noun a : an impudent or conceited fellow b : a saucy or mischievous child

Jac(ques)k is a writer mostly of short prose with the occasional bout of artistic poetry. His work is generally image and description heavy, attempting to evoke an entire world in his readers. He's not really sure why he's writing this, but hopes that it kind of explains what he's trying to do here.

This is a writing blog. I don't update frequently, but I do try.

Occasionally nsfw

so i’m gonna…..start writing again.

my friend inspired me to write some destiel (dean and castiel from spn) au fics and….well, why the hell not. might get my creative juices going again AND well…anyway. 

posted Dec.10.13 + 0 notes + reblog



One day as i was sitting on a cloud,
I saw you walk by;
you were signing
and reminded me of a child.
I descended as you looked up,
your gemstone eyes were curious.
I laughed
and so did you.
We were friends then.

We walked and ran and drove for miles it seemed,
until at last we dropped
from sight and lay panting. 
You held my hand.
I loved you then.

Summer ended, autumn came
with brown and yellow leaves
floating swiftly down.
They crunched as we walked-
we seldom talked then,
backs hunched from holding up the world.
Our hands hung limp,
eyes narrowed and heavy
our love was strained.

So I decided to fly again.
I thought it would be better this way
than if we let it go on.
I thought that if you awoke one day
and I was gone
that it would be easier, you could fight.

There was a moon, suspended
in a sea of my stars,
so long I had been gone.
A cool wind was blowing, and I kissed you once
and touched your hand.
I walked away then.
I walked away and left you there
alone, upon a desolate stretch of road.

I did not look back
until I was flying, I did not wish
to see you there
afraid that you would call me
to your chest.
When I did, I saw you turn over
in the night and reach out for me.

Time has passed, things have changed,
there is snow upon the ground now,
and demons lurk in corners.
I turn around and you are there.
If you happen to look up and see me,
you will smile.
You always did;
you will smile the sad sweet
smile that I use too.

Maybe one day I will return
to your world of monsters
and things,
but for now I will fly upon
my clouds, my private wings
will take me airborn.

I will always look back now
and if I see you, lonely,
I will kiss the summer wind
and pray it reaches you.

posted Jul.24.13 + 5 notes + reblog


he danced like   [midday]      sunlight

filtering through the veins

                          of green leafed trees,

the soft swaying of his                         hips

       warm against the bare bones of my winter {skin},

i caught myself in the calm pool of his  e  y  e  s

                                                                              and breathed. 

posted May.04.13 + 1 notes + reblog

As there are a few people on here who don’t follow my main, I’m going to restate this here for a bit, and then delete it later. 

I’ve set my mind to doing the 365 creative writing prompts, in order to become more inspired, but to also keep up with writing for pleasure. I find it hard sometimes, to produce quality work that I’m really, truly proud of, when I’m swamped with reading, stories, poems, plot lines and essays for school. So hopefully, these short little pieces will allow me to find more inspiration within things, and within myself. 

That being said though, there are now..43 that I’m behind on, and I do want to be able to write them all, so there will be a lot of me playing catch up over the weekend, whenever I can. 

So, if you don’t want to see mass updating, block the 365 tag. 

posted Feb.12.13 + 0 notes + reblog
The way you write is absolutely gorgeous. Do you have any long writings I could read? Maybe from a past NaNoWriMo or something?

Ahh, I’ve kept this in my inbox for a bit, because of how incredibly flattered I was by it, but then I realized you probably wanted an answer, ahah. Thank you very much, Randall, I always appreciate feedback. 

Unfortunately, I don’t have anything like that that I’m happy enough with to share. I did participate in NaNoWriMo a few years ago, but anyone who has will most likely tell you that what they produced was 95% garbage. But! I am working on lengthier things, I am, which I’ll hopefully have finished soon.

Thanks again c:

posted Jan.26.13 + 1 notes + reblog

the pursuit of a ghost

I sigh.

The exhale that leaves my lips is reminiscent of the persistent eastern wind on a chilly October morning; a breath that longs to rip the sturdy grasp that colour-splashed leaves have on the branches they have called home during the swollen heat of Summer and the delicate mist of Spring, the empty promise of Winter ebbing closer. 

White coats move around me like phantoms, the faint patter of hurrying footsteps accompanying the steady beep of my cardiograph, the noises familiar, nearly comforting, after months of overnight visits. My shaking hand rises in the dark to brush away the hair stuck against my forehead, slick with sweat from either my nightmare or sickness, I can’t tell the difference anymore, I’ve lost track, both such a constant in the past few days, weeks. 

My eyes flutter closed, no longer able to stay open on their own, my will slowly fading with each sharp intake of air. I’ve been fighting for so long that I’ve begun to wonder what it would be like to give up, the silence and numbness I imagine it to be beckons to me more and more with every weakened beat of my heart. 

"I saw your mother earlier." the faint pressure of the bed dipping down next to me follows after your voice and I slowly curl away from you, turning my back. 

"You shouldn’t be here."

"But I am."

"I don’t want you to be."

"We both know that isn’t true. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here."

I sigh, because you’re right, and part of me, a large part, feels ashamed for wanting you. “I’m a mess. I don’t want you seeing me like this. I never wanted you to see me like this”

"That doesn’t matter." 

The empty ache in my chest pulses slowly, pushing out against my ribs, longing to be filled by you. I turn.

Your smile is the first thing I see, the captivating grin that has been the subject of the few good dreams I’ve had. But it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, which in turn, betray you. They’re sad, concerned, the sparkle in them that I adore a dull glimmer. 

My fingertips slide out from beneath the scratchy blankets of my bed, searching for your hand, lacing through with your own. “It’s okay to be sad.”

"You look so small lying there."

I bite down on my lower lip, the skin chapped and sore, the rust-like taste of blood filling my mouth.”My mother’s been saying that.”

"I know, I heard her earlier. She’s worried about you."

"Then why does she only come when I’m sleeping."

"Jack. You have to know this isn’t easy for anyone."

"You come to see me, to talk to me."

You’re quiet, and I hear the faint whisper of conversations in the hall, the hushed tones of early morning. I want to block them out, all I want is you.

"Can I lie down with you?"

I nod slowly, shifting over to make room for you as you stretch out alongside me, our bodies nearly touching. I lean in closer, seeking your warmth, but I feel nothing and I sink in against my pillows. 

"I’m tired of the pain." I whisper, studying your face in the shadows; the sharp angles of your cheekbones, the slope of your nose, the way your lips twitch slightly when you process what I’ve said. 


"But what if I don’t get to see you again."

"Don’t say that." Your hand comes up to glide against my cheek and I lean in against your touch, the ghost of it nearly enough. 

"You’re a lot stronger than you think. Just keep telling yourself that."

I smile faintly before closing my eyes, too exhausted to hold in my selfishness. “Don’t go. Don’t leave tonight.” I’m not sure if the words fall from my lips or if they stay stuck in my mind, but I know you’ll hear them.

"I’m here."

posted Jan.22.13 + 3 notes + reblog

I want to write for you

I want to write for you.

I want to trap my feelings for you between sheets of paper,

compose words that will melt your heart when you read them,

that will send you into a fit of sighs, 

and bring a blush to your cheeks like an artist delicately sweeping

a vibrant red across his canvas, a blush that never fails to

entice me, to draw my fingers, my lips, towards you. 

But as I lie here, Night’s lace-like fingers extending to the corners of my room,

a moonless sky hovering outside my open window, 

your name on my lips matching the slow sway of Summer’s quiet breath,

I cannot help but get lost in thoughts of you instead.

The way you look draped in the soft cotton of my bedsheets,

fabric light against your flawless skin,

the feeling of you melting into me at the faintest touch,

the breathless sighs that escape your slightly parted lips—two perfect lines calling for my own,

the irresistible blush splashed across your face and down the graceful curve of your neck,

enticing me, bringing my whole body to meet yours.

I want to write for you,

but I fear my fingers cannot keep up with my desire

to know every inch of you, 

to memorize your every slope where skin is pulled taut over sinewy muscle and bone

with careful hands,

mapping out your coordinates,

to dance my lips along the ridges of your ribs,

and trail my tongue along the dip of your hipbones, 

to get lost in the slow climb of your inner thighs,

to know nothing but you.

posted Aug.29.12 + 2 notes + reblog


a dragging anchor


half torn sails

will never get you far

                 from the                  shore.

posted Aug.03.12 + 0 notes + reblog
I literally love every word you spill onto paper.

Wow, Melissa, thank you so much. You always have such kind things to say about my writing, and it brightens my day considerably. You have no idea how much I appreciate you even just reading my work, let alone all the sweet feedback you’ve given me from the start. Thank you, a million times over. 

posted Jul.05.12 + 1 notes + reblog

It’s only another week…

The sharp smell of coffee wafts gently through the air, finding its way to my nostrils, waking me. My eyes slowly flutter open, and I see you standing in front of me, spidery fingers curled desperately around your favourite mug. You lift it to your lips, inhaling slightly before curling them over the rim, your eyes closing momentarily as you take a gentle sip.Once satisfied, you fix your gaze on me, hunched over the kitchen table, papers sprawled across the surface, head resting on my open notebook.

One of your hands unravels from the blue ceramic, your index moving slowly towards me. You poke lightly at the page beneath my cheek. “You drooled.”

"Ah, shit." I curse under my breath, groggily lifting my head from the page to wipe at it, the paper making a soft crinkling sound as it peels away from my skin. 

Leaning against the counter, you set your mug down, arms crossed over your chest. “You didn’t come to bed last night.”

I wipe at my face with the back of my hand, concentrating on the task of removing any stray drool, not meeting your eyes. “I had an idea. I didn’t want to wake you by writing in there. You looked so peaceful.”

"So you stayed here."

"I stayed here."

"And you fell asleep."

"Clearly." I look up at you then, a sheepish grin tugging at my lips. 

"You dork." you exhale affectionately on a laugh.

I return your laugh in spite of myself. “Hey! You know how I get when something pops into my head. We can’t all just hope the idea sticks until morning.”

"Pffft." you say, shaking your head with a smile. Pushing yourself away from the counter, you step up behind my chair and place your hand against my shoulder. A soft breath escapes from behind my closed lips as I feel you gently kiss the top of my head, whispering against my hair. "My dork. My dorky writer." 

You move away then, taking your place in the chair opposite me, your feet coming to rest in my lap, my hands brushing the tops of them absentmindedly. “So, do I get to see what you wrote?”

"Mm, nope." 

Your lips curl into a pout, eyebrows raising over dark chocolate eyes, your gaze trying to melt into me. “But it kept you away from me last night.” 

"No. No no no, that’s not going to work!"

"It was worth a try." you smirk, your feet dropping to the floor as you lean towards me slowly. "I don’t know how you do it, but you look ridiculously beautiful, even after spending the night at our kitchen table."

I begin to look away from you, my cheeks reddening, when I hear the soft scrape of moleskine binding against the tabletop. 

"No!" I shriek, grabbing my notebook from your hand before your eyes catch the words written upon it in my messy scrawl.

"Fine," you chuckle. "I’ll wait."


"I learned from the best." you point out.

"It’s only another week." I sigh as I shut the book closed, snapping the elastic into place. 

"This is the one time I think you’ll find I lack that patience I’m always trying to get you to exercise." 

"Should pay more attention to your own words. Lead by example and all that."

You smile, your fingers latching onto the newspaper at the corner of the table and I know I’ve won. For now. 

We sit in comfortable silence as the morning sun begins to filter all the way into the kitchen, you staring at the columns in front of you, me watching you. 

Fidgeting, I break the silence. “Could you put an eight in the third box, top left corner? It’ll bother me otherwise.”

"How did you…from over there…"

I shrug as you let out a laugh, shaking your head in surprise. You move to grab a pen, the white gold band around your ring finger catching in the sunlight. I twirl my own with my thumb instinctively, smiling proudly. 

posted Jul.04.12 + 3 notes + reblog


              it was early evening

when you arrived

grin      b   l   a   z   i   n   g

                                                 like the sun

             eyes burning with the heat of summer.

too bright to behold, but i couldn’t look away,

my storm cloud irises smoking



      you lay next to me. 

                  amidst a bed of copper coloured leaves

your touch breathed light into my skin

fingertips calling forth 

                                  the thunder

                                                in my


            your lips [two bright rays]

sought mine

incandescent against the cool

mist of my                                                            skin.

together we tangled

coruscation and condensation.

                  crashing into you 

                                                                                           [ i ]   e  v  a  p  o  r  a  t  e.

posted May.21.12 + 4 notes + reblog

hide and seek

in the sharp angles

of shadow coated                      night

i wait 

for you




                                  h     i     d     d     e     n 

beneath {dark veils whisper and curl}

blackwater, thrashingwaves. 

your eyes glaze over,

mist covering

packed                   dirt

ears tuned to the sound of distant bells. 

belonging to the anchor

locked away behind his chest. [youaretheharbourinwhichhelies]





sail thin smiles coat the horizon

       your false touch disturbing like my feet creating [lifting] sand clouds.

along the



posted May.20.12 + 1 notes + reblog
I love your ability to write. To make me forget whatever was on my mind before I stumbled across your latest endeavor. Your talent for words is breathe taking. Your ability to string together not only an image but such powerful emotion to emphasize the moment...I adore you. And I wish I had your talent. I am truly envious. Plus, I miss you like hell.

skljhfkjghskdjhfg thank you so much, Melissa. Your compliments never fail to render me red-faced and giggly. You’re so sweet and generous with your words. I can’t explain how grateful I am that you enjoy what I write. (imissyoutoo.)

posted May.08.12 + 1 notes + reblog


I am caught in the middle of wakefulness and dreaming when a gust of cold air blows across my face, tangling its claws in the hair splayed demurely against my forehead. Slowly rubbing sleep from my eyes, I glance over at the time, hazy red lights telling me it is just past three in the morning. There had been a time where I would have still been awake at this moment, fiddling about, my fingertips dripping with paint, but that was then, and this was now; sleep always knows how to find me. 

Once mildly aware of my surroundings, I sit up, brow furrowed, searching for the source of the earlier breeze. There is no way I would have left my window open to the cold December night air, and yet there it is, sea-green coloured curtains billowing softly like ghosts just waking from a long slumber, the latch unhinged, panes rhythmically hitting the side of the house.

Extending my legs from underneath my body, I heave myself out of bed, dragging my down blanket with me, and peer outside, reaching to shut the window against the biting chill, when a slender finger appears from above, motioning me to follow. Silently, I grab my favourite blue sweater from the ground and tug it over my head before hoisting myself over the windowsill and onto the slant of the roof, making my way to him. The frigid air gnaws at the exposed skin of my face and I toss my hood over my dull brown hair, longing for the comforting warmth of my bed. I consider asking him to come inside with me, to get lost in the tangle of my sheets, but he seems to fit here, on the rooftop.

He is sitting with his legs stretched out in front of his body, leaning back on his hands, his head tilted up towards the sky. I fold myself down awkwardly next to him, blushing at the lack of grace my movements hold; I’m all limbs, my mother would say. I keep my gaze fixed on my hands, which I’ve folded in my lap, watching Jude out of the corner of my eye. His expression isn’t one I can decipher, but he seems happy, a small smile playing on his bow shaped lips, ebony hair flopping into stormy blue eyes. He shifts then, patting at his pockets, searching for something. I remain silent as a dim orange flicker is cast across his face several times before taking hold of the end of the joint he holds delicately between his fingers. After taking a long drag and exhaling, he offers it to me, his smile now slow and lazy. I accept, holding it between my thumb and index, but don’t bring it to my lips. Jude doesn’t notice, having gone back to staring upwards. 

“The stars are nice tonight.” I say, trying to remind him that I’m here. 

“Alex, why do you think the stars shine?”

“Well…it’s…I…” I stutter, mildly surprised by his question. “It’s because of nuclear fusion, isn’t it? The compressing of hydrogen being fulled into helium, energy being expelled, your eyes being the first things the photons coming off a star has reached through however many light-years away it might be, all that.”

He purses his lips. “That’s not what I asked.”

“No, you did, you…”

“I asked why you thought they shine, not what you know, not what’s actually true, what you’ve learned. What you think.”

I pause, confused by his question, unsure of how to answer something in a way that would challenge what has been proven to be true, what I know to be true. Jude never seems to care about things like science or what reality is; he’s constantly making up his own definitions for things, constantly living in his own imaginary up world, but I love him for it. 

Taking my silence as an invitation, he continues, leaning forward, his hands gesturing wildly as the words tumble from his lips. “You know how, in The Lion King, Mufasa tells Simba that stars are where the great kings live, and that they’re always looking down on us? I like that, I like to think that maybe, since the day we’re born, we’re assigned a star. And when we die, we get to go up to that star, and watch over the people we’ve left behind on earth. There are so many of them, how could they not hold some kind of purpose?”

I nod, looking at him, enjoying the sound of his voice, the tone it takes on when he talks about something he’s given a lot of thought to, something he’s passionate about, the gleam in his eye unparalleled, the mesmerizing way his smile curls up towards his left ear.

“Which star do you think is mine?” he asks me softly, after a few minutes of silence. 

I sit, unmoving, casting my gaze towards the sky, preparing an answer for him. I am always doing that, preparing, always hoping to impress him with my words. I’m about to reply when his head hits my shoulder; a common gesture between us, but tonight, somehow tonight, it seems different. I feel the beating behind my chest pick up, and I’m worried he’ll notice the change.

He nudges me lightly then, his nose bumping my neck. 

“Alex?” his breath is hot against my throat.

“I…” I hesitate, stammering when I feel his fingers brush along my arms, his hand finding the one I’d let fall to my lap after handing him back his joint. “I don’t think you’re like a star.”

I feel his head lift from my shoulder then, feel the warmth of him leaving me. 

“I mean, all stars die eventually, don’t they?” I continue quickly. “Maybe not in our lifetime, that we can see, but they do. They implode, fade away.” I glance down at him, pleased when his head rests once more against my shoulder. My chin touches the top of his head as I speak. “You’re too…you’re too stubborn to burn out. I think you’re more like the sky. Always there, holding the stars, stretching on forever.” I stop, unsure of what I’m trying to say, where I’m trying to go with this, when I feel Jude pressing his lips against the skin of my neck. The gesture is so light, barely there that I’m afraid I made it up, that it was just a product of what my heart desires so completely.

But then I feel it again, the gentle graze of his mouth whispering across the skin pulled tight over my collarbones, his free hand digging slightly into my thigh. I turn my face to look down at him, his eyes heavy lidded, his grin sloppy and crooked. Shaking slightly, I bring the fingers that aren’t laced with his to brush against the strong line of his jaw, slowly tracing what I’ve imagined caressing a hundred times. Jude closes his eyes then, and I take that as a sign of encouragement, shifting my body closer to his, our chests so near that it would only take a light breeze to force us against each other. His own free hand rises in turn to grasp my wrist, and he brings my still trembling fingers to his lips, softly kissing each finger, his eyes—usually a blue I’m so fond of, are dark, laced with something I’ve never seen before; desire—now open and locked with mine. I lean in, and he grins, inviting me forward.

My head pounds, pulse loud in my ears as I complete the distance between us. What is actually seconds feels like minutes, hours, as I wait for our lips to collide; the slow dance  almost as exciting as the kiss itself. When our lips meet, the sensation is unlike anything I could have ever conjured in my imagination. Jude’s mouth is soft, moving skillfully against my own and I press against him, my hands running up his arms to grasp his shoulders, his finding my waist, slipping teasingly under my sweater to graze against the tense muscles of my abdomen. My face flushes at the contact, but instead of pushing him away, I dig my fingers in against his strong shoulders, a whimper catching in my throat. Gliding his lips over mine, he slides his tongue over my lower lip, as though begging to be let in. I comply, moving my hands to tug lightly at his hair and Jude moans, his breath—warm and sweet—snakes out, pouring into my mouth, collecting like a puddle in the dip of my tongue, intoxicating me. I want to fill my lungs with that breath, and when Jude begins to ease me down against the roof, I don’t hesitate. 

I wake in my bed hours later, the memory of his lips still lingering on mine, the feeling of his fingertips clutching at my skin still strong, as if it had only been moments earlier. 

posted May.08.12 + 1 notes + reblog