poet and Calum falls in love with her. A fan has a tattoo of a poem she wrote and Calum asks the fan who wrote it and she says (Y/N) and they end up meeting at a party in London accidentally.

It all started at a meet and greet. There was a young lady, maybe in her early twenties, with a small piece of literature that was inked on her forearm that caught his attention. The scripture was something he was familiar with.

“Wow,” Calum sighed with a smile on his face. He read the beautifully written poem over and over in his head. “Sweet tattoo, who wrote that? Or is it your own?”

“No, oh god no, I could never write something like this! It was written by (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Do you know her?” The young lady looked down excitingly at her tattoo.

“Um no but I’ll definitely have to look her up, I like this… a lot.” He grinned. (Y/N) (Y/L/N), Calum repeated. He loved the sound of that name.

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Writing Love, One Letter at a Time.

At some point in my teens, I remember writing a suicide note. Or it may have been that I was planning to run away. In my mind, it felt like a suicide note.

It started with something like a “thank you” to my family and friends, but also that “I can no longer stay in this place. Something needs to change, I need to be heard. The walls are too high, the space is too small, I can’t breathe, I want to scream. I need a change of pace, some different scenery, I need a miracle, and I need it now.” By the time I was finished writing the note, I was terrified. Terrified that I had let it out, all this crazy stuff that had been living inside me. But in this odd way, I felt so much better. 

I’m pretty sure this is where my love/hate, obsession/addiction with writing started. It was like this light bulb went off. I wasn’t expecting to feel so free, so OK. Writing became my safe haven. Wherever I was, whatever I was going through, I could always spill it to a blank page. 

I’ve kept a journal from a very young age. Always documenting this and that, with whom and where. But it wasn’t until I felt that unbearable, make-you-want-to-scream, out of control, crazy feeling, that I realized what a blessing it truly was. 

Speaking of blessings, it would appear, judging from my blogs, Instagram, and twitter, that my life is just one big awesome blessing. It is. I have been very lucky. But it has a lot to do with the lens that I choose to/try to remember to see life through. Seeing the positive in the negative. The light in the dark. That the shitty times are necessary in order to really know and appreciate the good. Trusting in the unknown. Trusting that when things don’t go our way, when we get bad news, when we’re broken up with, when we don’t feel welcome in a group, it’s all life preparing us for what’s to come. I always try and highlight the positive. 

I’m sure there are some people reading this going, “Yea, but you’ve never been raped. You’ve never self-harmed. You’ve never lost a parent.” I haven't—but I have sat with people that have. And I know it’s not always that easy to just “look at the brighter side of things” and trust “everything happens for a reason.” I know that when you are going through something heavy, that advice is the last thing you want to hear. And so it’s equally important to sit with the energy these events can stir up. It’s OK to take as long as you need to recover, to be OK again. There is no amount of time in which you need to do so. It’s OK to feel sad, to feel depressed, to feel ashamed, or naive. It’s OK to want to sleep for days. It’s OK to want to just tell everything and everyone to just fuck off for a minute, while you freak out for a little bit. Life happens, your reaction to it is valid, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You are always allowed to feel how you feel. 

At the same time, it’s all about perspective. You can make a situation mean whatever you want it to mean. You can let it rule you and make you miserable, or, you can make peace with it, find forgiveness, and be done with it.

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A little bit about me: I grew up with a brother seven years older, from a different father, and two parents who worked full-time jobs. I was dropped off at my grandma’s house a lot. I was never allowed to have sleepovers, rarely allowed to have friends over. I was allowed to be in Girl Scouts, which was pretty cool. I grew up playing soccer, had a quick stint in ice skating, and in junior high, I learned how to surf. As a kid, I got in trouble for the stupidest shit: Leaving handprints on walls, spilling food on the carpet, being too rough with the kitchen cabinets. I feel like, growing up in our house, I was always doing something wrong, and as a result of that, I can now be a super perfectionist. I also got in trouble, even when it wasn’t my fault—like when someone poured red curb paint in a circle on our driveway, and my dad handed me a bucket and some sort of cleaning solution and said, "Better get to it.” It took me five days to scrub it off with one of those handheld bristle brushes. To this day, I never found out who did it. 

I guess that’s what you get for being an unpopular kid. I’ve never been popular. Even now, I still don’t consider myself popular. 

When I was 5 years old, I became best friends with the girl who moved in next door. She was instantly popular. One day in elementary school, I remember asking if I could sit next to her at lunch. She kind of just shrugged as the table filled up around her with the cool kids. I was an outcast. I had freckles, and my mom liked to put rollers in my hair on the first day of school. I was long-limbed, pale, and awkward. When I started playing soccer in the 5th grade, there were some older girls on the team who always picked on me. One day, when I was dropped off early for practice, they started teasing me, pushing me around. I continued down toward the field, as they gave me the first and only wedgie I have ever received by another human. (Years later, those same girls tried to connect with me on Facebook and come to one of my shows. To that I say, “Suck it, b*tches.”)

High school was a little better. I was growing into my long-limbed, weird, little body. Plus, high school was where a couple different junior high schools merged, so I was excited to start a new chapter with different peers. I joined the surf team, and surfing became my identity. In my freshman year, the surf brand Roxy came to our school to interview our girls’ surf team for possible candidates to be a Roxy girl. One other girl and I were picked, and that was like someone finally cut me a break. I was kind of cool, and boys begin to look at me like I was pretty. But then I was made fun of by some of the other girls for being excited about being a Roxy girl, told I was “changing,” told I was becoming really “conceited.” I couldn’t win either way. I learned early on: You can’t make everyone happy. I wasn’t a Roxy model for very long, but I did get approached by a local, little modeling agency—so I became a model anyway. How’s that for some self-confidence? 

I’d say it was probably around this time, age 15 or 16, when I wrote that note I was talking about earlier. This was when I started managing my feelings, my thoughts, and hormones on paper. What a release, and a relief. It was then that I began writing love letters to myself. 

Modeling didn’t really go anywhere. After a couple castings in LA, I realized I didn’t really have what it took to be pretty and put together all the time. I started teaching myself how to play guitar. I would sit on the front porch and annoy my best friend—the one I met when I was 5 years old. I would pluck strings and try to make sense of the fret board. We would listen to Ani Difranco cassettes over and over. We would say, “She understands us” and "Where has she been our whole life?” I would write, and write, and write. I would stay up late, until 4 am, writing journal entries and poems. Eventually, when I could play chords, I would put my writing with the music. I became a songwriter, and I didn’t even realize it. 

In high school, I also worked at this awesome little pizza restaurant. My mom used to take me there as a kid, and she knew the owners. Hard to believe now, but back then my parents were strict, paranoid, and protective. The pizza place seemed like a safe place for their 15-year-old daughter to work. I ended up working there until I was 20. It was probably one of the best things to ever happen to me. I loved being around people, being of service—even if it was making someone an Italian sub. I liked knowing I was efficient and valuable to the “pizza team.” I liked being on a first-name basis with the regulars. I liked the feeling of community. 

At the pizza shop, I had an amazing boss. He taught me more about life than maybe anyone I’ve ever known. He was a bass player in a little jazz trio, so when I told him how I played guitar and wrote songs, he would give me 4-track recorders and distortion pedals to play with. He became one of my best friends, a mentor. He went through all my high school bullshit with me, from boys to rebelling against my parents. Some days, I would come into work so pissed off about who knows what, and he would take me out back, where there was this huge stucco wall. He’d hand me a Snapple bottled and be like, “Chuck it at the wall.” And then he would hand me another, and say “Again.” I would throw as many as I needed until I felt better. I will never forget that. I worked there until I was 20. I definitely have days when I really miss that stucco wall. 

I eventually quit modeling altogether. I realized I had better things to do with my time. The modeling wasn’t very fulfilling. (Eh, actually, what really happened was, after high school, one of my best friends and I went backpacking around Europe. When we got to Italy, we pretty much ate all of Italy. When I got home, I got put on time out because I had gained 10 pounds. I didn’t even care; heck, I didn’t even notice. And that’s when I knew me and modeling were done-zo.) 

I started to pursue music, and through some mutual friends, I met a guy who had a little studio out back behind his house. There we recorded my first 4-song demo (You can listen to it for free on my Soundcloud. I sold the little demo at the pizza place, and life was good. A couple years later, I ended up recording a 7-song EP, and then got an offer to go on tour with G. Love & Special Sauce, where I met my manager, who was with me for the past nine years. Within months, I was signed to Virgin Records, had a booking agent, and was on the road. 

Music was a career I never planned, dreamt of, or hoped for. Music found me. Nothing in my life had ever felt so right. 

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Fast forward to now …

The past couple years have not been easy, but they have been so rich in life, in experience, I would not take them back for the world. Things could be better, things could be worse—such is life. 

I often think back to my childhood; being made fun of so much as a kid really toughened me up and prepared me for the future. I’m pretty much in a business based on popularity, largely based on interacting with people through social media. People can tear you down as much as they can build you up. I’ve been scrutinized for the people I’ve dated, I’ve pissed off managers and booking agents because of it. I’ve been embraced and praised by fans, and I’ve been told I suck. But one thing I am proud of is that in all of those moments, I always only root for love. Even if it meant pissing someone off, even if it meant someone thinking I was only dating someone just to get to the next level. Sure, I’ve made some terrible decisions, but that’s love for you. And, I’ve always believed in love. It’s burned me, it’s proposed to me, it’s broken up with me, it’s left me in the middle of my house bawling my eyes out. It’s caused ex-girlfriends and ex-boyfriends to freak the fuck out. It’s ruined friendships, it’s brought friendships closer together. It’s healed me, it’s inspired me to write some amazing songs. It’s always lifted me up, it keeps me going. It’s my light at the end of the tunnel. And it’s something you can NEVER give up on. 

And, if there is anything I have learned in this life, it’s that you gotta do you. Regardless of what that means: fighting for something, ending something, moving to a new town, telling the truth, being honest with your partner, your best friend, with your parents, with YOURSELF. Sometimes it seems like it might be easier and quieter to dig yourself into a hole. But it’s not. There is so much beauty out there, so many people out there to meet, so much more to live for, SO MUCH MORE than letting your fears and challenges win.

I recently parted with my manager, the one who has been with me for the past 9 years. It wasn’t easy. But in my heart, I knew it was the right choice. I didn’t know why, but I just knew. It was time for a change. I’ve met with many managers since then, and they have all given me great advice. But none seem eager to take me on. The last manager I met with, I was for sure he was my guy, but he came to the show, and he didn’t love it … How’s that for a reality check? 

It’s hard when life slaps you with some truth. It’s easy to feel like maybe I should give up, maybe I’m not good enough, maybe I’m getting too old to stay in the game. But that would be throwing away everything I have ever worked so hard for. And, let me tell you, I have worked my ass off. I haven’t been handed anything, no golden ticket, no easy way the top. There have been a lot of setbacks—but there also have been a lot of victories. I’m a fighter, an underdog. Giving up is not an option. It just means the perfect manager hasn’t come along yet. And while it can be frustrating, I try to see it as the Universe looking out for me. I will find the right manager. These things take time, and it will work out the way it’s supposed to. So, I’m using this down time to really focus on me, come up with a new plan, tune in and find out what I really want for my career and this next chapter of life. It doesn’t mean my career is over. It doesn’t mean my life is over. It’s just life. I get to choose what I want and where I want to go. I get to choose my own adventure. 

While my career is in somewhat of a holding pattern, my boyfriend proposed—so, he rules. He is probably one of the best things to ever happen to me. I have never met a man who fought for me like he does. He stayed by my side, even when I tried to push him away, even when I got super emotional—to the point where he looked at me like, “Is that the same girl who was just in the room 10 minutes ago?” He’s got so much patience, so much love to give, and he’s amazing. It took 31 years to meet him. I’m glad I didn’t settle. I didn’t know what I deserved until I met him. 

I was engaged once before, for 4 months, until my then-fiancé broke it off. I’ll admit, once that happened, I didn’t really fight for it. Normally when someone breaks up with someone, your initial reaction is to prove them wrong, win them back, list all the reasons why you are meant to be. But with him, I never did. I think I knew it was done. For a long time, I felt like it ruined me. It was like an old building being torn down. It destroyed my world. But when the dust settled, it was like a clean slate, and it left me feeling empowered. For that, I will always be grateful.  

Sometimes, when we are in something, we don’t see how toxic it actually can be. We see no other way. We don’t see how it gets better than it is. And sometimes it takes something so powerful, so devastating, so unbelievable, to get our attention. To get it through our heads that there is another way to live. There is another path waiting for us. And it’s filled with joy, and love, and people who care. 

                        *                               *                               *

I was inspired to write this because, this year, I am a part of To Write Love On Her Arms’ HEAVY AND LIGHT shows. We already played one last Saturday in Los Angeles, and there’s one more coming up on January 19 in Orlando. TWLOHA is all about this shit. Real life, ups and downs, being OK with not being OK, and knowing you are not alone. Life isn’t just pretty selfies, toned bodies, dogs, and cute kissy romantic pics. It’s snotty, depressed, heartbroken, unbearable feelings as well. I like honoring both. I like being proud of both. I like to feel like it’s nearly impossible for one to exist without the other. And I like to think that it’s OK to be human. 

I will leave you with one last thought, something that Jamie Tworkowski, founder of TWLOHA once shared with me. He said, “People have stories, they need to be heard, and everyone deserves to be surrounded by people who care about that story.” No matter how long or self-involved, however major or minor that story may be. Everyone deals with shit differently. People have feelings and those feelings are valid. Sometimes there is not a “wrong” or “right” story. We just all have our own experiences, and we should all be able to feel safe to share them, because at the end of the day, we could all learn a lot from each another. 

Thanks for reading this novel of a blog. It took me about a week to finish. My intention was to post it before the LA show, but I didn’t, and I think I know why … My mom sent me this pic yesterday:

We’ ll see ya Sunday the 19th, at the House of Blues in Orlando, FL. It’s going to be a special night, and I am stoked for be a part of it. 

xx TP 


Profiling the Pen: juliesioux

Today we’re talking to @juliesioux who writes both poetry and prose Olicity fanfiction, often focusing on the senses or how Oliver and Felicity interact with the natural world. Julie has an fascinating perspective on our favorite characters as they fit into universal storytelling and the mystical or divine. 

What is your writing process like?

It runs between two extremes: slow and HOLY SHIT FAST! I always try to pace the research out (if it is needed) prior to writing but I inevitably do it as I am writing so I end up making a lot of revisions as I go.

I tend to skip right past the prewrite stage and just dive into the writing of whatever it is I am writing. I try to draft, or sketch out a rough draft, but sometimes a word or phrase comes to me and I can see the entire piece in my head and I just sit down and write until it is done.

I am a lousy editor of my own work (an awesome one of others) so I rush things a bit and just go straight to publishing. My Master’s Degree was in visual anthropology so I had the privilege of making a short film and only writing a short paper instead of a full thesis. I really wish I had brought the patience I developed in grad school with me to creative writing lol

How much/how fast can you write when you’re really in the zone?

Fast. I have been known to write a 1000+ word fic in under an hour (edited and posted to AO3 and tumblr).

Do you have any rituals or stimuli (music, libations) you need to do or queue up before you start writing?

In the morning or afternoon, I make a good cup of coffee (like a single pour Kona or Ka’u cup of coffee - no blends for this girl) and put on playlist designed specifically for the tone I am writing towards (I have one for the more uplifting poems/fics I write and another for the extreme angsty ones) and start or continue.

In the evening, I make some tea or iced tea, put on the playlist du jour and settle in. I always wait until later in the evening (because there are things I like to watch and some nights I get home late from the gym) to really start writing because I tend to get inspiration at the weirdest hours. 11 pm is my magic hour. I tend to really dig into pieces at or after 11 pm.

Regardless, I always wear my pjs and (if the weather is cool) I snuggle under a warm blanket and close out the outside world so as to not get distracted.

What are your five favorite fanfic tropes?

Hmmm…this is a hard one. I am not a fan of more than I am a fan of, to be honest. But if I were to identify at least one it would be Oliver/Felicity reacting to a bad dream ala PTSD as the major one. On occasion I enjoy Oliver/Felicity reacting to other getting hurt. That about covers it to be honest. I prefer the tropes that explore the inner worlds of established canon as opposed to outward actions. Specifically, emotional tropes related to love, trust, honesty, passion and anger. They hold the most interest for me as a reader and a writer.

What is the greatest challenge you have in writing, the hurdle you are constantly jumping to get the words on the page?


I get so involved in watching stuff on tv or on netflix or reading that I lose valuable hours for writing. Plus I have zero time at work to do anything, so those few precious hours I have at home, I sometimes waste by watching the shows that actually inspire me lol

Are the things you want to write different from the things you want to read?

Yes and no. I am writing something right now for the olicityficbang that I have been dying to write and would have killed to read if written by another author.

I want to write an action heavy piece next but I need time to figure it out and how best to actually write it in a way that compliments my writing style.

I love reading dialogue fics. I adore them to no end but I don’t want to write them lol (I would suck at it)

Do you have a favorite story you’ve written?


I have favourite poems and favourite fics.

I am picking TWO from each form because they are all so different.

elskede is such a gentle poem. I tend to write in pairs so this is Oliver’s half. I re-read it and it made me so sadly happy.

But miikawaadendaagozi  is probably my all time favourite piece of writing. I just adore it. It united them both with the stars and with the light from the beginning of the universe.

Just a quick word about the titles: I opted to use Anishinaabe, Danish, Hebrew or Icelandic languages because of how much meaning those languages pack into a few letters. Indigenous languages are so powerful in that way, so I started to use them in titles as a way to illustrate how Oliver and Felicity were so much more than just ‘a couple’.

I know poetry is an acquired taste but it was my ticket into this world. I take great pride in it because you can be so evocative with just a few words strung together into broken lines. Hardly anyone has read the 2 series I have on AO3 that consist of poetry and prose and while that saddens me (you are missing out imo lol), I am proud of the pieces I have put out there. Particularly the ones I wrote during the Great MTV Reblogathon of 2015 called ‘elemental’. It is really good and only a handful of people have read it.

Those are a lucky handful of people.

One Simple Truth is basically smut lol but it is where Felicity and Oliver reconnect through their bodies, using no words, and I find it lovely to read. I took some inspiration from Neil Gaiman in this one. I wanted to see if I could write them making love with water as the source inspiration. I love the resulting piece.

He Let The Light In was my very first smut piece. It will always have a place on my best of list simply because I broke away from my usual writing to explore how they connect in the sexual realm.

My Arrow Musings: Beach House series gets an honourary mention because it is my touchstone piece and verges on AU (I don’t write or really read AU so it was a bit of a surprise that I was approaching it). It is so lovely and my most bookmarked series but, oddly, the least read. Same with Arrow Musings, it is the poetry equivalent to the Beach House series.

So basically I am saying: go read these, please lol

Why is it your favorite?

A constant theme in my writing are the elements (fire, water, earth, air and space). I connect Oliver and Felicity to the Universe because I see them as timeless. They are almost archetypal representation of the Lovers. The ones who are connected beyond just the physical but into the unseen realms of the spiritual.

I chafe at the use of ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ for these two because they are demonstrating at every turn that they are so much more than that to each other. It is one of the most mature relationships I have seen on tv. They support, love and understand one another in such a deep way (not necessarily unconditionally but close to it) that they are representative of mythic love in my opinion. Considering Oliver is the Hero on his Hero’s Journey, it makes loads of sense that Felicity is the Goddess aspect.

I intend to explore the mythic elements of their relationship in my olicityficbang piece. I have it all figured out and am super excited to write it.

The pieces I selected (I feel like such a bad parent) explore the elemental aspects of their connection. How they each embody specific ones (Oliver tends to be water, while Felicity often is fire) in profoundly complementary ways.

Who are your fanfiction inspirations?

Oh sure. Like this won’t bite me in the ass. I apologize upfront for forgetting anyone.

I read a lot of fics by so many people. Here goes nothing… @dust2dust34, @arrow-through-my-writers-block, @scu11y22, @sailorslayer3641, @so-caffeinated, @dettiot, @yespleasehawkeye, @jbuffyangel, @jedichick04, you, omg so many. Why you do this to me?

oh! and bell hooks. I know she isn’t a fanfic writer but she inspires my writing every day. She is spectacular and has opened my mind and heart to so much. I cannot recommend her writing enough.

Now if I were smart, I would have just said YOU in large font and gone away feeling all smarmy and arrogant lol

Why Olicity?

There is something transcendent about them. My first OTP was Mulder and Scully because perfection. I stopped ‘shipping after them. No one else came close to capturing my attention they way they did until Oliver and Felicity. It was like a sonic boom went off each time they were on screen together.

I know Green Arrow’s comic story very well (the Black Canary in the comics is equal to Wonder Woman, Storm, Kitty Pryde and Phoenix for me) so I knew Oliver had a true love somewhere in the story they were telling on Arrow.

But holy shit did I know it would never be tv Laurel. They repelled me when they shared screen time. It was toxic and sickening. I wanted nothing to do with them and was prepared to watch Arrow for the action sequences only (season 1 was awesome for them) and then BAM! Felicity came on the screen and changed everything.

I adored her from the start. She was buying nothing that Oliver was laying down and I think he knew it right from the beginning. She just captured my attention as a character and then I saw the spark between them once they were in the Foundry together.

By S01E18, I was all in. Now, oh my, they have left MSR in the dust. It pains me to say that but, I think Oliver and Felicity have shot past them in terms of that transcendent, universal, mythic true love component.

I cannot imagine one without the other. Now or ever.

So that’s why Olicity lol

What do you think is ignored or overlooked in this fandom that, in your opinion, should be addressed and stat?

Hmmm…ok, I’ll dive in.

I had a whole page long rant I was going to submit but changed my mind and instead thought about the immortal words of Agent Peggy Carter: “I know my value. Anyone else’s opinion doesn’t matter.”

I have opinions, beliefs and all kinds of fleeting thoughts that are informed by my identity as an Indigenous woman. I am constantly at war with myself (I am Oglala Lakota, Ojibwe and French, so it is of no surprise to me that I tend to get annoyed easily at others and myself lol), so the last thing I need is someone telling me what they think I should think/believe.

My politics, spirituality, feminism, gender and sexuality are informed by my identity as well. I have no more right to dictate how anyone else should live their life than anyone has the right to dictate how I should live mine. Particularly if it is a philosophical difference. Those things happen, get used to it.

If someone disagrees with me, I am all for an exchange of ideas. I respond positively to people who raise their hand and ask why I think what I think, rather than people who point their finger and tell me I am wrong because it isn’t what they think.

I love discussions that challenge me and how I think. I do not love discussions where I am being talked AT but not listened TO.  Huuuuuuuuuge difference.

I see a lot of that happening in the fandom and I find it more offensive than I have words for. But I have been around the interwebs longer than I care to think about, so I my skin is thick, and I am an opinionated asshole at times (I am totally ok with that, by the way), and I really just have no time for lectures or bullies.

This leads to the second thing I think needs to change RIGHT FUCKING NOW.

It has to do with fans attacking other fans. I am sick to fucking death of it.

I am a fan of Arrow,of Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak, John Diggle, Thea and Quentin. I like Sara, Nyssa and I love/hate Damien Darhk and Merlyn.

But I LOATHE Laurel Lance. So much so that it almost feels like a problem lol

But I have absolutely no problem if anyone else likes her. We are all entitled to love and care about these characters as we see fit.

Where folks cross the line (in my opinion) is when they go after other fans with the intent of attacking them, calling them names, stalking their posts and basically harassing and bullying them all because they have the audacity to like another character and/or dislike the one they like.

Olicity and Laurel stans are both guilty of this behaviour and it needs to stop. It is so ridiculously infantile. It creates a toxic atmosphere and it looks awful when casual observers come across it. I avoid places like Reddit and the Arrow Facebook page because of the hideous behaviour of the so called fans who populate it.

I saw the destructiveness of it in TVD fandom during the Reblogathon and wow, it was gross.

So just live and let live. I mean, I feel sorry for Laurel stans considering, well, Laurel but I would never ever consider purposefully attacking any of them because they happen to like Laurel. I mean, I pity them because she is totes in the box, but I have no ill will towards them as people.

Also, stop calling people sexist or misogynist just because they don’t like a female character. Seriously, just stop. Unless they are using sexually violent or degrading language like, you know, a sexist or misogynist would, they are allowed to not like female characters.

How does it feel to write Olicity prose vs. Olicity poetry?

I’ll preface this by saying I have been writing poems for decades. I have won awards in the past and have had a couple published. I love exploring the complexity of language through poetry. I have been writing short stories for far shorter a period of time (the last 10 years) so my relationship with longer form writing is still relatively new.

When I write poetry, I usually have an image of it in my mind and I have usually locked onto a phrase or sentence fragment in my mind that I form the poem around. I always know that it will be between 5 or 7 stanzas and that I have to take a big idea or scene and distill it down to a string of words, sentence fragments really, that are powerful enough to evoke within the reader the images or feelings I want them to see and feel.

It can be like looking at a beach and writing a description for it that fits on a grain of sand.

it is so challenging for me as a writer to craft a 5 or 7 stanza (i only do odd numbers, it’s a thing, a twitch lol) that describes something as intimate as love or trust but to do so with complicated language that moves the reader.

I love hearing how poems I write resonate with readers or evokes feelings in them that they have trouble describing. It means I did what I set out to do using carefully chosen and precise words and phrases.

Now writing prose is a completely different for me. I tend to have to pace myself and take time to write out the description I want the reader to see and feel. That means I have to immerse myself into the environment.

Like for the Beach House series, I had to go back to the beach in my mind and think about the sand underfoot, the smell of a Pacific Northwest coast ocean (luckily I live in BC so I know well what beaches on the west coast are like in all seasons) and how it would feel to sit and watch the waves.

Then I have to craft a series of paragraphs that capture the reader’s attention and yet drives the story forward. That shit is HARD! lol

I usually have to edit with a heavy hand to make sure I am doing all the things necessary to set the scene, or describe the environment, in order to draw the reader in and keep them.

Only recently have I started writing dialogue. I wanted to be sure I could capture Felicity and Oliver’s voices and be on point with them.

It is easier to be loose with language in prose. I don’t need to distill things down, although I have to be careful with repetition, and can wax poetic (ironically) while describing the simplest thing in greater detail. I can take my time getting to the point with prose, which often amounts to a ridiculous word count.

I feel freer when I write fics as opposed to poems. Not that I am constrained by poems, but the challenge to write a GOOD poem is different than the challenge to write a good fic. They are almost polar opposites of each other in terms of the freedom I have when it comes to putting pen to paper.

You mentioned the universal characterization (and appeal?) of Olicity. Do you think this is the acting or the writing? Is it a portrayal of “Man” and “Woman,” two halves of one whole, a distillation of more universal traits we tend to admire into two heroic characters who are different yet complementary, or something completely different?

I think it is the unique combination of both. We wouldn’t have it if not for the relentless chemistry between Emily and Stephen, or the story the writers are intent on telling.

They are following the Hero’s Journey that is present in pretty much every culture on earth. The upcoming stress of harm coming to Felicity falls in line with the Meeting the Goddess part, too, which is what really kicked things into focus for me in a much more profound way.

Felicity is who Oliver will love the most, forever and always. It is a powerful love, all encompassing and unconditional and flows both ways. This is greater than just True Love or Romantic Love, this is a soulful, spiritual love that raises him up into the light so that he can seek atonement and continue on with his journey.

Without Felicity, Oliver would be stuck in the Abyss. He wouldn’t have had the power or strength to reach Enlightenment or complete his journey.

But what they have tapped into are elements of the Divine, not just yin and yang, and light and dark. They have introduced an element of the mystical, which is drawing out this gorgeous string in the narrative (for me, anyways) that is showing their relationship as something that is representative of the Universal aspects of First Man and First Woman, of how two people are complete separately but so much more when they are together.

It is a creation force and I love it. When I first started writing fics, and I have only been doing this since March of 2015, I really started to see how the story of Oliver and Felicity wasn’t just about two people finding each other and being complete, it was about two souls finding the other and merging into something far greater than just the best versions of themselves. Which is just such a rich and dense storyland. The writers will never write themselves into a corner so long as they continue to explore the universal truths that accompany this story.

They hit the jackpot when Emily came along and offered them the chance to reset the epic love story for their Hero.

For another look into the minds of a fanfiction writers, check out previous Profiling the Pen interviews: