#;torn journal page-writing

[beastsovrevelation]

Tempted to turn off Ghost and Alice Cooper, and put on Good Omen's, so feel Crowley's speaking manner at my fingers.

[lifethroughjournals]

October 2010 // First Journal

A mixed media art journal painting and collage about letting go of worrying about "perfection", created during a 21 Secrets class and using acrylic paint, ephemera, and ink.

lifethroughjournals.com

[you-can-never-go-home]

Tag dump

[ribbonedreverie]

💌 BSD Men & Handwritten Notes Hidden in Your Things ✉️

Because sometimes, love is found in the smallest details.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙

💌 Osamu Dazai – Little Games, Little Confessions

Dazai’s notes are a game.

You find them in your coat pockets, tucked between the pages of books, slipped into your bag when you’re not looking.

Some are teasing.

“I saw you looking at me earlier. Falling for me already, bella?”

Some are poetic.

“If I leave before you wake, don’t think of it as me disappearing—think of it as me waiting for you in another moment.”

And some—the rare ones—are real.

A napkin from the café you both love, with only five words scribbled in his elegant handwriting:

“You make the world bearable.”

You never bring them up.

And neither does he.

Because Dazai will never say these things aloud.

But he knows you find them. He knows you keep them.

And that—that is enough for him.

💌 Chuuya Nakahara – What I Can’t Say Out Loud

Chuuya doesn’t write notes often.

But when he does—you keep every single one.

They’re never long, never dramatic—just small things, things he wouldn’t say aloud but still wants you to know.

Tucked inside your wallet:

“Buy yourself something nice. And don’t argue.”

Slipped under your coffee cup in the morning:

“You didn’t sleep well, did you? Take it easy today.”

And sometimes—the ones that mean the most.

Left beside your pillow when he has to leave for a mission before you wake up:

“I’ll be back soon. Be safe. I love you.”

(That one, you keep in your nightstand.)

Because Chuuya doesn’t say these things often.

But when he does—he means them.

💌 Fyodor Dostoevsky – Messages in Riddles and Ruin

Fyodor does not leave notes.

He leaves challenges.

You find them in the books he lends you—passages underlined, cryptic quotes with no explanation.

“Is it possible to love and still be cruel?”

“To know someone is to destroy them. Do you agree?”

Sometimes, it’s a chess move written on a torn scrap of paper, left on your desk, as if waiting for you to make the next move.

But one night—you find something different.

A letter, folded neatly, hidden under your pillow.

Not a riddle. Not a test.

Just one line.

“I will never ask you to stay, but I will always wonder if you will.”

And suddenly—you realize that even Fyodor Dostoevsky has things he is afraid to say.

💌 Nikolai Gogol – Do You Know the Magic Word?

Nikolai’s notes are pure chaos.

Scattered everywhere—on the fridge, in your shoes, attached to the ceiling somehow.

“What do you mean this isn’t the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you?”

“If I disappeared tomorrow, would you miss me? Trick question, I already know the answer. (You totally would.)”

“Do you know the magic words? (Hint: it’s ‘please give Nikolai a kiss.’)”

But then—there’s one that’s different.

No jokes. No games.

Just a single note, folded small, hidden in the sleeve of your coat.

“I know I make it hard to tell, but you are the only thing I’ve ever been afraid of losing.”

And for once—Nikolai does not ask you if you found it.

💌 Sigma – I Hope You Find This

Sigma’s notes are careful.

Neatly written, placed somewhere he knows you’ll find them but never where you expect.

Inside your favorite book:

“I noticed you like reading this before bed. Sweet dreams.”

Tucked into your luggage before a long trip:

“If you get anxious, just remember—I’m waiting for you to come back.”

And once—one that makes your breath catch.

A note he must have written long before he had the courage to give it to you, one that somehow ended up between the pages of an old journal:

“I think I love you. I don’t know if I should.”

When you ask him about it, his face flushes, his hands gripping his sleeves.

“You… weren’t supposed to find that one.”

But you’re smiling.

Because you did.

And maybe, deep down, he wanted you to.

💌 Ryunosuke Akutagawa – Words Are Not Easy for Me

Akutagawa does not know how to express himself.

So when you start finding his notes, you’re shocked.

A folded scrap of paper slipped into your bag before a mission:

“Be careful. Don’t be reckless.”

A small card tucked between the pages of a book he gave you:

“I don’t know what you like, so I chose something I thought was good. Let me know if I was wrong.”

A short letter, written in careful, deliberate strokes, as if he spent too long trying to make it perfect.

“I don’t understand why you stay. But I am trying to. I don’t know how to say this in person, but I… care for you. Even if I don’t always show it.”

(That one, you hold onto the longest.)

Because for Akutagawa, love is not spoken.

It is written.

In stiff, uncertain words.

In quiet, careful notes.

In ways he will never say aloud, but hope you understand anyway.

💌 Ranpo Edogawa – If You Need Proof, Here It Is.

Ranpo’s notes are ridiculous.

Written in crayon, scribbled on candy wrappers, left in your pocket when you aren’t looking.

“If you’re reading this, you owe me a snack.”

“I’m a genius, and you love me. What a great combination!”

“I know you miss me right now. Even if I’m in the same room. (Admit it.)”

But then—a different one.

Taped to the corner of your mirror, written more neatly than usual.

“I never write things down when I don’t have to. But sometimes, I like to remind you that you matter to me. Even though you already knew that, didn’t you?”

And when you ask him about it, he just grins, stealing a bite of your snack.

“What, you wanted me to say it in person? Too bad, I already wrote it down.”

But later—when he leans against you, his head resting on your shoulder—

You hear him mutter, “Just so you know… I meant it.”

And that—that is why you keep every single note.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙

There’s something so endearing about the little notes left behind—playful scribbles tucked between pages, heartfelt words slipped into coat pockets, a simple “thinking of you” on a post-it by the coffee cup. Love doesn’t always need grand gestures; sometimes, it’s found in ink-stained fingertips and the quiet reassurance of I am here, I love you, I remember you. The smallest acts of love are often the greatest, not because of their size, but because of the thought woven into them—the gentle proof that someone’s heart lingers with you, even when they’re not there. ♡

[telephoniii]

Malleus copes with you leaving.

Malleus knows this is best for you.

It was your decision to make and yours alone. Lilia sat him down and thoroughly lectured him on it. He couldn't hold you back from happiness. Yet the heartache he felt only grew.

What was the point of all the late nights spent with you? The secrets whispered in the winds? The kisses shared past midnight?

Why would you provide him with such memories only to leave?

The second you stepped through that mirror, disappearing from his sight, Malleus felt sick. His whole world had been changed. He foolishly placed all his love and more onto you. Now that you’re gone, he’s directionless.

Malleus feels Lilia pat him on the shoulder. His voice isn't as playful as it usually is but still carries a chipper tone. “You’ve got centuries to find another!… Learn to let go.”

Let go?

Was this how relationships worked? You put in your all just to inevitably let go? How cruel.

He secluded himself from all of Diasomnia for a week, including his bodyguards and Lilia.

Malleus felt your absence everywhere. The starry nights are more silent than ever. Ramshackle reverted to an old, dusty dorm. He wonders what happened to your cat companion once you left.

The Gargoyle Research Club is canceled until further notice. Not that anyone else attended. Without your smile to invade the room, Malleus felt no desire to ramble about the complex history of his favorite subject.

Everything felt dull. And he despised it.

One night, he made his way into the abandoned dorm of Ramshackle.

He found your old room, your old mirror. Malleus thinks he’s going crazy. He swears he saw your reflection in the dinky glass.

It's amusing in a way. How one human had impacted his life so much.

Malleus wonders how you’re doing without him. Is it better? Living in a world where you could never see his face again?

He remembers you talking to him about your real family, reminiscing on bad and good memories. That was the first time he felt compelled to hold you. To comfort you. To make all the pain go away.

He would've never guessed you would soon be the source of his pain.

Malleus resents how easy it was to lose you; how easy it was for you to let him go. But another, louder part of himself knows that he could never hate you. When you left, you took a part of him permanently.

He longs to see you again.

For you to prance by his side at his club. For you to text him silly messages throughout the day on his tiny device. For you to come to him asking for help in finding Grim.

Malleus is unbearably lonely without you.

Then he hears a thud. It seems as though the wind had knocked an item in your room over. A journal. Malleus can’t help but observe the little notebook.

Your name was written on the cover. He immediately opens to page one.

The date at the top was the exact day he remembers first meeting you. You write about a handsome stranger you met at night. Based on your words, you felt as though you had intruded on his space.

Malleus soon finds himself spiraling, reading page after page of you describing your time at NRC; the people you met, the memories you created, and the fae you fell in love with.

He feels a surge of disappointment as he quickly reads through it all, soon reaching the end. His eyes widen as he turns to the last page. A mere two sentences were written in ink.

“You’ll always be my love. Even if we’re dimensions apart, Tsunotaro.”

Malleus’s grip on the leather cover tightened. You knew he’d find this. He’s partly amused. You are always full of surprises.

He rips out that last page addressed to him, letting the notebook fall to the floor as he does.

Malleus transforms the torn paper into a delicate, green rose. That flower will now always hold a piece of his magic.

The fae places it in front of the mirror in which he stares at his reflection.

~

“I, Malleus Draconia, vow to never love another like I did you, my dearest child of man.”

[gotta-winwin]

(🐍) ... minghao x reader

⭐ starring: minghao

💌 genre/wc: angst, light fluff / 1.2k

💬 preview: you stumble across old records from a damaged diary that seems to hold the conversations between a student and a boy living within the pages.

tw/cw: slytherin!minghao x hufflepuff!reader, diary format, spoliers for the chamber of secrets, needs previous knowledge of hp lore, abstract death, tom riddle appearance

🪽fic rating: pg

☁️ masterlist & a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for weeks and i'm putting it out in hopes of giving myself some time to work on other stuff hehe. this one's a bit experimental with the format but hope you all enjoy!

p.s thank you so much to @ylangelegy and @diamonddaze01 for beta reading !

hello. fifth year slytherin, here. i found this journal lying in one of the professor’s cupboards - long abandoned, it seems. it looks to contain the mad ramblings of two people, conversing through the pages. i cannot seem to figure out who this once belonged to, pages have been torn out and blurred by water - so i’m writing in hopes another student might. 

read it, and let me know if anything comes to mind. 

if i have to sit through another class with professor bins, i will avada myself. 

finally, something worth replying to. your class notes are utterly boring. 

WHAT THE FUCK THE BOOK SPEAKS

…yes, i speak. 

go away. you’re speaking over my class notes. 

they weren’t good notes anyways. barely competent. abysmally below average. 

i cannot believe i’m being insulted by a book right now.

i cannot believe my pristine pages are being vandalized by an incompetent student, yet here we are. 

mr. book, 

what. 

shut up.

mr. book,

what is it now, incompetent student? 

can you write my notes for me. pls pls pls i will owe you for life.

that is a very dangerous game to play. 

my hand hurts. and you keep saying you’re so smart. write my notes for me.

what house are you in?

hufflepuff. why? 

no. i will not write your notes for you. 

bro. 

what is a bro ?? 

you know what, never mind. i’ll write them myself. i hope the ink drowns you. 

incompetent student  hufflepuff girl y/n?? respond to me now. 

yes, book?

MY NAME IS NOT BOOK 

you refused to tell me your name so i’m sticking with book. mr. book. 

can you go to the dungeon bathroom and check one of the faucets for me. 

uh. why? 

because i said so. 

i’m going to waterboard your pages.

you’re quite snappy for a hufflepuff. just go check. 

say please.

no. 

i’m holding a cup of water above you right now.  hello? mr. book?

please. check the faucets. 

see? wasn’t so difficult. i’ll go now.

minghao. 

what? 

my name. stop calling me mr. book

MINGHAOOO

what. 

i’m bored. 

silly girl. and what am i supposed to do about that?

tell me about yourself. when were you at hogwarts? 

a long time ago. 

psh. of course i know that. 

professor bins was still alive when he taught me. just as boring, trust me. 

ooo what else? who were your friends? anyone famous? 

i wouldn’t know. i never graduated. 

what? 

the faucet. did you check? 

i did. there’s like a snake or something, but it didn’t do anything. 

oh. y/n? 

yeah? 

don’t go to that bathroom anymore. 

why?

just don’t. 

hao. people are saying there’s a snake in the walls. 

what do you mean?

there was blood on the walls too. talking about the chamber of secrets. 

fuck. 

minghao? do you know something? 

don’t go anywhere alone. promise me. stay with your friends. 

i’m scared

you should be.

stop that. 

what? hao? 

grown fond of your little friend, xu minghao? 

tom. stop.  i’m sorry, my heart. ignore him. 

who? hao, what is going on?

has he neglected to tell you? he isn’t the only inhabitant of this journal. and turns out, he isn’t strong enough to silence me.  keep hiding, y/n. i’ll find you soon enough. 

hao? 

i’m sorry.

i think i’m starting to go a bit crazy. 

is everything alright? are you safe? 

i’m fine, hao. you worry too much. 

i must admit that i’ve grown fond of you. 

even if i’m a hufflepuff? 

you’re the most tolerable hufflepuff i know. 

:)  is the uh. tom guy still with us?

my magic suppresses him in short periods of time. we’re alone at the moment. 

i still don’t understand. both of you are…inside the book. 

tom was here first. the journal was given to me my fifth year, and i spoke to him - much like you right now. from what i’ve gathered, this journal holds a piece of his soul. and a piece of mine as well. 

how? why? 

[redacted] [redacted] 

you are beginning to care for the girl.

i admit she has grown on me.

no. you’ve grown to love her. our souls are intertwined whether you enjoy it or not. do not pretend i cannot feel your emotions. 

have mercy.  spare her. 

are you finally regretting your choice, xu minghao?  you once promised me a life in exchange for your life and access to your soulmate. so i spared you, and stored you here with me.

please. 

this is what greed gets you, my dear friend.  you promised me a life. and i choose hers.

please. 

finally. you learn to beg. 

she is innocent. 

she is your soulmate. the strongest magic our world has. and for that, she is valuable. 

my heart. 

hao? 

i need you to destroy this journal. now.  

what? why? 

tom must be stopped. i will not let him harm you. destroying the journal will destroy his soul too.

but you’re in the journal too.

yes. a small price to pay for your life. 

i won’t do it. 

you must.

no. i’m not killing you.

i’ve been dead for a long time, my heart. 

i won’t. you cannot make me. 

you’re wetting the pages with your tears. stop crying. 

hao…

do it. just because the journal is gone doesn’t mean i won’t be with you. every step of the way. 

how cute. 

note: 

> xu minghao: previous slytherin student, renowned potion student. his name is on one of the potion award plaques in the great hall. he died during the second opening of the chamber of secrets, an underground location rumoured to house the slytherin basilisk. 

> y/n: referred to as ‘my heart,’ there is no real indication of who she is. while there is a professor portrait in the headmaster’s office who shares the same name, i cannot be certain they are the same person. 

> tom: he can only be assumed as he-who-shall-not-be-named, a dark wizard who was killed by the-boy-who-lived years ago. 

note: 

> the pages are burnt at the edges, erasing most of the conversation that would allow this to make more sense. it is clear to me that someone destroyed this. 

note: 

> i found something when searching the bathroom mentioned in the first couple entries. i will clip it here. 

is he gone?

for now. i cannot contain him for much longer. you must hurry.

you cannot expect me to do this.

from the short time i’ve come to know you, i know that despite being a hufflepuff, you hold the courage of a gryffindor, the brains of ravenclaw, the wit of a slytherin.  do not be afraid. 

are you not afraid? this could kill you.

i have to admit a part of me still fears death after all this time.  but this is my price to pay. i love you, even in the short time we had. 

i love you. even if this version of you is only a figment of what you were. 

note: 

> a point i must bring up: minghao refers to y/n as ‘my heart.’ at first i thought it was just a term of endearment, but upon further research:  Soulmates are rare in the wizarding world, although not at all impossible. Soulmates share more than their magic, they share their hearts. One cannot die if the other is still alive -- making soulmates the most powerful form of magic to exist. It may be the only way to cheat death without the use of a horcrux.

[harunayuuka2060]

Leal and his sister: ...

Leal's sister: Brother, will they be okay?

Leal: Yes. Master Akihiko can handle this on his own.

Leal's sister: Hm. But... Isn't he afraid that his father will try to sabotage his plan?

Leal: I'll prevent that from happening.

Leal's sister: ...

Akihiko: What do you think, father? *smiling*

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: The people here are welcoming.

Akihiko: *chuckles* Right?

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: Son, are you truly going to proceed with the plan?

Akihiko: Yes. I had planned it since I was young.

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: You have hidden your true feelings well.

Yuurin's father: Your mother and I believed you were okay with everything happening.

Akihiko: *chuckles* Well, what could I say?

Akihiko: I'm a man who's been taught the virtues of a woman.

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: *smiles* I know I have no right to say this.

Yuurin's father: But I am proud of you, son.

Akihiko: ...

Yuurin's father: Anyway, here you go. I've signed everything. *He hands him the documents regarding the transfer of wealth to Yuurin.

Akihiko: Thank you, father.

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: Akihiko, when your time comes, will you promise to give me one final call?

Akihiko: ...

Akihiko: *smiles* If it crosses my mind, I will.

Akihiko: Huh? You want me to get a haircut?

Yuurin: Yes. It's fair, don't you think?

Akihiko: ...

Akihiko: *chuckles* Hm. What kind of haircut do you want me to get?

Yuurin: I think any haircut will suit you.

Akihiko: Bald?

Yuurin: ...

Akihiko: *laughs*

Akihiko: I'm just kidding, bluebell.

Yuurin: *sigh* We should go together with Leona-senpai.

Akihiko: Okay~. I think we should do it on your weekend off.

Yuurin: Sounds good.

Akihiko: Alright. I'll talk to you again, bluebell.

Yuurin: Take care, Aki.

Akihiko: You too, bluebell~. *hangs up*

Leona: *sitting next to her and listening to their conversation* Why the hell would he suggest bald?

Yuurin: I'm not sure...

Leona: ...

Leona: I think Leal's a bad influence.

Yuurin: Huh?

Leona: Just think about it, did he use to have a broken sense of humor?

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin's mother: Welcome home, dear. How was your trip to Sunset Savannah?

Yuurin's father: *smiles* It was great.

Yuurin's mother: That's good to know. Oh, by the way, do you want to see my journal? I had so much fun writing on it that I failed to realize that I've written on all its pages.

Yuurin's mother: All I have to do now is pray to Goddess Mnemosyne to watch over our son Yuurin and grant my wishes.

Yuurin's father: *nods*

Yuurin's father: *has waited for his wife to sleep* *holding the journal in his hand*

The servants serving Yuurin: Master? Are you sure about this?

Yuurin's father: Yes. Light up the fire.

The servants: *do as told*

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: Burn everything from Yuurin's childhood. Nothing shall remain.

The servants: Yes, master.

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: *watches as everything that can remind his wife about Yuurin burns*

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's mother: Men who show weakness will face discrimination, while strong women will be torn down. We cannot allow such injustice to befall our children.

Yuurin's father: What do you mean by that, dear?

*Akihiko was already born around that time.*

Yuurin's mother: We will raise this child as a girl.

Yuurin's father: ...

The servants: Master, this is all.

Yuurin's father: ...

Akihiko: Destroy the journal. By the next morning, Mother will have no recollection of Yuurin.

Akihiko: She will only remember having a daughter, who is me.

Yuurin's father: *to the servants* From tomorrow onwards, no one should utter a word about your Master Yuurin, especially not to your Madame.

Yuurin's father: Do you understand?

The servants: *bows* Yes, master.

Yuurin's father: *throws the journal to the fire*

*A figure resembling smoke emerges from it, fixing its gaze directly on him.*

Yuurin's father: *bows to it respectfully*

*The figure then heads to where his wife is.*

The servants: *looks at each other; understanding the situation*

Akihiko: ...

*The figure shows itself to him.*

Akihiko: *smiles* Thank you. Thank you so much.

*The figure nods then disappears.*

Akihiko: ...

Akihiko: I hope this will bring you joy, bluebell.

Leal: ...

Leal: Master Akihiko.

Akihiko: ...

Akihiko: I can enjoy my remaining years with Yuurin now. *chuckles*

Leal: ...

[highprettybabyy]

Seeing Red

Part 22: Begin Again

jenna ortega x fem!reader apocalypse au

summary: do we survive? maybe?

warnings: 18+! enemies to lovers, typical apocalypse stuff, violence, blood, zombies, gore, angst, some fluff, alcohol consumption, insane man, stabbing, animal abuse and cruelty, attempted murder, neglecting personal health, murder

AN: a little something to take the edge off xoxo

word count: short but sweet

“WHY THE FUCK IS IT ALWAYS JUST OUT OF REACH- EVERY- FUCKING- TIME?!”

The crawler lunged - feral and silent, lips peeled back from yellow teeth as she dragged herself up your body with horrifying strength. Her throat was shredded, a black maw of rotted sinew gaping open where her voice should have been, but she still moved with relentless purpose. You could feel her bony fingers clawing at your coat, her foul breath hot against your chin.

She scratched your jaw - just a shallow rake, but it burned immediately. You screamed and twisted, thrashing beneath her, trying to keep your face away from hers as she loomed over you like some sick revenant born of your worst nightmares.

Your machete glinted two feet away.

Out of reach.

Of course.

“FUCKING-HELL-JUST-MOVE!” you roared, kneeing upward. The crawler hissed as your shin slammed into her ribs. You kicked again, harder - this time connecting with her chest. Her body flung backward, slamming into the open car door. Her skull cracked against the edge of the seat with a sickening thud. She writhed, momentarily stunned.

You didn’t think - you scrambled up to your knees and slammed the car door shut. Once. A crunch.

She snarled and writhed beneath it, torso caught between the seat and the doorframe.

Twice. A wet snap. Blood smeared across the glass.

Three times. Her head lolled to the side. Her neck had twisted grotesquely.

Four. Five. SIX.

The final slam of the door cracked something deep inside her skull. Her body stopped twitching. Her jaw hung open, lower half nearly torn from the rest. Black rot oozed from her crushed temple.

Panting, you slumped back onto the gravel, shoulders heaving, blood hot and sticky down your throat and chest. You pressed trembling fingers to the scratch beneath your chin, already pulling your pack to your side.

“Okay. Okay. Fuck. Okay,” you mumbled, tearing open the disinfectant and dousing the wound in one go. It stung like acid. Good. That meant it wasn’t deep enough to be fatal. Probably. Hopefully.

Your eyes drifted back to the crawler. Her body was cold now, tangled in those strange chains.

And that’s when it hit you.

That’s how he got bit.

The bite on Cam’s shin. The broken jeans. The mad scramble. The car left open.

You swallowed bile and stood shakily, your ankle screaming where she’d yanked it. You hobbled forward and finally retrieved your machete, sheathing it with a shaky hand.

The inside of the car was a disaster.

Not the usual messy, survivor disarray. This was deliberate. Obsessive. Pages torn from journals scattered across the floor, the Polaroid camera wedged in the passenger door, half a roll of film still inside. You gathered what little you could stomach - some of the writing scrawled in frantic red ink. The word NOW repeated dozens of times. Maps, partial lists, symbols. And then… names. Some underlined. Some crossed out.

You stopped reading.

You dumped the journals into the dirt and set them alight with the emergency lighter you kept in your side pocket. Let the bastard’s madness rot with him.

Then came the food - cans, packets, preserves - many of them familiar. Your handwriting. Labels. Notes you’d written months ago in a moment of strange hope. A date for expiry, the word fennel underlined twice. You stared at the chickpeas in your hand and then tossed them. You couldn’t trust any of it. It had been in his hands.

You cleared the backseat slowly. Blankets, extra bedding, a few more tools. Empty rain barrels- thanks to Cam. At least you could recycle those.

You checked the fuel level. Thirty miles left.

Not great. Not terrible.

The car rumbled to life on the first turn of the key. You stared through the windshield for a moment, exhaling long and hard.

Then you turned it toward the cabin.

Back to Jenna.

Back to what mattered.

-

The crunch of tyres on gravel barely registered before you were throwing the car into park and stumbling out, door still ajar and engine running. You didn’t care. The sun had risen high now, gilding the cabin porch in amber, and there she was - Jenna. Standing barefoot in one of your old jumpers, hair still tousled from sleep, Angelo sitting alert at her side.

A picture of a life you hadn’t dared to dream about. A moment you could’ve lost forever.

“Angel,” you breathed, limping up the slope toward her as fast as your aching leg would allow.

Jenna stepped down the porch steps, meeting you halfway just as your arms collapsed around her. You buried your face in her shoulder, in the soft wool of her sweater, and inhaled everything she was - soap, smoke, wildflowers, safety. Her heartbeat thrummed steadily beneath your cheek.

“You looked so cute like that,” you murmured, voice muffled.

“Oh, stop,” she chuckled, that sleepy, raspy laugh you’d come to crave.

You held her tighter. She didn’t resist. You both just… swayed, arms knotted together in the soft breeze, Angelo circling you twice before plopping down nearby with a huff, tongue lolling.

Somewhere, the car rumbled quietly in idle.

“Should probably turn it off,” you muttered without lifting your head.

“Yeah…”

Neither of you moved.

You stayed like that - glued together by ache, by victory, by the kind of silent relief that doesn’t need words - until the wind picked up and Jenna finally leaned back just enough to brush your hair out of your face.

“Scratch?” she asked softly, gaze falling to the reddened gash on your chin.

“Disinfected already,” you reassured her, and added in a hush, “It was a crawler. Under the car. That’s how he got bit.”

Her expression froze, then cracked with horror. She reached up like she might hold your face in her hands and crumble with it.

“Hey,” you whispered, brushing her wrist with your thumb. “I’m okay. I promise. It’s over now. He’s really gone.”

Jenna nodded slowly, but didn’t speak. She just leaned in and pressed a long, steady kiss to your temple, and you felt the tension in your chest finally begin to unravel.

You pulled away only to grab her hand and squeeze it, motioning gently back toward the cabin. “C’mon. We’ve got a car to load. And a future to get the hell back on track.”

-

The packing took less than an hour, and yet the air between them made it feel like a ritual. Not of departure, but of renewal.

The trolley was strapped to the back of the car using leftover fasteners from their supply kit, one wheel now upgraded with thick tape and a metal brace Y/N had salvaged from the shed. Fishing rods were fed through the backseat windows, carefully secured with twine. A large grocery bag sat nestled in the middle, filled with food, drinks, and a few precious extras - tea bags, multivitamins, some dried fruits, and the last of their instant coffee. One of the back seats had been cleared entirely, padded with two of their softest blankets and a pillow Jenna had refused to leave behind. A makeshift throne for Angelo, who jumped into it with the kind of pride only a dog could muster.

Once all was ready, they stood on the gravel driveway, the cabin door left open behind them, the windows glinting under mid-morning sun. It already looked abandoned again.

“Time?” Jenna asked.

“Let’s eat,” Y/N replied. “One last stir fry before it gets too warm.”

They shared the leftovers in silence, eating side-by-side on the porch steps, the plate balanced between their knees. The fish was tender, the teriyaki sauce on the verge of edible, and they both agreed - quietly, wordlessly - that it might be the last time they ate something with that sauce again.

When the final bite was gone, they followed the winding dirt path into the forest. First past the open field. Then the playground. Jenna let her hand float on the wind. The breeze carried a soft creak from the rusting swings.

They crossed the road that ran beside the lake and approached the gated community. It appeared out of the woods like a forgotten estate- grand but cracked, fenced but unguarded. A black metal gate hung broken on its hinges, and the fence itself was dented in places, claw marks visible across several sections. Nature was already taking it back. But it still had promise.

They rolled slowly over the overgrown paving stones of a roundabout at the heart of the community. A wildflower bed bloomed stubbornly in the centre, despite months of neglect. The road stretched in six directions: four long drives each leading to large detached houses, one path from the forest behind them, and one leading further out toward the main road - and, beyond that, the unknown. That last road was blocked by a chaotic car pile-up, one trailer dangling precariously off the road’s edge, doors slightly ajar.

Y/N killed the engine and stepped out, crossbow raised and primed. Jenna moved behind her, rifle drawn, sweeping the area in calculated arcs.

Then- Y/N pressed down on the car horn. The blare shattered the stillness like a scream. Ten seconds, maybe more.

The world held its breath.

Three zombies emerged first, crawling from the twisted wreckage of the cars blocking the main gate. They were dispatched swiftly - Jenna’s aim clean, cold, familiar. Five more staggered from the house-lined path to the left, and two from the right. Y/N didn’t speak. She only waited until they were close enough, close enough for precision, for clean-up. Then: thunk, crack, pop. Crossbow bolts and rifle rounds echoed through the air. Ten seconds of hell. Then peace again.

“Clear,” Jenna whispered, exhaling.

They moved house by house. Angelo stood vigil on the roundabout, ears twitching, posture rigid. At each doorway, they paused. Entered together. Cleared each corridor, every shadow. Most homes were empty - abandoned in a rush, food left to rot on countertops, photos still crooked on the walls.

One house had a surprise. A bedroom door barricaded with a chair, faint scratching on the other side. They prepared themselves. Y/N kicked the door in, Jenna aimed high. A teenage girl turned corpse hurled herself at them - Y/N caught her with the machete, mid-air, her body slumping with a soundless thud against the bedframe.

They didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

By the time the sun began to dip, they had cleared every home. Every fence perimeter. Every blind spot.

But there was still more to find. And Jenna could feel it - deep in her chest, in her bones. They weren’t done here yet.

—//—

[ozzgin]

Omg love your page!.. could you write there was a prehistoric reader who was found with pickle and the t-rex, they noticed that pickle was protecting the woman who was visibly pregnant and almost as tall as him (Sorry if you don't write for preg just a head cannon I thought of 😅)

Thank you and no worries, it’s definitely doable! I’m actually surprised to see how popular the idea of a prehistoric reader is. That’s the charm of requests I suppose, other people sharing their unexpected, creative ideas with you.

Baki Headcanons: Prehistoric! Pregnant! Reader

Featuring an extra protective daddy Pickle and his challengers. Since I’ve already done some backstory on a prehistoric reader, this will focus more on the vulnerability of a soon-to-be Jurassic mother and how that tweaks the character interactions.

Pickle was the first one to awaken and had to be sedated just as fast, since he immediately begun searching for you, increasingly angry. Everyone had to be evacuated and it took several chloroform bombs throughout the building, but they managed to gain some time.

The scientists didn’t necessarily enjoy separating him from his mate, but after the initial shock of discovering the fetus you were carrying, they wanted to see if by some miracle you both could be revived in a similar manner. A prehistoric resurrection was downright ridiculous to begin with, but a pregnancy frozen in time? Peak of absurdity, and a never seen before breakthrough. Everyone could see their names published in top scholarly journals like Nature.

In a race against the clock, they fumbled with the medical machinery in order to confirm the health status of you and your unborn child. They weren’t sure if a second attempt of sedation would be as successful on the enraged, worried father.

Once all the variables are measured and safety is confirmed, they release you to join Pickle and they exhale in unison, grateful to have escaped the wrath of the Jurassic creature.

Pickle is further motivated to fight his challengers, because this time it’s not just about his hunger and entertainment: he has a duty to his mate, and you need to be fed properly. Though you aren’t as excited about digging into these miniature humans. They remind you of children.

The fighters thread carefully around you. While you may look vulnerable, you have a similar build to Pickle and they’d rather not risk underestimating you. Pregnancy can lead to unpredictable reactions if it means protecting the offspring.

You quietly watch over the fights, like a Roman emperor contemplating the fate of his gladiators. Will the matriarch spare the defeated? Pickle is but your humble servant, ready to act on your wishes.

No matter how you look at it, you just can’t stomach the thought. You stroke your fertile belly and feel overwhelmed with pity. The frail humans have impressed you with their strength, but not enough to want their flesh torn apart.

I’m almost convinced that Yuujirou’s mind would immediately wander to the breeding potential the moment he sees you. Just imagine the powerful outcome of combining your ancient warrior genes and his superhuman modern talent. Yuujirou stares at you long enough to trigger Pickle’s suspicions, and he immediately stands in front of you, reminding everyone that he’s the only one whose children you shall carry.

Retsu and Katsumi view motherhood as something sacred and will treat you like an ornate porcelain piece that could break at any moment, if not careful enough. If your mouth twists the wrong way they will join Pickle in a confused, hurried quest to satisfy your cravings.

Baki and Jack are almost as protective as Pickle, especially when Yuujirou is within several meters distance. You find it greatly amusing when the tiny humans form a shield before you, guarding you from unknown dangers. You clap your hands excitedly at all this entertainment provided to you.

You have to remind Pickle to take a break every now and then, rubbing your knuckles into his tense shoulders. He’s been alert ever since you’ve been brought to this mysterious world and you don’t blame him. Everything is new and confusing and you don’t know what to expect. But all that matters right now is that you’re still together and your family is safe. Pickle rests his forehead against yours, touching your stomach in an attempt to detect any movement. His eyes narrow in a smile when he feels the barely noticeable kick. He misses his old world dearly, but his home is not lost. It’s right in front of him.

[gin-juice-tonic]

A Bill Book related post again. I touched on this the other day when I posted these pages sans-explanation. And I really do still want to make a more coherent post about this, But like

This page is post-betrayal in the original Journal 3 Book

He literally says right here that he's "revealing" the fact that Bill is the name of his muse for the first time.

This should be the first place in the book where Bill is connected to the concept of Being the muse.

And yet. When it comes to the Book of Bill

He NAME DROPS HIM immediately!

Now, the above page takes place before this "My Muse" page chronologically:

Where Ford states that his Muse is his secret. I'd argue that the way he is writing it suggests he's content in having this secret to himself. Could you argue that he must've torn out that "Cipher Speaks" page before writing this one? Hmmmm, maybe. Maybe he had a change in attitude in how to present Bill in his journal at this point.

... EXCEPT. Then we get to THIS Book of Bill page!

He's name dropping Bill! Again! And explicitly calling him his muse! This page takes place sometime after/during the building of the portal, so well after the "I have a secret" page. Has his attitude shifted again? I sincerely doubt it, considering like I said, the original journal 3's muse pages tend to read like he's pleased in having this secret to himself. I don't have the pages on me, but go look through J3 at any other pages where Ford mentions his muse. It's in his tone.

Additionally there's the matter of the page that I posted at the top of this post. (Which I'll throw in again for free here, just for you)

Bill's status as Ford's muse has been his secret, even to the Journal, this whole time! What the Bill Book pages present is an entirely different narrative, where Bill's basically never been a secret amongst the Journal Pages.

Now, Ford's not the most reliable narrator himself, could it be possible post-betrayal he went back and ripped things out to just make it look that way? I don't think so. Again, go look at the "My Muse" page. Look at the other J3 muse pages. He would've had to not only rip out pages, but go back in and add the secret narrative entirely. He would've had to go back and write these pages pretending to be happy about being the only one to know this guy who has been trying to ruin his life. I don't think he's in a state where he could do that even if he wanted to at this point.

Plus if he was in the habit of ripping out pro-Bill pages, why does this one get to remain?

As opposed to being crossed out?

And before you say "Gin he's dropping Bill's name here". Yes, he is. But he's not conflating him with his "muse". This pages placement is a bit of a strange thing (in general. Why is this page post-betrayal? i'd have to think on that. Also worth thinking about: this page is directly before the "beware bill!" one, and it's notably an "intro" type page. ) but it's not contradictory to my argument I believe.

In the end it's a tale of two narratives, and the one presented by Bill in his book is just too faulty!

[fangirlingpuggle]

I had an idea for an AU of your "the twins are bill and Fords kids AU"

So bill finds out about the kids before they hatch(?) a bit of time before it happens in your AU Bill basically kind of just remembers "oh shit I did that with Ford I should see if it actually worked"

and then he hatches(?) them and takes them and at first because it's a ✨manipulation opportunity✨ but then oh no at least some parental instinct has emerged as he takes care of them because they're his and they're wonderful

And as they grow they develop personalities and Mabel oh how she reminds Bill so much of himself the little creature of chaos she is

And Dipper reminds him of Ford (and himself too) with that insatiable hunger for knowledge to see the secrets the universe has to offer

(And when Mabel starts becoming a bit boy crazy Bill just tells her that when she's a bit older he'll let her start her own cult)

And instead of creating things with glitter Mable creates things with the stardust her dad stole from the sky when she wanted to bedazzle her scrapbook (and also glitter because it is an item that breeds chaos and that is something Bill approves of)

And Dipper has a journal that never runs out of pages where he writes down the secrets and stories of the universe (both freely given and stolen by Bill)

And they are Bills children because how could they not be they are so fundamentally weird these nigh impossible creations that were made in a drunken haze a combination of magic and science that somehow breaks the laws of both

And Bill dreams of how when the time finally comes he shall finally bring Weirdmageddon

and he'll give them like a 10th of the planet where they can do whatever they want (because he may be a parent but he still likes to party and also doesn't want his kids to accidentally eat some hard drugs so it's basically a dedicated area for the kids where he doesn't have to worry about them too much because sometimes you just need a little you time okay!!!)

And getting back on track with the original plan surely when Ford meets the kids surely he'll at least love them as much as Bill and they can finally play one big happy Family ruling the world together

[In the meantime Ford had no idea any of this was happening didn't even know he had kids so imagine his surprise on Weirdmageddon

(Should Ford even trust these children they are Bills kids not to mention the fact that he's the one who raised them

a part of Ford wants to protect these kids another part of him thinks that Bills spawn shouldn't be trusted shouldn't exist)]

Anyway do you like my idea do you have anything you'd like to add (please say you like it 🥺🥺🥺)

(I just thought this would be a fun AU for your AU I got a bit inspired do you like it? you better like it because you have infected my brain with your ideas it's time I returned a favor with mine)

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!

Bill being so ready to use these kids as pawns and then he sees them and his heart instantly melts and 'I have only had these 2 for a moment and if anything happens to them I will burn the worlds down to the ground'

Him telling Mabel she can start her own cult is hilarious!

Dipper being like him fascinated by things out of his reach like the stars were for Bill and Bill encouraging him and making sure he can get all knowledge he wants.

Them breaking both magic and science is just perfection.

Bill giving hids a part of the world to have fun and sew their own chaos so he can have some me time, 'Ok kiddos go and do some destruction Dad is going to hang out with some friends and make a throne of human suffering ok'

OHH Ford's reaction to them is brilliant him being torn between wanting to protect his kids, but also these kids are Bill's and like him and raised by him. Probably twisted and manipulated by him and what if these kids are a trick a trap just a manipulation... he'd be in full paranoia mode.

This is so awesome!

[supercorpkid]

I Love You, I'm Sorry

Supergirl. Kara Danvers x Reader, Cat Grant.

Word Count: 4k.

Kara soared through the sky enjoying the peace of a quiet afternoon. It wasn’t part of any scheduled patrol, but she had felt the need to just glide above National City letting her mind wander. There were no alarms, no calls to action, just the calm rhythm of the air around her. She took in the city below—familiar, bustling, yet peaceful in the way only cities could be at this hour.

It was in this moment of solitude that something caught her eye—small, almost insignificant at the park below. A journal, unremarkable and alone on a bench. Kara’s instincts kicked in as she descended slowly, landing on the grass with a soft, practiced step. Her gaze flicked around the park, scanning for anyone who might be searching for it, but there was no one. Not a soul in sight.

She could leave it. After all, it wasn’t hers. It was private. A small piece of someone’s world she had no business touching. But as her fingers hovered above it, something—a flicker, a pull—urged her forward. She could return it, perhaps. Someone would surely appreciate having their journal back, wouldn’t they?

Sighing quietly to herself, she picked it up, flipping it open with a careful hand. No name on the first page. No clue as to who it belonged to. She turned the pages quickly, not wanting to invade too much of the personal content, just looking for some scrap of information—anything to point her toward the owner. 

She exhales, shaking her head at herself. This isn’t hers to read. The least she can do is put it back where she found it.

Her fingers brush the worn cover, ready to close it, when—

Kara Danvers.

Her name, scrawled in hurried ink, jumps out at her from the page.

It was so jarring she almost dropped the journal. Her heart skipped a beat. The words weren’t just written about her—they were hers. The journal was full of the kind of musings that only someone who knew her—really knew her—could write. Her breath caught as she skimmed further, her eyes drinking in the lines, the raw, honest feelings scrawled across the pages. It was personal. And it was about her. Kara Danvers. Not Supergirl.

Kara’s fingers tightened on the journal, a wave of unease flickering in her chest. She scanned the park again, her gaze darting between the trees and the empty benches. Could this be a trap? A setup, perhaps, to expose her secret identity? But there was no one in sight. No one watching. The world felt strangely still.

She glanced back down at the journal, feeling the weight of it—this unspoken, fragile thing that didn’t belong to her, and yet somehow did because it had her name all over it. She held it a little closer, her brow furrowing, torn between curiosity and caution.

Against her better judgment, Kara found herself holding the journal close, making her way back to her apartment. The wind seemed to bite sharper now, the quiet of the park fading as the hum of the city swelled around her. But all she could focus on was the journal—the weight of it in her hands, the pull she felt to understand who it belonged to, who had written all of these words about her.

She paced around her apartment, the journal clutched in her hands like a secret she wasn't ready to confront. Her mind raced, trying to place the handwriting. There was something so familiar about it. The fluidity, the care in each curve of the letters—it made her pulse quicken with something she couldn’t quite name. She knew this person. She had to.

Her thoughts drifted, searching for clues. It wasn’t Alex’s—she knew her sister’s handwriting too well for that. It wasn’t Sam’s either, they don't know each other that well so Sam could fill an entire journal with her name. And Lena… Lena sure never sounded like this. Still, could it be? Was there some softer, more vulnerable side to Lena’s thoughts she hadn’t heard before? Or maybe it was Nia—her best friend’s empathy practically pouring off every word, every sentence. Or maybe it was someone else entirely. 

Kara couldn’t settle on an answer. But one thing was certain—she couldn’t stop reading. Her heart beat louder in her chest as she turned the page again, eyes scanning the words with increasing urgency, her gaze hungry for more. She had to be sure. She needed to know.

Then she froze, her fingers lingering on a specific page.

February 13 Galentine's Day. Or whatever. Nia came up with it. Apparently, it’s the day to celebrate your friends instead of your lover. To be honest, I wasn’t thrilled with the idea until Kara said she loved it, and she would bring ice cream and chocolates for a romantic movie-watching party. Suddenly, I’m head over heels for the idea, and I’m also the first one to get there — lame, I know. Nia made sure to also point that out. Nia ALSO wants me to ask Kara out tomorrow on Valentine's day which is seriously the most ridiculous thing ever because she would probably say no.

Kara furrowed her brows. She remembered this. Galentine's Day at Nia's apartment. Some girls from CatCo, pizza, and laughter filled the space as they watched cheesy rom-coms. The memory was warm, familiar, full of easy smiles.

She paused, turning the page slowly, the words lingering in her mind. She narrowed down the list of possibilities, trying to figure out who had written this. Three names danced in her head, but something in her gut whispered that she already knew.

February 26 I've always known that I’m a dud so there’s nothing I can do about it, but I had no idea I could be that much of a loser. Ms. Grant told me I’d be working with Kara this week for a piece, and the shriek of excitement that came out of me was seriously the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done. So, guess what? Now my freaking BOSS knows that I’m in love with Kara Danvers. And sure, she won’t say anything about it to Kara, but the way she looked at me when she figured it out—I swear, I wish the world would just suck me in and spit me out elsewhere.

Huh. She worked with Eve Teschmacher that week, but… No… No way. Eve would never be in love with her! It couldn’t be!

February 27 Yep, I blew it. Ms. Grant said I was too involved to work with Kara, and now freaking Eve will do it. I seriously hate myself, and also, I totally deserve it.

Okay, yeah, that made more sense, Kara tried to reason with herself, but there was still that nagging doubt. Maybe, if she read just a little more…

She freezed. What the hell was she doing? Kara's heart skipped a beat as the weight of her actions hit her. This was clearly an invasion of privacy—one she had no right to. And besides, it wasn’t Kara who found it—it was Supergirl! And Supergirl is a hero. She wouldn't dig through people's journals just for the sake of gossip, right? Right.

Her fingers hovered over the next page, a silent war waging between curiosity and self-respect. She could put it down. She should. But then again, it was about her…

March 5 Some days, it feels impossible to be around Kara. Not because she’s difficult or anything—God, I wish that were the case. It would be easier if she were mean, or distant, or even just a little bit selfish. But no, she’s Kara Danvers, and she’s soft in a way that sneaks up on you, warm in a way that lingers, kind in a way that makes you ache because it’s never just for you. It’s who she is. Today, she touched my shoulder while laughing, just a small, thoughtless thing. And yet, here I am, writing about it like some ridiculous, lovesick fool. Because for her, it was nothing, and for me, it was everything. And I hate it—I hate that I can’t just be normal about her, that I can’t turn this off, that every time she looks at me like I matter, I have to remind myself that it’s just who she is. That she’d look at anyone that way. I wish she wouldn’t. I wish she’d save it for me. And that’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever felt in my life.

Kara shut the journal with a snap, pressing it flat against her chest like that could somehow undo what she’d just read. Her heart was hammering. Actually hammering.

This was bad. This was—objectively—a huge breach of privacy. She should feel guilty. She did feel guilty. But also…

She was burning up. Her whole face was hot, her hands twitching against the worn edges of the cover. Because—holy shit. Someone is in love with her. Someone she knows is in love with her. And she had to know who it was.

Her mind raced through every possibility, flipping through memories, voices, the way people looked at her when they thought she wasn’t paying attention. It's definitely not Nia. Obviously not Lena. It's someone from CatCo, someone she’s been oblivious to. But then she remembered the entry about Galentine’s Day, and the way this person remembers every detail about her.

And the way Ms. Grant already knew.

Kara groaned, dragging a hand down her face. She could close the journal, she should stop this.

Oh, how she wished she would.

March 8 I swear, I’m one dumbass moment away from writing Kara Danvers in my notebook with little hearts around it. Actually, I probably already have. I wouldn’t even be surprised at this point. Today was painful. She wore that stupid soft sweater—the blue one that makes her look like a walking daydream—and she kept absentmindedly chewing on the end of her pen during the meeting. How am I supposed to survive that?? How?? Eve caught me staring (of course she did), and the look she gave me was so deeply unimpressed that I think I actually felt my soul leave my body. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that I'm so obvious, half of CatCo already knows, or the fact that Kara is so oblivious it wouldn't matter if the whole world knew—she won't ever acknowledge it. I’m doomed.

Kara let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a squeak and a gasp.

Oh. Oh.

She barely registered the journal slipping from her hands, barely heard the dull thud as it hit the floor. Her mind was racing, words blurring together, looping like a siren. Kara Danvers with little hearts around it. A walking daydream. So oblivious.

She had a sinking feeling she knew exactly who had written this. And now, with the words laid out in front of her, she couldn’t argue.

It’s you.

It had to be you.

The way you would look at her—as if she puts the stars in the sky, as if she is the sun itself. She’s seen it, the way your pupils blow wide, the way your heartbeat stutters when she gets too close.

And yet, somehow, she’s been oblivious to it.

She picked it up again, fumbling through the pages, hands shaking—because she knew exactly who wrote this. And now, holy damn, she needed to know everything. Needed to drink in every single word, to understand your feelings, to know your mind as deeply as you know hers.

April 12 I’m going insane. Kara has to know. There’s no way she doesn’t. Not when she looks at me like that—soft and searching, like she’s memorizing every detail. Not when she gets so close sometimes, I forget how to breathe. Because how could she not feel this too? How could she not mean it when she brushes my hair back when she thinks I’m not paying attention? When she leans in as if she’s about to kiss me, only to never follow through? Or pulls me into hugs that last a few seconds too long? And I hate myself always falling for it, for letting my stupid heart jump every time she pulls me close just to walk away like nothing happened. She’s not in love with me. I know that. I’ve always known that. But God, sometimes she acts like she is. And that’s what hurts the most. Because she could love me. She could so easily love me. But she won’t. And I don’t think I can survive watching her love me halfway anymore.

And that was it. That was the moment Kara broke. That’s when she realized—oh, fuck.

She’s been loving you in every way except saying it out loud. She’s been treating you like you’re hers, like she wants you, but she’s never let herself finish the thought. And in doing so, she’s been hurting you.

Her breath caught. Her hands tightened around the journal, fingertips pressing into the pages like she could hold you there, keep you here. Her stomach twisted, panic clawing up her throat—a sick kind of fear, as if it's already too late. As if she’s already lost you.

She needed to know—had you given up already? Was she too late?

April 16 I told Ms Grant I was thinking about leaving. Not in so many words, but she’s Cat Grant, and she knew exactly what I meant before I even finished my sentence. She gave me that look, the one that makes people crumble in interviews, and said, “That would be the single most idiotic decision of your career.” She’s right. Of course she’s right. I love this job. I’ve always loved this job. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I worked for. But it’s also her. Every day, I wake up knowing I’ll see her, knowing I’ll sit across from her and pretend I don’t notice the way she stares just a little too much. The way she wraps me in her cardigan because it's always too cold in that damn meeting room. The way she laughs at my stupid jokes like I'm moon to her sun. The way she almost loves me. But almost isn’t enough. And honestly? I can’t keep doing this. I told Cat I’d think about it and she asked me not to be an idiot. But the truth is, I don’t know how not to be an idiot when it comes to her. God, Kara Danvers, I love you, I'm sorry!

And then Kara spirals. Because she thought she had time—thought she could figure it out, thought you’d always be there, thought she’d never have to imagine a world where you weren’t right across from her, making her laugh, looking at her like she mattered more than anything.

But now?

Now she sees it so clearly. She’s been selfish. She’s been cruel without even realizing it. She’s been holding onto you—keeping you just close enough to make you stay, but never brave enough to actually choose you.

And now, you’re slipping away.

Now, she’s imagining an empty desk where yours used to be. A future where you don’t sit next to her in meetings, where she doesn’t get to hear your voice every day, where she doesn’t get to love you in all the ways she never let herself admit.

And that’s a universe she refuses to exist in.

She doesn’t even think.

One second, she’s clutching your journal so tight it might tear, and the next—she’s gone, a blur of blue and red streaking across the sky. She’s halfway to CatCo before it hits her—shit, she can’t exactly storm in as Supergirl.

So she skids to a stop in an alley, heart pounding, fingers shaking as she fumbles to change into something—anything—that makes her look like Kara Danvers instead of a lovesick disaster. Then she’s marching into CatCo like she’s ready to put up a fight.

“Ms. Grant!”

The second she steps inside, she regrets everything.

Cat lifts her head, one sharp brow raised at the audacity. “Kiera,” she says, slow and unimpressed. “Is there a reason you’re barging into my office like a poorly trained golden retriever?”

Kara swallows hard, gripping the journal like it might anchor her. “Uh—um—hi, Ms. Grant. Do you—uh—have a minute?”

Cat exhales, already exhausted. “Speak. Before I find a reason to fire you.”

Kara gulps. “It’s about Y/N. I heard she—she might be quitting?”

Cat’s gaze sharpens. “Have you now?”

Kara flushes. The journal feels like it’s burning in her hands. “Yes! And—and I just wanted to know if she’s already done it? And if she hasn’t—can you, like—not let her?”

Cat exhales sharply, pressing her fingers against her temple. “For the love of—Kiera, I have far more important things to do than play referee in your slow-burn, painfully obvious, infuriating love affair with Miss Y/N.”

Kara blinks. “It’s not—”

“Oh, shut up,” Cat cuts in. “You think I haven’t seen the way you look at her? The way she looks at you?” She levels Kara with a stare that could crack glass. “I told you to take the damn leap when it was about your career, but I meant it for everything in your life.”

Kara’s throat goes dry.

Cat leans in. “So if you’re done wasting my time—and hers—get a grip on yourself and get out of my office.”

Kara doesn’t need to be told twice. She whirls on her heel, heart hammering against her ribs, mind scrambling trying to find another way to make you stay. But she barely makes it three steps into the office bullpen before—

“What are you doing with my journal?!”

She stops so abruptly that the world seems to lurch around her.

Oh. Oh, no.

Your gaze is sharp, pinning her in place, flicking between her face and the journal clutched in her hands. Suspicion tightens your features, but before Kara can think of a way to fix this, you’re already moving—so fast that even she is caught off guard—snatching it from her grasp with a precision that should honestly terrify her.

She watches, still too stunned to react, as you shove it into your purse like you’re disposing of evidence.

“There was, um, no name on it!” she blurts, voice too high, hands lifted like she’s surrendering. “I—I found it in the park!”

Your frown deepens, but then something shifts. Your shoulders tense, your fingers tighten around your purse, and Kara watches as realization slams into you. She opened it. She looked inside. She might have even—

“You didn’t read my journal, right?” Your voice is sharp enough to cut.

Kara hesitates, but when she takes a step back, you take one forward.

“Kara,” you press, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t read it, right?”

She swallows hard. “I, um—might have skimmed through it to see if I could find the owner…”

The color drains from your face so fast it makes her panic.

She almost reaches for you, afraid you might actually pass out, because your pulse just shot through the roof, your breathing is suddenly all wrong and there's no color on your face anymore.

And you? You’re dying. No, worse—this is what it feels like to be dead, except somehow still conscious enough to suffer through it. Your thoughts are a mess, tangled and spiraling, and Kara is still looking at you, guilty and wide-eyed, and—

“It’s not about you!” you blurt, too loud, too fast, and absolutely unconvincing.

Kara stills. Her head tilts just slightly, and in that instant, you know. You just made everything worse.

“Really?” Kara’s brows knit together, her voice dipping just enough to let you know she’s not buying it.

"Yeah! It’s… a different Kara!"

That smirk of hers spreads, slow and sharp. "A different Kara Danvers?"

You nod—way too fast, a little too eager. "Sure! There’s more than one."

Kara snorts, crossing her arms. "That works at CatCo with you? And sits across from your desk?"

And just like that, you’re done for. You know she knows, and she knows you know she knows. Now you’re just standing there, utterly exposed, scrambling for an escape route that doesn’t exist.Think, think, think! your brain screamed, but it was just static. There’s no way out of this. Not anymore.

Her head tilts, all mock-casual, but there’s something else in her gaze now—something softer, something sure.

"Well, that’s a shame then," she murmurs, almost thoughtful. And then, like it’s the easiest thing in the world—like she’s not about to change everything—"’Cause this Kara Danvers thinks she’s in love with you."

The words hit like a live wire, short-circuiting your entire body.

"Wait, what? No. You—what?" Your voice cracks. Your breath stutters. Your hands twitch at your sides, as if your brain is frantically trying to send signals but forgot how limbs work.

Kara grins, tilting her chin at you, watching you crumble.

"I mean," she says, all maddening ease, "unless you’d rather keep talking about that other Kara Danvers."

And you? You’re still malfunctioning, still trying to process the fact that Kara Danvers just admitted she’s in love with you. Your heart is in your throat, your world slipping sideways—

And then—

She kisses you.

No hesitation this time. No warning. Just Kara, warm and real, closing the space between you like she was always meant to.

And your brain just—stops.

Your fingers twist into the fabric of her shirt, holding on like she might vanish if you let go. Your knees threaten to buckle, the whole world shrinking down to the press of her lips, the way she leans in—gentle at first, then not. Like she’s wanted this for so long and she’s finally done waiting.

The floor tilts beneath you. Your pulse is a hammer against your ribs. Your lungs forget their job. And god, Kara is kissing you like she means it. Like this isn’t some impulsive mistake or a fleeting moment—no, it’s deliberate. It’s soft and warm and kind, just like she is. But at the same time, it’s hot and desperate and hungry—and completely inappropriate for it to be happening in the middle of CatCo.

Between kisses, Kara exhales a shaky, “I love you. I’m sorry.”

It takes you a few good seconds—her lips already on yours again—for your brain to catch up, to understand why she’s saying this. And so, mid-kiss, you mumble against her lips, "Next time you read my journal, things will not end up this well, Danvers."

Kara laughs into the kiss, and you feel it—feel the way her smile curves against your lips, the way she just pulls you in closer, like she wouldn’t change this moment for anything.

"Noted," she murmurs, and then she kisses you again.

And that is exactly when you hear Ms Grant's voice behind you.

“Do I have to call HR?”

You and Kara break apart just enough to look at each other, wide-eyed, lips still way too close.

“We should go.”

“Yeah,” you whisper back. “Fly us home?”

Kara blinks at you, still breathless. “Wait—you know I’m Supergirl?”

You sigh, placing a hand over your heart like you’re deeply offended. “No, hun, I meant for you to fly us there on a bus.” And then, for good measure, you wink.Kara rolls her eyes, but she’s already reaching for your hand, fingers lacing through yours like it’s the easiest thing in the world. She tugs you towards the elevator, already grinning like she just turned every almost into a forever.

[bradleysass]

Diary - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 638

Regulus had always found solace in words. As a child, he'd scribbled his thoughts into a worn leather-bound diary, spilling the emotions he couldn't voice. It was his one constant, his safe place. Even when he had no one, he had his words.

Then came James Potter.

Loving James was a whirlwind, chaotic and exhilarating. Regulus had long since stopped writing in his diary—life with James was too loud, too full of warmth for him to retreat into the pages of his past. So when they moved in together, he hadn't even thought about where his old journals had gone.

Until one evening, James found them.

Regulus was in the shower when James, in a bout of tidying up, stumbled upon a battered shoebox tucked away beneath their bed. He wasn’t one to snoop—well, not much—but the box was falling apart, barely holding itself together, and something about it felt significant. He pried it open, fingers brushing over the leather covers of several old journals, their spines creased from use.

Curiosity got the better of him. He picked up the one on top and flipped through it, skimming past the tight, familiar handwriting.

At first, it was innocent. Mentions of childhood frustrations, loneliness, the burdens of being a Black. But as he kept reading, the words became more recent, more raw. He hadn’t even realized when the pages had shifted to the time after they had met. And then, there it was—

James Potter is infuriating. He’s reckless and ridiculous, and he talks too much, and he has this way of looking at me like I’m something worth looking at. Like I’m worth something. It’s unbearable.

James froze. His heart thumped wildly as he read on.

I think I’m in love with him. I think I have been for a while. But saying it out loud feels impossible. Writing it feels impossible. He’s so bright, and I’m—

The ink was smudged, like Regulus had written too fast, or maybe stopped himself.

James swallowed hard.

“James?”

His head snapped up, and there was Regulus, hair damp, wearing one of James’s oversized sweaters, a towel slung around his neck. His eyes flickered from James to the open diary in his hands. James saw the exact moment realization struck, the way his face paled, his fingers curling into his palms.

“You—you weren’t supposed to read that.” Regulus's voice was quiet, but there was something sharp beneath it.

James shut the journal, setting it down carefully before standing up. “Reg, I—”

“You had no right.”

“I know.”

Regulus turned away, but James wasn’t having it. He crossed the space between them, hands reaching out but stopping just shy of touching. “Reg, please. Talk to me.”

“I wrote those things because I couldn’t say them out loud. Because I wasn’t ready.” Regulus’s voice was tight, and James hated the way he was holding himself, like he was bracing for impact.

James exhaled. “I’m sorry. I really am. But Regulus… you don’t have to keep it bottled up anymore. Not with me.”

Regulus finally looked up, hesitant. James took the opening, stepping closer, hands brushing against Regulus’s.

“I love you,” James said, firm, sure. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I don’t need a journal to know it.”

Regulus’s breath hitched. James could see the war in his eyes, the way he was torn between retreating and stepping forward.

James squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to write it anymore. Just say it. If you want to.”

Silence stretched between them. And then—

“I love you,” Regulus whispered, almost like he was testing the words. Then stronger. “I love you, James.”

James grinned, and before Regulus could take it back, he pulled him in, pressing his lips to his forehead, then his nose, then finally, finally to his lips.

[letmedixonyou]

i’m not yours - part 6

summary: Daryl and you are (were?) friends. He's dating Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart. Will it ever go back to normal?; Y/N's journal page, drunken thoughts about her encounter with Leah from the previous chapter.

words: 764 - short but super necessary for the story

warnings: swearing, mentions of abuse, mentions of sex

A/N: I am thrilled that so many people like this story. Honestly, I wasn't going to make chapters for this, but here we are! Love ya'll! Thank you for reading! 🖤

If this chapter seems a bit cringey, is because it supposed to be as the character is quite drunk and just writes what she's thinking at the time!

Read previous part here!

Page from Y/N journal

SHE DOESN'T KNOW!!!

Leah has no fucking clue!

She has no idea who he is. That some bullshit! She must know something, right? He wouldn't keep her in the dark like this? Maybe he would... He hasn't told her? Why? Isn't that what people in a relationship do? Share? Like, actually share their fears, dreams and things about their past? Leah has so idea who the fuck Daryl is? Like why he's sometimes so broody and quiet, or why he has days when he needs to be alone.

He told me. I know. Everything. Well, probably not everything but most things, especially the important ones. Doesn't that mean something? But what? What does it mean? Why do I know him better than his partner!? How is that even possible... Leah dates a stranger. A ghost even. She goes home to him every night and sleeps with him in the same bed. She probably fucks him every day. I know I would've... Yet she has no idea who she's giving herself to and who he is for real. What the fuck?!

I remember so clearly the first time I saw his scars I was mortified. It was back in Atlanta, we were looking for some deer, squirrels or any food in general. He somehow miscalculated how far away we were from a hill that was overgrown with vines and bushes, and he slipped all the way down. Dumbass... When I got to him, running all the way (or more like stumbling because you couldn't classify the fast crab walking down the hill through the flora as a run), his top was torn apart by the branches and whatever else he smashed into.

My eyes widened, looking at his slumped shoulders and broad back, when he scrambled to stand up, clearly embarrassed. The scars looked painful, even though they were healed. They're long and thin, running vertically down and across his back. The crosses they made on his back, and how deep the scars were, I was sure he could probably feel them sometimes when he moves. He tried to hide it, frantically pulling the pieces of the fabric around him, saying that I should stop looking at them or I'll get a punch. I turned my gaze away quickly, not wanting for his fist to ruin my pretty face. Not that I think he'd punch me for real. But still. Oh, and also I didn't want to pry because who was I to ask about his past? We've just met. It would be even so inappropriate, even if my tongue was itching to question. But it was mostly about my face...

The next couple of days we had to move as Rick wanted to check out CDC in Atlanta. Once we got there, it turned out there was one person left and no other scientists, so humanity had no cure. Oh, and we all carry the zombie virus so whatever happens to us, whether we die of old age or we get shot, stabbed or bitten, if no one kills our brains, we become one of the walkers. Anyways, before we found out the truth and the building blew up to pieces, we all spent the evening laughing and drinking wine. It was peaceful for once.

That night, Daryl came to my room a bit tipsy and confessed. About his childhood, his scumbag of a father, beating him up almost every day, his absent mother, about the scars that his father's belt left on him. He told me everything about Merle, his brother, and I listened. I will never forget the words he said when I've asked why he decided to tell me.

"I don't know. Maybe I just wanted to be heard. And I knew you'd listen."

I've never seen him that vulnerable (and he never was that vulnerable ever again). He wouldn't look me in the eyes after he said it and I didn't force him. All I did was hug him tightly and he reluctantly hugged me back.

Now I'm finding out he hasn't shared the details of his life with Leah? Leah, who was his girlfriend? Who is supposed to have this type of information? What the hell, Daryl? I know you were quite tipsy when you shared with me for the first time but you never had trouble sharing with me after that. NEVER. Although nothing topped the story about his dad... My brain can't process this. I need sleep.

Why am I the one who he trusts?

Am I the only one he trusts?

Is it possible...

No. Fuck.

[heroesrest64]

Farmer’s Journal

As I work on this journal, I realize there are plenty of opportunities for world building. Sometimes it’s just not feasible to note down each crop, their prices or the amount obtained in a traditional story layout. I can also highlight likes and dislikes as they come up in the story.

You can find more content for this project here

Spring 1 and 2

Transcripts, because I know my writing can be hard to read:

Page 1

‘Spring 1: Moving Back In

- Writing this kind of late at night. My muscles are killing me so I’ll make this short.

- I arrived in Hateno today, decided to avoid the main route and just hiked up to the farm. It’s… Not looking too good. Trees, weeds, boulders. Most of the farm buildings are completely torn down. I did what I could today with some worn down tools left in the storage shed, but I’ll need to head into the village tomorrow if I want to make money for these repairs.

- From what I remember, strawberries are pretty lucrative. It might not be a bad idea to list how many crops I’ll need to get…

~Funds: 500 rupees

~Known spring crops:

✅ strawberry | seed cost: 30 | yield: 3-6, regrows | sold for: 20 | 3

✅ wildberry | seed cost: 10 | yield: 3, regrows | sold for: 10 | 5

✅ hyrule herb | seed cost: 5 | yield: 1 | sold for: 15 | 5

❌ carrot | seed cost: 10 | yield: 1 | sold for: 30

❌ silent princess | seed cost: 30 | yield: 1 | sold for: 100

✅ Hylian rice | seed cost: 20 | yield: 5 | sold for: 30 | 3

✅Garlic | seed cost: 5 | yield: 1 | sold for: 20 | 4

✅Rocktato | seed cost: 20 | yield: 1-4 | sold for: 50 | 4

✅Turnips | seed cost: 5 | yield: 1 | sold for: 20 | 4

✅Cauliflower | seed cost: 10 | yield: 1 | sold for: 40 | 7

✅Kale | seed cost: 5 | yield: 1 | sold for: 20 | 4

✅Parsnips | seed cost: 5 | yield: 1 | sold for: 20 | 4

✅Tulips | seed cost: 5 | yield: 1-3 | sold for: 15 | 4

✅Daffodils | seed cost: 5 | yield: 1 | sold for: 25 | 5

❌Primroses | seed cost: 10 | yield: 1 | sold for: 30’

Page 2

‘Spring 2- Back In Hateno Village

- Today I’ll need to grab some crops in town. East Wind usually stocks all the basics, and I’ll need to find a different way to get some of the more specialized seeds

~~

- Okay soooo East Wind is sold out. It was nice to see Ivee again, though. I always had a feeling she’d take over the shop someday. I also managed to order all the seeds from yesterday’s list- they should be ready in a couple days. In the meantime, Ivee suggested I talk with the other farmer in town about getting some seeds. Hopefully he’s as nice as Ivee says he is.

- Time looked a little intimidating at first, but he ended up being really sweet. I think he gave me the delivery task so I’d have to socialize a bit more, which worked out well in the end.

- I med Wind. He’s a helpful kid who’s apparently also a fisherman. He took me to the new tavern in town where I met Wild, Four and Legend. Four is apparently a blacksmith. He seems to love coffee. I don’t know too much about Legend other than the fact he’s pretty opinionated and seems to like apple juice. As for Wild, he’s the owner of the Tavern. His cooking is divine, and definitely gave me the energy to get through the rest of the day.

- Back at Time’s farm, it looks like he’s pretty good friends with the monster hunters. There was Warriors, he reminds me of the Palace Guards back in Castle Town. Linkle, Warriors’ sister- she was very bright. SKY, the town’s carpenter, although he seemed pretty tired and not as talkative. And Twilight, Time’s ranch hand. It’s like he was born to work on a farm…

- Either way, Time game me a generous reward [+5 strawberry seeds, +5 carrot seeds, +5 turnip seeds, +5 tulip seeds and an apricot seedling] and I finally headed back to my farm to plant my first crop, but not before running into the man who apparently runs the clinic. Hyrule was pretty nice, just like (almost) everyone I met today. He actually gave me some seeds, too, for an herb garden. [+5 Heart Flower Seeds, +5 Stamina Fruit Seeds, +1 Fairy Flower Seed]

-All in all, not a bad first day back. Hopefully the trend continues and life starts looking up soon.

(Fell off of Linkle. Cucco feather?)’

[inkyrainstorms]

Martian Stan AU. Ford's torn between sharing what happened to him, and struggling to even think of something sometimes (like his implied isolation during college). He doesn't want to admit he was doing badly, he doesn't think that something hurt him even though it did, and or he doesn't want to burden Stan.

And knowing that Stan would've never said many of the things aloud he shared across the radio had he known that Ford could hear him. Not only the horrible things that he experienced during the last ten years, but also how the isolation and the uncertainty of his survival in the nightmare realm weigh on him. It's not fair that Ford knows so many vulnerable details about Stan, and Stan doesn't know about him.

Ford looks over his logs on Stan, mind and chest churning with anxiety. He thinks of the lost pages of Journal 3 - those which would appear in The Book of Bill -, which would be the only equivalent. But he's already destroyed them. He can't bear to recreate even just summaries of the events on paper.

He writes a shaky note that he's going to give Stan at his return. He promises that he'll tell him everything, as soon as Ford's ready. Or maybe he makes voice recordings on tape, which are different enough from a book that he can manage speaking about the last years. And Stan (and Ford during recording) can space things out.

Ford's not ready, he never will be. But his emotional breakdown after Stan reveals he incapacitated Bill by accident just makes that first conversation happen sooner.

you guys are dropping whole fics into our inboxes now oh my gosh :0 you’re so so right of course. Ford has a generally incredibly hard time opening up, and he’s fully aware (when it strikes him at least) that he knows more about Stan than Stan was ready to share with him. It’s just another thing to add to the pile of All Consuming and Probably Unreasonable (but still reasonable) Guilt

I think Ford used the Stanley-journal as both a diary to write down what he’d want to say to Stan when he comes back, things he wants to show him, and of course, things that Stan has said. Transcripts.

I’ve made a separate post about this, but Ford definitely gave Stan the book after all was said and done. He left it on Stans bed in the room he set up for him, and let his brother come to him for questions. And he probably pushes himself way to hard to try and answer them(out of guilt) (even though he’d rather not, not yet)

it’s gonna take a lot for them to find a healthy balance and recover their relationship, and find out how to proceed (the bill conversation definitely helps!). The radio made things simultaneously easier and harder, because Ford can name all of Stan’s favorite foods and has a list of his favorite stories and a list of his triggers and traumas, and Stan… He doesn’t know anything. It’ll be a learning experience for them both

@aroace-get-out-of-my-face more post-rescue stuff bc these guys are gonna go Through It