#*yes you are one of my closest friends so yes that poem is for you too*

[charliedaltonswife]

as henry’s longtime friend, he becomes irritated with your blossoming friendship with newcomer richard. it’s not until he notices the copy of sapphos on your nightstand that things boil over. he confronts you about the romantic nature of these poems, and amidst a tense argument, true feelings are revealed. for the poems were never about richard, after all…

basically a childhood friends with a secret crush moment…i can see henry being a real asshole to mask his jealousy 🤭

A Jealous Temper

Henry Winter x reader (The Secret History)

thank you nonnie, i got carried away and wrote a bit much!

Summary: read the request

Warnings: none i believe

master list found here

The first time Henry Winter spoke to you, he was six years old, standing stiffly in the corner of the garden where the other children were playing tag. His hair was slicked down, his shoes too shiny, and he looked at you like you were some curious artifact he wasn’t quite sure how to categorize.

You’d been sitting cross-legged in the grass, inspecting a row of ants marching determinedly toward a crumb of bread. When you noticed him, standing there awkwardly with his hands tucked behind his back, you tilted your head and said, “Why aren’t you playing with the others?”

He hesitated, glancing toward the chaos of shouting children. “They’re loud,” he said, his tone careful, precise. “And uncoordinated.”

You grinned, patting the patch of grass beside you. “Come sit, then. I’m watching ants.”

Henry blinked at you, as though you’d suggested something scandalous, but after a moment’s deliberation, he lowered himself primly onto the ground, folding his legs with an almost comical rigidity. He followed your gaze to the ants, his expression skeptical.

“They’re taking crumbs to their queen,” you explained, your voice filled with the kind of certainty only a child could muster.

Henry’s brows knit together. “Ants don’t have queens.”

“Yes, they do,” you said confidently, pointing at the tiny black shapes. “They work together. She’s the boss. My mom said so.”

He frowned, considering this. “Well,” he finally said, “if they do have a queen, I don’t think she’s their boss. Maybe they just… like her. Enough to work for her.”

You squinted at him, considering his words. “That’s silly. Why would they do that?”

He shrugged, his small shoulders rising and falling with a kind of gravity that seemed out of place on someone so young. “Sometimes you do things for people you like. Even if you don’t have to.”

You thought about that for a moment, then nodded solemnly. “Okay, but I still think she’s the boss.”

Henry didn’t argue further, but when he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

“You’re strange,” you said suddenly, matter-of-factly.

“So are you,” he replied, without missing a beat.

You both sat there in silence after that, watching the ants move back and forth, and somehow, it felt like the beginning of something neither of you could quite name.

Henry Winter had always been your anchor. The quiet, calculated one, always intent on the precision of things, be it philosophy or life itself. Since childhood, he had been a constant in your world, a steady, unshakable presence that you always relied on. He was, in many ways, the center of your universe, your closest confidant.

But lately, things had started to shift, even if you hadn’t yet dared to acknowledge it.

Richard Papen had come into the picture, a newcomer, full of naive wonder and an earnest desire to belong. He wasn’t like Henry, not in the least. He was raw, emotional, brimming with questions about the world. You’d found his curiosity infectious, and somehow, it had drawn you in. You’d never expected it to happen, this budding friendship with Richard. 

But Henry wasn’t blind.

It was in the way he began to avoid you in the hallways, his sharp gaze always cutting across you like a razor, a silent edge to his every movement. He wasn’t outright hostile, but there was a coldness there, an intensity you didn’t fully understand.

-

You awoke to the sharp, unforgiving sound of your blinds being yanked open, the cold gray light of the morning spilling into the room like an unwelcome guest.

“God, Henry,” you groaned, pulling your blanket over your head as the sound of his measured footsteps approached. “It’s Saturday. Let me sleep.”

“You’ve already wasted half the morning,” came his reply, that low, calm cadence of his voice carrying a faint hint of exasperation. You heard the faint rustle of papers being straightened, books shifted on your desk, as he went about his usual routine of tidying up your chaos.

“Some of us need rest,” you shot back, peeking out from beneath the covers. “Not all of us wake at dawn to contemplate the Iliad.”

“And yet you’re always behind,” he quipped, his tone dry but tinged with amusement. He turned then, and you caught sight of the Sappho resting on your nightstand, its faded spine a familiar sight among your ever-growing collection. He picked it up without asking, examining it with a critical eye.

“Interesting choice,” he said after a beat.

You sat up, the covers pooling around your waist, and frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His pale eyes met yours, glinting with something unreadable. “Only that it’s sentimental,” he said, turning the book over in his hands. “And I wouldn’t have pegged you as sentimental.”

You crossed your arms, already sensing where this was going. “It’s poetry, Henry. It’s not an oh so deep confession of love darling.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice deceptively mild. But there was something sharper beneath it, a needle hidden in the silk.

Before you could reply, he set the book down with a deliberate motion, the soft thud of it echoing in the quiet room. His gaze fixed on you, “what exactly is it about Sappho that’s captured your attention lately?”

You rolled your eyes, pulling yourself out of bed with an annoyed huff. “Is this some kind of interrogation?”

“Should it be?” he countered smoothly, leaning back against your desk.

“For fuck sake,” You grumbled before grabbing a sweater from the back of your chair, slipping it over your sleep-rumpled shirt. “Why do you care?”

“I’m merely curious,” he said, though the tightness in his voice suggested otherwise. “It’s not as though I’ve seen you so invested in lyric poetry before.”

You were about to respond when there was a soft knock at the door, breaking the tension. You frowned and moved to open it, only to find Richard standing there, looking sheepish as he glanced between you and Henry.

Richards' very short glance down to your bare legs didn’t go unnoticed by Henry.

“Sorry,” Richard said quickly, shifting on his feet. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just wondering if you wanted to get breakfast.”

You hesitated, glancing back at Henry, whose expression had hardened into something unreadable.

“Breakfast?” you repeated, stalling.

“I’ll be fine here,” Henry interjected smoothly, though his tone was anything but warm. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Richard looked faintly uncomfortable, clearly picking up on the tension, but you forced a smile and turned back to him. “Maybe later,” you said quickly. “I’m still waking up and I haven’t done my translation for class yet.”

God you were stupid. It was Saturday, you didn’t have any work due. You hoped Richard hadn't noticed you were lying and offended him.  

“Right,” Richard said, nodding awkwardly. “No problem. I’ll see you later, then.” He gave you a quick smile before retreating down the hall.

When you closed the door and turned back to Henry, he was watching you with an expression that was far too measured, far too composed.

“Richard,” he said, his tone flat. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Merely an observation.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?” you muttered, sinking back onto the edge of your bed.

“And you’re evasive,” he shot back, his voice cool. “What exactly is it about him that’s so fascinating?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Henry, can we not do this?”

“Do what?” he pressed, his voice sharper now. “I’m merely trying to understand why you’ve been so,” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening. “Distracted.”

You looked up at him, something hot and defensive flaring in your chest. “I’m not distracted,” you snapped. “And even if I were, it’s none of your business.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the room felt impossibly small, the air thick with something unspoken. “Is that what you think?” he asked, his voice low. “That this isn’t my business?”

Henry stepped closer, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the room as the tension thickened. He picked up the copy of Sappho from the desk once again, the movement deliberate, as if it were some damning piece of evidence. His thumb brushed over the worn edge of the cover, his expression unreadable, save for the faint crease between his brows.

“You never answered my question,” he said quietly, his voice low and even. Too even. “Why this?”

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of it settle over you like a heavy blanket. “I told you. Poetry. I like it.”

“Poetry,” he repeated, his lips curling ever so slightly in something that might have been a sneer, though he caught himself before it could fully take shape. “I got this for you years ago, you’ve had this for years, and yet it’s suddenly in heavy rotation. Why now?”

Your jaw tightened, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Must there always be an ulterior motive with you?”

“With you? No,” he said, the words sharp but delivered with a deceptively calm tone. “With others perhaps. Maybe Richard.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” you snapped, rising from the bed. “Not everything is about him!”

“Isn’t it?” he countered, the question cutting through the air like a blade. His pale eyes glinted, the frustration finally breaking through his carefully cultivated veneer. “You’ve been bending over backwards to welcome him, to include him in everything, to make him comfortable. Do you know how absurd it is to watch you fawn over him?”

“Fawn? God you’re infuriating sometimes,” you repeated, your voice incredulous. “I’m being polite. He’s new, Henry. Unlike you, not everyone thrives on cold indifference!”

His jaw clenched, the muscles working as he stared at you, unblinking. “It’s more than that,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You’ve been distant as well.”

“Maybe because I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you,” you shot back, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

His eyes widened, just a fraction, before narrowing again. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you said, taking a step toward him, “that you can be difficult Henry. That you push people away the second they do something you don’t like. That you act like every little thing is a betrayal.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his expression hardening like stone. Then, slowly, he raised the book again, flipping it open to a random page. His eyes scanned the text, and when he spoke, his voice was laced with cold amusement.

“‘He is more than a hero,’” he read aloud, his tone almost mocking. “‘He is a god in my eyes, the man who is allowed to sit beside you.’” He snapped the book shut, his gaze cutting into you like a knife. “Tell me. You have this underlined. A god like Richard does not make you distant from other people?”

The question hit you like a punch to the chest, knocking the wind out of you. Your mouth opened, then closed again, no words forming.

“Nothing to say?” he pressed, stepping closer until he was just a breath away. “I wonder why.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, your heart pounding in your chest. “You don’t get to do this,” you said, your voice shaking with anger. “You don’t get to pick apart my life like it’s some academic exercise. Not when you-” You stopped yourself, biting back the rest of the sentence.

“Not when I what?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft.

“Not when you’re just as guilty,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes darkened, his expression tightening like a coil about to snap. “Guilty of what?”

“Of pretending you don’t care,” you said, your voice gaining strength. “Of acting like nothing matters to you, like you’re above it all. But you’re not, Henry. You care. You care too much, and you hate it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and damning. For a moment, the room was silent, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

Then, slowly, Henry’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers shaking ever so slightly.

The air between you was suffocating. The lamplight spilled across the room, flickering against the tight angles of Henry’s face, his eyes glinting like sharpened steel. He stood so close now, the faint scent of tobacco and cold winter air clinging to him, and you felt the pull of his presence like a magnet, impossible to resist even as anger boiled hot beneath your skin.

“You think you know me,” he said, voice low and taut as a string about to snap.

“I do,” you shot back, your words sharp enough to draw blood. “I’ve known you since you were a little boy. And that’s why I know exactly what this is about.”

“Oh, enlighten me, then,” Henry sneered, the edge in his voice like shattered glass. “Please, spare no detail.”

You stepped closer, your chest brushing his, your heartbeat hammering so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “This isn’t about Sappho. Or Richard. This is about you, Henry. About the fact that you can’t stand the idea of not being the center of the world.”

His eyes flashed, his jaw tightening as his breath hitched. “You think I’m upset that I’m not the centre of your world?” he said, but the words came out clipped, frayed at the edges, “don’t be absurd.”

“Admit it,” you pressed, your voice quieter now, trembling with something that wasn’t quite anger anymore. “Admit that you hate it. That it drives you mad to think of someone else being close to me.”

His silence was deafening. He stared at you, his gaze fierce and searching, as if trying to crack you open and read the truth written inside. And then, without warning, he moved.

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist, the motion so sudden it made you gasp. He pulled you closer, the heat of his body overwhelming, his breath fanning across your face.

“Is that what you want me to say?” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine. “That I think about it constantly? That it makes me sick to imagine someone else touching you, hearing your laugh, knowing things about you that I don’t?”

You froze, his words hitting you like a physical blow, your breath caught in your throat.

“Tell me,” he demanded, his grip on your wrist tightening ever so slightly, his eyes dark and burning. 

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Instead, you did the only thing you could think to do: you leaned in, closing the infinitesimal space between you, and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was a collision, all teeth and heat and fury. His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you grabbed the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric in your fists. There was no softness in it, no tenderness; just the raw, unfiltered need that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long it felt like it might consume you both.

He kissed you like he was trying to prove a point, like he was staking a claim. And maybe he was. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, and you gasped, giving him the chance to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that left you dizzy.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your faces so close you could feel the warmth of his skin against yours. His hand was still tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing against your jaw in a way that was almost tender, despite the fire in his eyes.

“Say it,” he whispered, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Say what?” you managed, your own voice barely above a whisper.

“That it wasn’t about him,” he said, his gaze locking onto yours, unrelenting. “That it’s never been about him.”

“It hasn’t,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “It’s always been about you, Henry.”

Something in his expression shifted then, the anger giving way to something deeper, rawer. He exhaled sharply, his hand slipping from your hair to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone.

“Good,” he said simply. Then, after a pause, his voice dropped even lower, almost inaudible. “Do you remember those ants?”

“What?” you asked, your brow furrowing, though your fingers stayed clinging to the fabric of his shirt.

His lips quirked in the faintest of smiles, though his eyes still burned with that unreadable intensity. “You said they only followed their queen because she was the boss. But I told you back then, it wasn’t that. They followed her beca-”

“They wanted to. Because they cared about her.” you asked softly, your voice barely audible.

His hand slid to your neck, his thumb brushing the pulse point there. “I follow because I can’t help it,” he said. “Because I care. Because it’s you.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and before you could overthink it, you leaned in again, capturing his mouth in another kiss. This one wasn’t a collision; it was an unraveling, slow and deliberate, every touch of his lips against yours speaking the words neither of you had dared to say until now.

a/n: look at me fucking churning these requests out, hope you all like them loves!!!

[pinkdaiisies]

Steven Meeks x Reader: Lost Poem

Words: 2350!!! (wow i didn't know I could write so much)

Summary: When Mr.Keating assigns your class to write a poem, Meeks uses it as a chance to tell you how he feels. When the poem gets in the wrong hands, it leads to some confusion. (Miscommunication trope, friends to lovers)

Notes: I'm so terribly sorry this took so long. So. So. Sorry. I hope you enjoy :) Also yes, the poem is an Elvis song lol

Mr.Keating assigned your class to write a poem to share aloud. It should've been an easy assignment. You're quite the talented writer and you've been enjoying being a part of the Dead Poets Society. But the only thing that is appearing on the paper in front of you is mushy rhymes of the nerdy redhead Steven Meeks, and that would be too embarrassing to share with the class.

Meeks' growth spurt this school year is doing wonders for him. Along with his slightly different haircut and the way his voice sounds a little deeper than you realized last may. Meeks' appearance might've changed, but the way he acted towards you hasn't. You and Meeks have been good friends throughout your years at Welton. Being one of the few girls at Welton made no difference to how you fit in with him and his friends.

You've always had a bit of a crush on the redhead, but this year it was different. You've found yourself smitten. Your head only contained thoughts of how his hand brushed against yours during breakfast yesterday, or how he offered his Latin notes to you, and only you.

You and Meeks spent almost every waking second together (with Pitts too, but that's besides the point). Nearly the whole friend group made jokes that you two were meant for each other, or that you two were dating already. It was obvious that both of you liked each other, but Meeks was too afraid to make the first move.

So now, as you stared at the lined paper in front of you, the only thing you could think of was the constellation of freckles on Steven's cheeks.

You were doomed.

In Meek's room, there was a similar situation going on. The redhead was currently contemplating whether he should use this assignment to create a heartfelt message to tell you his true feelings about you. The paper sat blank in front of him.

Steven Meeks felt like one of the luckiest guys on campus knowing that the prettiest girl at Welton was one of his close friends. Walking you to class, sitting next to you during meals, and studying together in the library was a privilege to him. Every single one of his friends knew that he was in love with you.

Everyone but you.

Pitts walked into his shared dorm. He immediately saw the look on Meeks' face and knew he was thinking about you.

"Jesus Meeks, tell the girl already!" Pitts said, as he threw a textbook on his desk.

"It's not that simple and you know that Pitts!" Meeks said. "If I tell her and she doesn't feel the same way I could lose one of my closest friends. It could break up the entire friend group! Todd and Neil will probably end up taking her side and we'd end up never seein-"

"You're overreacting Meeks." Pitts cut the boy off from his rambling. "That's not the type of girl she is. If she doesn't like you back she'll probably let you down easy."

"Gee thanks for giving me confidence." Meeks said sarcastically.

"But you don't even have to worry about that because she likes you back! Like I've said for the millionth time!" Pitts tried to reassure Meeks. "Now write that girl a love poem!"

---

You had decided to write your poem on rainy days. You couldn't stand the thought of your entire English class knowing who you have a crush on. Your day carried on with less anxiety knowing your poem no longer had the potential to embarrass the crap out of you.

Meeks seemed the exact opposite. He was jumping at every time you tapped his shoulder to get his attention, or every time you nudged him because he wasn't focused in Latin. You knew something was wrong because Latin was his favorite.

English class approached quickly. Meeks' face got paler by the second. Instead of walking together from Latin to Keating's class, he walked with Pitts. The pair walked into class while you were still down the hallway. You noticed a sheet of folded paper at your feet.

You picked it up and unfolded it. You recognized the handwriting immediately, as well as the "S.M" in the corner. You figured it must've been his poem for class. Before you walked through the door you stopped and read it.

It was titled "I Love You Because." Your heart fell to the bottom of your stomach.

I love you because you understand Every single thing I try to do You're always there to lend a helping hand, I love you most of all because you're you

No matter what may be the style or season I know your heart will always be true I love you for a hundred thousand reasons But most of all I love you 'cause you're you

You felt sick. You almost walked back to your dorm right then and there. Instead, you stuffed his love poem for some other girl into the middle of your poetry textbook and stormed into the class.

Instead of sitting in your usual chair next to Steven, you sat in the back near Charlie. When you sat down, Charlie noticed the bothered look on your face immediately.

"Why aren't you sitting with your boyfriend?" Charlie nodded his head towards Steven in the front.

"If you're referring to Steven, I have no idea what you're talking about, because he is far from my boyfriend." You said while not making eye contact with Charlie. Instead your focus was on stuffing Stevens love poem further into your book, as if it would make the words on the paper disappear.

Keating then walked into the room. Meeks noticed the seat beside him was sat in, but not by you. He looked around the room behind him, and noticed you with a sad look on your face. His attention turned to Keating when he started talking.

"Be prepared to share your poem today class!" Keating started.

Everyone shuffled their books around and pulled out the pieces of paper that contained their poem. Meeks realized that his was missing. His heart started beating faster. He could've sworn he put it in the front cover of his textbook!

Mr. Keating then started calling people up one by one to read their poem aloud. You paid no attention to the first boy that read his poem. Instead, your brain ran through the 7 girls in your class that Steven's poem could be about. It was probably the other girl in your Latin class that Steven smiled at last week! As you raged silently in your seat, Mr. Keating called Meeks up to read his poem that sat in your bag.

"Mr. Steven Meeks?"

"I'm sorry Sir, I can't seem to find it. I promise I did write one!" Meeks said worriedly.

"My! I expect this behavior from Mr. Dalton, not you Meeks!" The class laughed, while Meeks' face reddened. "It's okay, although, I expect the poem on my desk tomorrow."

"Yes Captain." Meeks said as he shrunk down in his seat.

More students read their poems, and before you could even realize, class was over. Mr.Keating said that those who didn't read their poem that day would read it the next day.

The class stood from their seats, and started to exit. Meeks walked out and waited for you by the door. You rushed out the door with Steven's poem in your hand. You pushed the poem into his chest as you walked out the door.

"Here, I think you dropped this earlier. Whoever it's for will probably want to read it." You stormed off, tears almost coming out of your eyes. You wanted to get away from everyone. You knew Charlie or Pitts would come to interrogate you soon. Luckily, English was your last class for the day, so you were able to lock yourself in your room until dinner.

Meanwhile, Steven was walking down the halls of Welton with Pitts by his side, poem still in hand. Steven was confused to say the least.

"You said she liked me! Everyone said that she liked me!" Meeks said.

"She does like you! At least I think she does..." Pitts tried to reassure Meeks. "Can you tell me her exact words again?" Pitts said as Charlie walked up.

"She said, "Whoever it's for will probably want to read it." What does that even mean? It was for her!" Meeks said. The poor boy looked so defeated. Charlie put his arm around Meeks.

"What happened Meeksie?" Charlie asked.

"Meeks' girlfriend, well I'm not sure if I should call her that anymore, found Meeks' lost poem. It was a love poem to tell her how he feels. And she got mad and said, "Whoever it's for will probably want to read it."" Pitts voice squeaked as he tried to immitate you. "And she threw it in his chest."

"Is that why she sat next to me today?" Charlie wondered. "She seemed pretty sad the whole class. I even called her your girlfriend Meeks, she usually gets all giggly when I call her that, but today she just got all upset." Charlie explained. "Well she's obviously jealous."

"What do you mean she's jealous? The poem was for her!" Meeks said.

"Meeks you're a Latin genius, but God, you're stupid when it comes to girls. She obviously thinks you wrote the poem for some other girl." Charlie said as if it was the most simplest thing ever.

Then it all made sense. Pitts and Steven both had the lightbulb expression on their faces.

"Well that's great! She still likes you!" Pitts said jumping up and down while shoving Meeks playfully.

"Yeah, but I still hurt her. She's in her dorm right now thinking I'm in love with some other girl.

"How are you gonna tell her? Charlie asked.

"I'm not exactly sure, but I think I'm gonna need Neil's help."

----

The next day was Friday.

Friday was usually filled with joy and laughter throughout the Welton halls, but with not having Steven by your side all day, was filled with dreary and sorrow.

Neil had invited you to dinner in town that night. It took a lot of convincing. You had originally planned to sit in your dorm all weekend reading. But when you told Neil you wouldn't be joining him at the Dead Poet's Society meeting he at least wanted to take you out to eat.

It was sweet of him. Word had probably spread about how heartbroken you were about Meeks not liking you back. He probably invited you for dinner because he felt bad.

And so, after a long day of classes, you put on one of your nicer dresses, did your makeup, and curled your hair. The plan was to meet Neil in front of the school so the cab can pick you both up.

It was 6:35, but still no sign of Neil. Your reservations were for 7, and you hated being late. As anxiety creeped in your brain, you noticed someone who was most definitely not Neil walking towards you.

Steven was walking towards you, bouquet and crumpled piece of paper in hand. He was wearing his argyle sweater that you had said was your favorite once.

"Meeks, no." You whispered beneath your breath. You felt so embarrassed! You had no idea what he was doing.

He said your name when he was finally a couple feet away from you. He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, something he only did when he was nervous.

"I love you because you understand Every single thing I try to do You're always there to lend a helping hand, I love you most of all because you're you

No matter what may be the style or season I know your heart will always be true I love you for a hundred thousand reasons But most of all I love you 'cause you're you"

You looked at the boy standing in front of you, the flowers in his hand, and the deep red blush that was staining his cheeks. You were in love.

"The poem was for me?" You asked him.

"Yes. Of course it is." Meeks smiled. "Oh! These are for you!" His shaking hand reached out and gave you the bouquet. They were your favorite flowers. You grabbed them from him, fingers touching for a split second.

"Oh gosh Meeks, I feel so dumb." You put your hand on your forehead in embarrassment. "Thank you Meeks. I love it, the poem, and the flowers." An awkward silence fell between you two. You didn't know how to handle the newfound affection... and neither did Meeks.

"Do you mean it... the poem?" You asked, still not completely sure if you were dreaming or not.

"Of course I do." Steven said quietly. He took a step closer, faces almost touching. The tension was split apart by the cab pulling up.

"I love you too Steven." You confessed, sighing a breath of relief.

All of a sudden there was loud shouting and celebration around the side of the building. All of the Dead Poets came rushing to you and Meeks.

"Can I be the maid of honor!" Charlie asked you while tugging on the sleeve of your dress.

"Hey! I should be the maid of honor! She wouldn't be out here if I wasn't supposed to be taking her to dinner right now!" Neil argued, and reminded you of the cab a couple feet away.

"Alright, alright! We gotta go! Leave my girl alone." Meeks said while opening the door of the car for you.

Hearing him say "my girl" was enough for you to faint right then and there.

You stepped in the car and told the rest of the boys goodbye.

After Steven got in and sat right next to you, the cab drove off. The group of rowdy boys still jumping in excitement in front of the school.

Steven waited until the car was out of eyesight from the boys before he held your cheek and kissed you.

[shirefantasies]

Things You Do Together- LoTR Characters

A little buffer posting during recovery, sorry y’all 😅 I have some requests getting ready too though! Did a version for Thorin’s company a while back so here’s this version too 🥰

Aragorn wishes there to be no secrets, as few misunderstandings as could arise. Thus his goal is to help you reach fluency in Elvish; after all, many of his friends and familial figures are of Middle Earth’s eldest race. Their script is quite complex, so barring a great desire of yours to be writing it soon Aragorn focuses upon recognition of important words and phrases. Starting, of course, with my love.

Legolas teaches you archery, standing behind you as you fire his bow. Such a patient teacher and not one to burst out laughing if the arrow arcs spectacularly right back down into the grass. Surely he will smile and shake his head, but he understands. Everyone was there once, himself no exception. Pays such attention to detail you will catch him making the smallest of adjustments, even little things like changing the position of your fingers with his.

Desiring to prove both his and his people’s worth, Boromir attends with you at his side a joust hosted by Gondor’s men. You delight in choosing and cheering on a champion, shouting with joy at his successes and sympathizing with strikes against him. When, you think aloud to Boromir, was the last time you both laughed so? Pulling you close, he tells you he does not remember when, but if he has his way it will be soon again.

If you desire exploration, you know that Gimli will be right at your side to enjoy the world’s beauty. Caves, of course, are a domain of his people, expanses of stone glittering on walls and hanging down to your level. Forests, too, homes of fairer beings and much provision. Things Gimli has sworn to protect and love in this life that he wishes to experience with the greatest of them all… you. Never does he tire of telling you nature is beautiful, but more so are you.

Frodo encourages your writing. He himself has penned you many a poem, but there is nothing like your voice, physical or metaphorical, sharing a story with him. His dream is a book containing both of your stories, perhaps even an addition to his uncle’s story. If you feel called to share stories of others, even simple escapes from reality, Frodo is your greatest supporter. With all that he endures, ever a relief is it to hear you speak of a world so different from his own.

Botany, Samwise Gamgee thinks, is best learned amongst the flowers themselves. Rather than stuff you up into the pages of some book, he takes you walking down winding Shire-paths of flowers and bushes, showing you how he can tell what's related by things like leaf shape and giving you little tips and tricks to remember bloom names. “If you forget forget-me-nots, after all,” he teases with a wink, “you’re doing them quite the disservice!”

Merry teaches you his method of whittling, the way he crafts little trinkets of wood to keep occupied in idle times. When you feel more confident in your skills, Merry challenges you: he crafts a little figure of you and you of him. Complain as you do that his lovely hair is hard to capture, in the end you are proud of your first figure and Merry keeps it in the pocket closest to his heart. Those figures serve as the cake topper at your wedding a little ways down the line!

It can be a messy time, but Pippin adores spending time in the kitchen with you! Not only because he knows you’ll acquiesce him with little tastes, but because he’s fascinated at the process, the way you throw things together to make something beautiful and are so willing to have a feast made whenever guests call. Ever one for physical touch, Pippin enjoys sugary-sweet moments like sneaking up behind you for a kiss as you’re occupied kneading dough or standing against you to help stir your soup. And yes, sometimes he spills, but he always apologizes and cleans up after himself and don’t we all make mistakes?

Faramir reads with you, or, if you are stressed, to you. Sharing a love of your land’s myth, the studies of triumphs, follies, and magics past are like traveling far away to him, so to have a companion in that rings deep joy into his heart. He cannot help sometimes comparing the great love stories of Middle Earth to the way you found each other. Faramir is the type to know all your favorite tales and offer them to you at just the right time, sitting you in his lap or against his chest on a bed as he peels the pages open for you.

Smithing is something Eomer is confident you can learn, especially if he knows you wish to be involved in battles and wants to keep you safe! Being a supplier is just as important, otherwise there would be no blades to hoist for Rohan. Always encouraging you to hit harder and chuckling at your initial fear of the red-hot steel, Eomer loves standing behind you and guiding your motions. Perhaps even using this as an opportunity to sneak a kiss!

Haldir shows you how he cares for trees, even the smallest pieces of creation. Small potted trees akin to bonsais decorate shelves and tables in Lothlorien, and trimming and shaping them is an art form in and of itself. Nurturing a tiny, delicate life, after all, requires more intricacies than the greater fortitude. Microcosms of Haldir’s home forest sit before you as you take in his reverent, peaceful smile, hear his guiding words about the nutrients they need. You never tire of the focus spread across his face, the gentle opening of tiny blossoms.

Eowyn adores sparring with you no matter your skill level, moving slower or picking up her pace depending on it. She never wishes to go too hard on you, but does want to push you to try new things and experience different angles so you can keep yourself safe in a fight, Valar forbid you are so threatened. Sometimes your sparring is more playful, more just the two of you chasing each other around with wooden swords and one knocking the other over at the end of it, laughing as you tumble to the ground.

Enjoying the occasional swim, Arwen invites you into one of her home's gorgeous pools with her, stripping you both down to thinner layers as you step into perfectly, perhaps magically, warmed water. Polished stones roll beneath your feet as you wade over to each other, hands joining as you float in peaceful, loving silence. A smile spreads across Arwen's face before she gives you a light, teasing splash, silence quickly devolving into giggles as your troubles lighten.

Elrond is known for making some of the best tea in Middle Earth, and you experience his skills and then some. Not only does the lord of Imladris brew you a cup of your favorite herbal blend, he will also ensure that his bakers have pastries warm and ready and the loveliest toppings. Your relaxation time is like a little ceremony, Elrond pouring your drink and serving you all you wish on your little platter. You will not so much as lift a finger until it is to take a sip of the warm comfort as you and Elrond watch the surrounding waterfalls.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @joonies-word | Reply/Ask/Message to join!

[madphantom]

Some fun facts about the zombie / vampire movie I'm working on:

It's the biggest project I've ever made and one of the biggest projects the film factory will have ever churned out, with a main cast of fifteen speaking roles and a total cast of over 25 people counting extras.

The movie is divided into two separate arcs set several years apart, which eventually collide. To make it authentic that the people involved have changed one arc will be filmed this year and the other a year later.

The two main characters remain anonymous throughout the entire movie.

I had the original idea for the story after a dream in which I met a living skeleton that had become a successful horror actor and advised me to stay in my hometown. Thanks to said dream I met the folks from the film factory who became my closest friends and are helping me make this film now.

I had a half finished script lying around for several years but couldn't find anyone who fit the vibe I needed for the main character until I got together with my boyfriend and realized he's literally him. Down to the tiniest details of the character like always wearing black and having a lisp.

The vampire was originally supposed to be played by an old man who hosts occasional poetry nights in my hometown but he performed a poem he wrote about wanting to hit on a seventeen year old and I decided he's method acting the creepiness a little too well, so I casted a friend of ours who previously played Bela Lugosi in another film and thus could pull off the vampire quite well.

This is the first ever drawing I made of the main characters, which was in a notebook in driving school in summer '22. Yes, I failed my driver's license, why do you ask?

[seren1tyhaze]

of grocery lists and spilled (oat) milk

PAIRING: mark lee x afab reader

WORD COUNT: 3.2K

SUMMARY: sure, keeping your grocery list in Mark Lee's dms may seem like next level delusional but it can't do any harm, right?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: for my lovely @strwbrysunday who inspired this and for being there always for every step of my delusional writing process <3 In case I don’t pull something together in time, we can count this as a VERY early bday tribute to Markly

WARNINGS: fluff, romantic meet cute, light swearing, rekindling romance, childhood friends to lovers

PLAYLIST: Broken Melodies and Like We Just Met by NCT Dream

Life is but a dream, we got history

--

Your alarm is blaring in your ear as your cat licks the tip of your nose, jolting you awake to see hot sun streaming in your bedroom window. How bright the room is has you scrambling for your phone, desperately hoping you hadn’t overslept (again).

Your phone screen confirms the worst as you whip back the covers and slide into fluffy slippers next to your bed, knocking a cup over as you reach for your cat’s food in the kitchen and spilling some of it in the process. She happily purrs against your bare legs before starting to eat slowly out of the small tray and you realize you’re going to have to drink the shitty office coffee since you’re both out of espresso pods and oat milk.

You quickly shower and are out the door in record time, thanking yourself that you hadn’t unpacked your work bag when you had gotten home late the night before. Work has been brutal lately, giving you barely any time in the evenings to yourself and you’ve never been one to wake up early in the morning. You know you have to go to the store today so you plan to try to sneak out a bit early to get your essentials.

Once you’re settled in the train car for your twenty seven minute ride, you work through a couple emails to get a head start on work before turning to your grocery list.

You glance to your side to see if anyone is looking over your shoulder at your phone, knowing the unconventional location of said list would seem questionable to a passerby.

Even you can admit that your delusional habit you had started ages ago was a little strange, but it felt comforting at this point and wasn’t hurting anyone. You opened up your Instagram DMs and tapped into the extremely one sided conversation with a charming, smiley rapper with 11.5M followers who did not know you existed.

Yes, you kept your grocery lists (and other important info you needed to find quickly) in Mark Lee’s DMs. 

It had started as a joke a few years ago when you had finally admitted to your closest friend in the city that you and Mark had gone to summer camp together when you were kids. It had only been for a couple years but you remembered it like it was yesterday. The early morning kayak trips, knocking bare knees around a late night campfire, and how he used to sing you to sleep accompanied by the soft strumming of his guitar from the steps of your cabin. 

You had followed his career ever since, listening to new songs as they were released, watching him on variety shows, and flipping through magazines whenever you saw his stunning face and bold style gracing the covers. You enjoyed seeing the short poems he would post on his stories or read out loud on the rare live he would do after shows.

Your friend had encouraged you to slide into his DMs at the time, purely motivated by her desire to meet his dancer best friend that he was sometimes spotted with at the most exclusive clubs. You had tapped open the message conversation with him and in typing quickly, accidentally pasted your short grocery list into the chat. She had laughed at you and you sent the message anyways, knowing that there was no way he would reply or ever even see it in his message requests.

You had a solid amount of followers for someone who didn’t work in the entertainment industry due to the app you had helped develop rising in popularity in the past few months. You sometimes helped out with filming vlog content for the website or TikToks but mostly kept to yourself and didn’t really have any interest in being internet famous.

Since you had first put your grocery list in Mark’s DMs, you had used the space to put little notes to yourself, including a drunken ramble one night about how 16 Personalities has royally fucked up everyone’s perception of MBTI.

Today, you opened up the message to add in your latest essentials, putting oat milk in all caps since the last few times you went you somehow managed to forget it. You needed food for the week, chicken and veggies, some other basics like mascara and tampons and remembered running low on cat treats.

Sliding your phone back into the front pocket of your bag, you let your eyes flutter shut for the rest of the ride to work, finally feeling the adrenaline of waking up late wear off.

Many hours later you are angrily typing on your computer, finishing up some code review for the development team, eyes flicking repeatedly to the clock in the bottom of your screen.

“I’m sorry you had to stay late, you should head out soon before it starts raining harder,” your coworker messages you, leaning from behind their monitor across the open office space, offering you a small smile.

You send off a couple frustrated emojis before typing up your feedback for the team in an email, feet already sliding into your rain boots you kept under your desk for gloomy days like today.

Checking your watch, you realize you are barely going to make it to the grocery store if you don’t leave now. The only benefit will be that it should be pretty empty this late at night. After a short train ride, you’re pushing a cart through the empty aisles, grabbing what you need and humming lightly to yourself. There are a few fellow late night shoppers milling about alongside the workers stocking the shelves for the next morning.

You grab the last item on your list just as a series of yawns hit you, making your way to the self-checkout area. You are about to scan your first item when you glance down at your cart, noticing you’ve managed to forget the oat milk again.

“Fucking…” you murmur under your breath, dropping your pack of tampons back into the cart and spinning on your heel, heading towards the back of the store to quickly grab the milk.

You’re almost back to your cart when you hit a wet spot on the floor, slipping in a dramatic, banana peel comedy sketch moment, falling hard on your back, managing to catch the back of your head with your hand before it collides with the linoleum floor.

The oat milk cartons in your hands crash to the floor, one of them starting to leak out in a milky puddle next to you.

Suddenly a masked face appears over you, white cloth covering most of his features, dark eyes holding a confused look. You are breathing heavily and blink a couple times to clear your vision.

“Yo…are you okay?” comes a loud and worried voice, holding a hand out in an offer of help.

You feel a little light headed but accept the hand anyways, allowing yourself to sit up and meet the eyes of the young man now crouching next to you on the wet floor.

“Uh yeah…yeah…the floor was we-” your speech is cut off suddenly as he pulls down his mask, shaking dark hair from his eyes and making eye contact with you again.

Kneeling in a puddle of rainwater and oat milk was none other than the man whose DMs you had monopolized for the past few years and the name you had moaned late at night with your hand shoved under your covers. It was the face you had studied countless times in high resolution photos from the airport posted on Twitter, a face that you had memorized down to the prominent mole on his cheek and the curves of his shining white teeth. Mark Lee had just watched you bite it on the floor of the grocery store right before closing.

You can barely keep eye contact with Mark as you stand up, looking down to see damp pants and your shirt rumpled. Embarrassed, you thank him under your breath, reaching down to pick up the milk cartons and tossing them in a nearby trash can. You quickly begin scanning the items from your cart with shaky hands, placing them in your tote bag, hoping to get out of there as soon as possible.

“Did you remember the cat treats?” he asks quietly, pushing the black hood off his head and stepping closer to you, handing you a carton of strawberries from your basket.

You lift up your gaze to meet his, mouth falling open at his question. His eyes are big and kind and he has a shy but warm expression on his face, plump pink lips settling into a pout as he finishes his question.

“You…read those messages? I’m uh…Mark…Lee…Mark Lee. I’m so sorry…” you ramble, brain scrambled and swimming with all other reasons why he could have asked that, praying that he somehow hadn’t been reading your messages all these years.

“How could I not when the cute girl from summer camp kept me informed on every little detail of her life,” he replied, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling bashfully as his fingertips made contact with your now flushed cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Mark, I didn’t think there was any way you would remember me and it just kind of became a habit,” you stuttered out, scanning your last item and reaching for your wallet. You were acutely aware of how close he had gotten and silently hoped your makeup still looked good and that your hair had stayed lightly curled from yesterday’s styling. Every inch of your skin felt like it was on fire and you knew how red your neck had to be getting.

“I got it, but don’t forget the oat milk,” he offers as he scans a carton of the same brand from his own cart before swiping his card on the reader to pay for your groceries. You are once again stunned but tip your head down in a silent thanks.

“But for real, thank you for recommending this brand, it’s the best!” he laughs, scratching the back of his head awkwardly and grabbing your bags for you.

“I can’t believe you remember me,” you say quietly, a grin settling across your face as the two of you walk out of the store. His hand is brushing up against the back of yours as he keeps close to your side, popping open an umbrella to shield you from the light rain that hasn’t quite cleared yet.

“I’ve thought about you a lot over the years, but also know our lives took us in different directions. But I always hoped you were supporting me from a distance,” he replies candidly, tapping into his phone before handing it to you with an open contact card screen.

“Now, can you please give me your number so I can call you and we can go on a real date that doesn’t involve you laying a puddle of milk?”

“Hey, maybe that’s my idea of a perfect first date!” you laugh out, quickly adding yourself as a contact in his phone before handing it back to him. Your heart is pounding as your fingers brush against his, unable to believe that this is happening. You half expect to sit up in your bed any moment, thinking that all the videos you studied about lucid dreaming must have finally paid off.

He chuckles, closing the umbrella as the rain comes to a stop at the most picture perfect moment. The air smelled fresh in the post storm haze, fog settling lightly around you amongst flickering streetlights and the hum of city sounds. He reaches back to pull his hood up, covering dark and piecey short hair, hanging perfectly at the sides of his forehead. Whenever he turns his head, you catch a glimpse of an intricate pattern buzzed into the shorter sides, exposing flashes of his scalp in contrast to his dark hair. 

Your eyes trail down his face and take in his full frame for the first moment since you first encountered him in the store. He’s broader than you had imagined, your height difference the same as when you had known him as a kid, but his arms look strong and tight jeans leaving little to the imagination. His face is bare but immaculate, brows perfectly coiffed and lips plump and moisturized.

He clears his throat lightly at you ogling him and you meet his sparkling eyes again as he sits your bags gently on the ground next to him, placing a tentative hand on your lower back.

“Yes?” you ask teasingly, batting your eyelashes a little for good measure, suddenly feeling confidence bloom within you. He sighs before speaking again and you feel the tension and nervousness between the two of you start to melt away.

“Ever since you sent me those videos on Halloween, I’ve been having to stop myself from sliding into your DMs like some sleazy asshole,” he mutters, voice suddenly lower and strained as his pinky finger brushes up against yours, linking with it and swinging lightly.

You knit your eyebrows together in confusion, trying to think back to what videos he could be talking about. Hazy memories of your drunken night out to multiple bars and house parties start flooding in as you begin to remember what you wore that night. 

Golden fabric and black strappy laces from below your navel up to your neck flash in your mind and you suddenly remember your cheetah costume that was less than safe for work. Those heels went straight in the trash when you got home because while they made your legs look amazing, they gave you the worst blisters of your entire life.

“...I did not send you videos that night,” you start cautiously, placing a hand on his chest to ground yourself. You are trying to force the memories forward but all you can think of is the countless shots you took with your friend and some sloppy make out sessions on the dance floor.

He chuckles, nodding silently and letting his forehead fall towards yours, pressing against yours tenderly. It did bring you comfort but also made your heart skip a beat.

“I am…mortified,” you sigh, blinking up at him from the awkward angle.

“Don’t be, you looked fucking hot,” he breathes out, warm breath minty and fanning out across your lips.

His lips are on yours seconds later, hand sliding down towards your ass and pulling you closer into him. He breaks away from you, inches from your lips, checking your face for any sign of discomfort, only to find lust laden, hooded eyes blinking rapidly.

You surge forward to capture his lips again, bringing your hand up to his neck and digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue presses against your lips eagerly and you give him access instantly, a soft whine buzzing against his mouth. You lose all concept of time and space, forgetting you are standing on the empty downtown streets in front of the market, in the arms of one of the most famous musicians in the world.

You break away first, having to calm your breathing pattern and releasing the material you were gripping on his chest.

He chuckles and slides his hand up your back, massaging your shoulder lightly through your raincoat. He’s so much more gentle and tender than you could have ever imagined and you struggle to maintain eye contact with him.

“I can’t believe all I had to do was buy a carton of oat milk to finally kiss my first crush after all these years,” he laughs out, leaning in to gently nuzzle at your hair.

--

“Do you need me to add anything to our grocery list? You know, it’s almost been two years since we started it, I think,” Mark laughed out a little loudly, despite being close to your ear in Taeyong’s crowded apartment.

“Wait, I thought you two just moved in together recently?” Jaemin cackles, taking a long sip of beer. You didn’t realize he was eavesdropping on your conversation, assuming he had been too focused on Jeno’s karaoke performance happening in the center of the room.

You dip your head down, embarrassed by the fact that Mark’s closest friends still didn’t know the full details of your reunion and start of your relationship. You had sworn him to secrecy, telling him he could fill them in on the past camp days and make up some story about how the two of you had met at an art gallery opening.

“Oh Jaem, haven’t you heard of our adorable meet cute?” Mark asks mischievously, nudging your knee with his and dragging his lips over your ear. His eyes tell you everything, just as they always had, just like when you first met.

“Oh do tell,” he gushed, letting his chin drop into his hand with his elbow propped up on his crossed legs. He tapped his cheek with his fingers, wiggling his eyebrows at the two of you.

While you refused to let Mark share the story of years of grocery lists and your fall at the market check out, you did let him share how he asked you to move in with him a few months prior.

On a normal Friday morning you had pulled open the fridge, reaching in without looking, and feeling your hand brush against an unfamiliar piece of paper on the oat milk. 

A watermelon shaped post-it note (that had seemingly been “borrowed” from your desk) was taped to the front of the carton with hurried handwriting in a statement that made your heart flutter.

I hate this distance and I hate singing broken melodies. Move in with me &lt;3

The carton almost slips from your fingers but you manage to catch it and pour some with a shaky hand into your waiting tumbler.

Pulling your phone from your jeans pocket, you lean your back against the counter, petting your cat’s head as she emerges from her favorite spot behind the toaster oven. 

Opening Instagram, you tap into your conversation, adding a to do list in the same format you usually used for your grocery lists.

To Do List: Help my new roommate pick out more comfortable pillows for the bed -.-

Typing bubbles appear almost immediately, and a string of sappy emojis and voice notes start flooding in from Mark.

It’s still surreal to see replies from the message thread that had been one-sided for so long. You still message in Instagram from time to time, finding comfort in the space, despite spending hours on the phone each day and being in almost constant contact via other messaging apps.

A knock at your door pulls your attention and you have to dab your eyes with the back of your hand where tears have pricked up. A couple large boxes are waiting outside your door and you drag them inside before snapping a picture to send to Mark. You had planned a camping trip for later in the summer, looking forward to reliving those muggy summer nights spent chasing fireflies, spending your days reading in a hammock and falling even deeper in love with the boy who first made you feel special all those years ago.

[vera-deville]

Hi! Could you please write Luka Couffaine x fem. reader who has trouble talking about their feelings? Writes him letters, love poems or plays the drums for him because it's easier for her to show her feelings like that? Sorry for my English it is not my first language.

02/28/2023 - 03/29/2023

Pairing: Luka Couffaine x Reader

Word Count: 867

Warnings: Nothing that I can think of!

Gender: AFAB

In which Luka has a significant other who has a hard time expressing her feelings.

Luka Couffaine absolutely adored Y/N. The girl had captured his heart, mind, and soul, and he had no trouble expressing it. However, the same could not be said the other way around.

Other people labeled Y/N as someone cold and uncaring, but only a select few knew of her true nature - she simply could not express herself in the ways others would. And Luka understood completely.

Y/N had a small group of friends (most of whom had never even met each other, but knew the existence of). She wasn't one to stick to one particular friend group after all. A good friend was a good friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

And two of her very good friends were Juleka and Rose. Originally, Y/N had only Juleka (since she went to the same school as Luka), but quickly became acquainted with Rose as well. And for that, Y/N thanked whatever lucky stars she had.

The whole process of confessing to Luka was already gut-wrenchingly terrifying, seeing as she had no idea how to go about it, whether Luka would return her affections (even though Juleka said he would), and if she was actually dateable material.

But after the confession, a lot of her worries were put to rest. Luka was the sweetest boyfriend she could have asked for, and she was extremely grateful for having met him.

Luka was someone who was fairly affectionate (not like some of the couples she's seen walking in Paris being overly lovey-dovey), but he also never shied away from letting her know what was on his mind.

If there was a particular moment where Y/N was caught up doing something and was quite focused on it (such as homework), Luka would find himself simply staring at the girl, absolutely in awe of the work of art he had the honor of calling his girlfriend. (Yes, he's tried sneaking some photos of her when she wasn't looking).

And when he was caught, Y/N would ask, "what're you staring at?"

Only to be met with, "just caught up in the ethereal masterpiece in front me."

To which Y/N would feel her face heat up and a warm sort of buzz envelope her whole being. She'd become a little flustered and brush off his oh so charming and teasing self, but looking at him once more, she realizes every time that Luka wasn't teasing at that moment. He meant every word.

So when others meet her and find out she's in a relationship with Luka, they wonder how on Earth the relationship works. Luka was pretty well known and well-liked. But Y/N wasn't like that. She stayed to herself for the most part, and she'd never initiate any sort of PDA with her boyfriend.

And some of these people would take to whispering about this behind (or so they thought) Y/N's back.

She'd feel bad about it, but not to the point where she'd find herself spiraling down a rabbit hole of self-hate and whatnot. But that didn't stop her from wanting to improve. And what better way to improve than by asking two of her best friends?

"Aww, it's so cute that you want to be more lovey-dovey with Luka!" Rose gushed. Juleka had a slight smile on her face, finding the situation slightly humorous. The involved parties were her brother and one of her closest friends. How could she not be entertained? Especially when said close friend was going on a tirade vaguely reminiscent of Marinette's tirades about Adrien.

Rose suggested making a perfume for Luka, and Y/N thought that it was such a good idea that she'd probably do that for his birthday. "What if you write him a letter?" Juleka asked. Pondering over the idea, Y/N decided that it indeed was a good idea.

But what to write?

And so some amount of days passed, and Y/N finally ended up finishing her letter to Luka. It wasn't anything elegant or pretty or anything of the sort. It was goofy, filled with her typical sarcasm, and most importantly, it was heartfelt. Now, the only thing left was to actually give the letter to Luka.

Which was still quite hard surprisingly.

Y/N assumed that once the letter was finished, she'd just hand it over to the turquoise-haired boy and bada-bing bada-boom, romance!

Apparently it doesn't work like that.

Apparently you pour your heart out into the letter, but then you feel nervous to actually give the letter to your oh so accepting boyfriend.

But somehow Y/N pushed down her anxiety and gave the letter to Luka when they sat down after getting their ice cream. Opening it, Luka's face gradually morphed into one of extreme joy (and if Y/N didn't know any better, smugness), before he pressed a chaste kiss onto Y/N's cheek.

And from that day onwards, Y/N would (every once in a while) gift Luka letters, love poems, and even play the drums for him as means of physically showing her affection for him. It was their own little dynamic and some may have found it odd, but to them, it was perfect.

Author's Note: Once again, I'm really sorry for taking so long to complete this fic. I hope you enjoy it (if not, feel free to request again, since I honestly don't feel like I did my very best with this one).

I'm still in the middle of trying to find a specific fic format to stick to. I've tried looking at a bunch of other fanfic writers' profiles and the format they use to write their fics, but I'm still not 100% sure if what I'm doing right now is what I want to continue doing.

[eresia-catara]

i sent a similar ask to girldante cause this is definitely something very important that needs to be addressed, but i found out only today that guido died in 1300 (and also that dante himself was responsible for his exile?? why isn't this common knowledge help) and so this made me think really hard about how the choice of 1300 isn't casual at all like, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita un par de bale it's just a whole ruse to avoid having to "talk" (at least in the poetic sense) to guido or face his own emotions, cause what a fucking heavy reunion that would have been. which only begs the question of what cantica would he have put him IF.......... also im sure you and the rest of the cavalghieri squad examined the matter quite deeply but i never did guido in school and only now have i actually started looking into him mostly out of curiosity so there's that

Oh there arw many thoughts to be thought here.

So when Dante started writing the Commedia (yes we don't know the precise period in which he started writing it etc etc, not the point here), Guido had already died, years ago, but the Commedia itself is set around march/april 1300, so Guido, who died at the end of august, was still technically alive. This makes it impossible for Dante to put him amongst the dead (although he did that with popes, so not fully impossible), but it doesn't mean he can ignore him.

I think my blog already talks extensively of the haunting presence of Guido in Dante's works, especially the Commedia lmao help but essentially we can sum it up this way: Dante explicitly talks about him in the Commedia twice, in Inferno X and Purgatorio XI, and only briefly; for the rest he's apparently set on ignoring him BUT if we look even just slightly more closely it becomes blatant that there's a constant confrontation with what Guido stated in his poems (for example Inferno V, to name the most obvious one), and possibly their friendship through the character of Virgil (the disappearence of Virgil in Purgatorio, but also the episode of violence with the wrathfuls?). So it would seem Guido was a constant thought in the background of Dante's mind, but at the same time he desperately wanted to take his distance from him. The result is that Guido's name is treated like something that can only be spoken in hushed tones.

It seems reasonable to think that setting the Commedia right before Guido's death falls into this picture (of course it's not the only reason why he chose that date, though). Dante elaborates a judgement of everyone, going from political figures to friends, to family, people who are still alive, etc... Guido had been a friend, his first friend (in the sense of importance), and was "still alive". But Dante refuses to place him somewhere. The closest he gets to doing so is in Inferno X where he speaks to his father and when Cavalcante asks where his son is ("why isn't he with you?") Dante is hesitant to answer and then says that Guido was not allowed to come with because "maybe" he "disdained" someone. Critics have absolutely no idea who this someone is. But this "maybe" and the elusiveness of the whole statement are key: Dante is unsure. He doesn't pronounce himself on Guido's fate. We can presume that he's alluding to Guido's lack of faith, so technically we can think that if Guido got damned, he would've ended up amongst the heretics, and interpret Cavalcante's damnation as mirror and anticipation of the son's. But at the same time his presence is so heavy in all the rest of the Commedia that one can argue anything about Dante's judgement of him. It wouldn't be difficult to argue that he'd end up amongst the lustfuls, or the wrathfuls, or in Purgatory, etc... Briefly put, we can't pronounce ourselves with certainty on this matter, but we have a lot of material to make hypotheses with the knowledge that we can't confirm any of them.

Finally, yes the cavalghieri squad has poured its minds over this collective brainrot, but I'm having difficulty finding the relative posts... I will try to sort this out, sorry!

Thank you for the ask >3

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Ooh, I got one. AITA for telling me sick, elderly dad "no" when he asked if I'd come help around the house?

So I think I know the answer to this already, but I'm curious about other people's opinions…. and I want to rant.

My dad and I (36, trans masc but I only figured that out about 5 years ago) have been butting heads for a while. Family situation is: I had cool hippy liberal parents but things went downhill with various addictions and depression. I lived with them until I was 30 (with me paying the bills for several years) and then finally moved out after I realized how unhealthy it was for me to be there.

Moving out coincided with me figuring out some things about myself, mainly the trans thing, probably because I felt more comfortable/safe and could focus on things other than that shitty living situation.

Another thing I'd finally realized, shortly before I moved out, was how messed up my relationship with my dad had been. Basically, I grew up with him doing this thing where he'd tell me I couldn't trust any of my friends (the implication being I could only trust him), or he'd tell me how smart I was because I saw things his way and talk about how people we knew were dumb because they didn't. He also taught me that I shouldn't show or admit to mental illness or neurodivergence because people (even my friends) would take advantage of me.

Once I'd gone, he repeatedly asking me to come visit, sending me messages about how sad he was and how much he missed me. I did visit a few times, but just being back in that house makes me feel real uncomfy.

At some point I share with him my observations about our past and how it negatively effected me. His response… is to say he doesn't think that's how it went. I keep trying to explain, asking him to acknowledge that these things did happen between us and, whether he meant it to or not, it did mess me up. He keeps dismissing it or redirecting the blame onto my mom or his shitty dad, or suggesting that my friends (who I'm living with now) have turned me against him.

But he also keeps pestering me to visit more, guilt-tripping me with how sad my old dog, Cavall, is after each time I do come by (I would have taken the dog with me, but he's a big fluffy malamute mix and the roommates have a small house + one is allergic. I didn't want to impose too much, so I'd limited myself to bringing only the one cat who I had the closest bond with and leaving the other pets with my parents).

All of this back-and-forth with my dad finally comes to a head a couple months ago when I ask for a specific item of mine that I left at my parents house. My dad responds with a little poem about how depressed he is because he misses me and I've abandoned him. I throw back some brusque line in which I call him "bro"…

… and that earns a response in which he mocks me about pronouns and gender identity.

I am shocked, because my parents were always super cool about queer stuff. I tell him so and then block him on facebook. He responds to that by scouring the house for everything I left behind, packing it up in cardboard boxes, and dumping it all in my roommate's driveway with zero notice.

I figure he's done with me at that point… but then, last week, he sent me an email which reads:

"I hope you're well. I hope your family is well. I miss you. I'm sick today. Weak. Dizzy. Queasy. Slept a lot, thankfully. I want to ask you, if I were to become too sick to do things for days, would you be someone I could ask to come make some soup, take out the trash, help and give comfort? I won't be surprised at a "no", but, a "yes" would be wonderful. I got the trash out and the dogs fed. Cavall is off his breakfast lately, but, usually eats supper. He used to eat better, but, he's really getting old and slow now. In the six years I've walked him he's gone from wanting to run a lot to slow walking and sniffing. I'm getting down some oatmeal with raisons and yogurt now. Hopefully I'll be better tomorrow. I think so, but, the question arises at such times. Plz tel yes or no, so I can know for future reference."

And, well, I told him no. I hate the idea of abandoning sick elderly people who are already living in poverty, but after all the shit I described, I don't want to be around him. So, what's the vote?

What are these acronyms?

[lbibliophile-sw]

501st Bingo – Masterpost - Bingo

Bingo card started: February 2023 Fills posted: 13 Bingos completed:  1 line

Events cross-posted: Codywan week 2023, 212th appreciation week 2023, Haunted clones week 2023, Whumptober 2023, Twins week 2024, AI-less whumptober 2024 Bingos cross-posted: 212th bingo, Coruscant Guard bingo Only an extra three works added this year, but I’m pleased that it includes a much-anticipated addition to my Catching AU. As someone who doesn’t often write the 501st, I’m glad I managed to complete as many as I did, including a full bingo line.

Fills

I’ve continued my new method of ordering the below fills according to angst level; sorted into humour, hurt/comfort (happy v. sad ending), and hurt no comfort.

Humour

Amnesia | See No Evil (AO3) | drabble | Codywan & 212th & 501st Cody and Obi-wan stare into each other’s eyes. All in the name of plausible deniability.

Misunderstandings | Reputation (AO3) | drabble | 212th & 501st The 501st has a reputation which makes the 212th look positively reasonable by comparison. And the 212th exploit it.

Confessions | On Duty (for shenanigans) (AO3) | drabble | Kix & Jesse Kix is a medic, the mum-friend. This doesn’t actually stop him from being an enabler too.

Hurt Comfort – with a happy ending

Free space | First Time Reunion (AO3) | ficlet: 590w | 501st OC & 212th OC & CG OC Clarry - once CT-9845 now CT-3937 - has never met these troopers before, but she knows exactly who they are. CT-3936 and CT-3939. Keys and Flick. CT-3937’s batchmates. This is just another one of countless awkward reunions, as GAR troopers finally come to check on their Guard batchmates only to find that the numbers they are looking for no longer belong to the person they left behind.

Time loop | Breaking Habits (AO3) | drabble | Rex They say that it takes as little as 21 rotations to build a habit. It takes at least as long to break it again.

Character in peril | Wave, I can see you (AO3) | ficlet: 540w | 501st OC & 212th OC 501st brothers line the ridge, ready to spring their trap. Figures in 212th gold creep through the trees, Flick’s familiar paint bright in the gloom. Keys can’t believe that the Umbarans stole his batchmate's armour, it feels wrong on so many levels.

Chips Activate AU | Terminal Velocity (AO3) | fanfic: 800w | Anakin & 501st After three years of war, almost every Jedi has Fallen - and had to be Caught - a least once. Anakin himself has Fallen often enough that the process of his troopers drawing him back to the light is now familiar routine. Familiar enough that he notices when they don't. Familiar enough that he recognises the necessity of saving himself to save them.

Hurt/Comfort – with a sad ending

Hurt/comfort | Just an Echo (AO3) | ficlet: 245w | Echo & Fives Echo is hurt in a cave-in, but at least Fives is there with him. ...isn't he?

Flashbacks | Safety Briefing (A03) | drabble | Fox & Rex Rex is transferred to the Coruscant Guard. The more things change the more they stay the same; it is not a welcome familiarity.

Hurt no Comfort

Angst | Memories Caught in Amber (AO3) | drabble | Rex When Rex looks at their smiles together in the holo, it is hard to believe it was taken only two years ago. He feels the weight of every day since.

Sacrifice | Forever Unanswered (A03) | poem: 120w | Fives & Fox There is the sound of a blastershot, and between one breath and the next, everything stops. Fives doesn't blame Fox, not really. He just wants to know why.

Facing fears | Missing You at My Side (A03) | drabble | Fives & Echo When clones die, they haunt those they were closest to. So where is Echo? Why is Fives alone?

Time travel | Out of Time (AO3) | drabble | Kix Kix is used to working to deadlines: completing training sims, saving his brothers' lives... unravelling the mystery of the chips. He is used to failing too. But this time he missed not just the deadline, but also the aftermath, the rebuilding. How is he supposed to cope when he has missed his most important deadline by 50 years?

[whisperluck]

Since I love the Wublin island so much. I might as well talk about my headcannons about the Wublins. You can’t stop me! I will try to remember what I came up with the others from before. Something will change.

First thing first, for what I’ve known the Wublin’s aren’t related to each other. Regardless I see them as like a group of friends that are weirdos. As for ages, the oldest would the first five wublins, Wubbox and Monculus. With that out of the let’s begin!

Brump: (He/Him) The most easygoing guy around, you need a hype man to pump you up? Brump’s your guy! He maybe gross to others but he couldn’t careless, he like the way he is. Plus he is blind, there’s that.

Zynth: (Any pronouns) Doesn’t talk a lot, even when they do it’s inaudible. Zynth uses the most electric out of all the others. Like bright lights and will stare at it until it turns off. It’s tail is always on and makes a good nightlight.

Poewk: (They/Them) A total mystery, no one knows what’s really under that mask. Never speaks, just stares at you. Until they tap in morse code. Loves to knit anything, mostly blankets. Both Poewk and Whajje are the closest to Sceemu and help with communication for Sceemu. Loves DnD but none of the other Wublins know how it’s played. They found out that some members of faerie island are fans of DnD.

Thwok: (He/Him) Looks classic but really a huge dork like the rest of the Wublins. A huge fan of classical music and jazz. Takes good care of his fur which is silky smooth. Due to having a long tongue, he can not talk clear, the tongue stays out and doesn’t go back in. Still has taste.

Dwumrohl: (He/Him) Having many arms, means he can hide a ton of things, mostly snacks. Great at tell stories especially for those who can’t sleep. Loves telling joke and yes, every punch line is ended with a ‘Ba dum tss’.

Zuuker: (He/They) They breath by inhaling from their nose and exhales out of their hole. Don’t stand next to them, he gives off a lot of heat. Secretly an art critic, but he will not be nice and will hurt your feelings. Has really bad allergies and if they sneeze too much fire will come out of their hole.

Screemu: (They/Them) Due to being deaf , they are oblivious to everything. Communication is very hard for them. You can write to them or sign to them. Beware they scream talk sometimes. Have to have someone babysit them, it’s usually Whajje or Poewk. Screemu’s actions/ behavior is creepy to others. But really just goofy. Loves making sculptures with clay, twigs and ribbons. Screemu is also very sensitive and will cry.

Tympa: (He/They) Heavy Metal and Rock fan, like Brump a hype man. However doesn’t think twice, he’s a ride or died friend. Great at playing soccer and likes watching other sports. Due to banning they’re eardrums, they have a constant ringing in their ears. It doesn’t hurt or bother them, just hard of hearing.

Dermit: (He/Him) Shy at first, but when he warms up. He becomes a fun guy to hang out. He’s skin condition is unknown but it’s a fungus. Luckily it is not contagious. To keep him from itchy skin, he has to have a strict skin care routine. Which he hurts doing it because it take so long.

Gheegur: (He/Him) Shy and quiet guy. Soft spoken, hates conflict with his friends. Which rarely happens. Like Thwok he a big listener to jazz. A hopeless romantic along with Whajje, the two watch a lot of romance movies/shows and get too into it. Writes poems about romance and gets embarrassed about it.

Whajje: (She/Her, Trans) The mom of the group, a total sweetheart to everyone. Love to bake. She can only says ‘Whajje’ and everyone understands her. Whenever the T.V is down, she’s the one who has to take place it’s place. During the start of spring and fall, her feathers will shed. Which gets bad and doesn’t help with her self conscience.

Creepuscule: (She/Her) She a hot cheetos girl, will fight for you if someone upsets you. Great at doing makeup and nail art. While doing either, it’s the perfect time to spill the tea to her. Has no content of time and bad at planning things. Like Brump, she’s love the way she looks and makes you feel beautiful too.

Blipsqueak: (It/Its) The smartest of the group, however it can only say either ‘Eyes,Ears,Nose,Toes’ which makes them sound stupid. The lasers are scanners, like a laser pointer please do not look directly into it! It can in fact smell, hear and feel things which it’s feet.

Scargo: (He/Him) He’s autistic, due to this the other have to make sure he’s not overwhelmed. Love to fidget with toys like Rubiks cube but mostly just happy to tap he’s hands on something. If he does get overwhelmed he’ll just hide in his shell and scream.

Astropod: (He/Him) The chills and cool bro around. His back shifted different shades of purple don’t stare at it too long or you’ll get dizzy and pass out. If you were to lick him (why would you, gross) but if you do, you will go on a color trip. Just ask Thwok. He’s little hands do work, just with a little help.

Pixoloti: (He/Him trans) Has ADHD, is a huge nerd. Video games, Movies, Comic, Anime, you name it, he’s a fan. He gets big zoomies, like a cat at 4am. He’s hands and feet are switch, he walks on his hands and everything else like grabbing with his feet. He’s whiskers are use to smell things, they will wiggle around to smell.

Bona-Petite: Bona(pink he/him) Petite(blue she/her) Petite is a chaotic little gremlin. Bona just puts up with it and doesn’t bat an eye. The two can not be separated for long or else Bona will fall apart. Love spooky things and anything horror. Petite has a potty mouth and now has a swear jab. Which gets filled monthly.

Maulch: (He/Him) Looks mean and scary, but really a soft guy and smell like fresh mulch. Love to just stop and smell the flowers. He likes to eat his own berries and doesn’t mind the taste. A man of few words. Is Nearsighted and refuses to were glasses for his bad eyesight.

Fleechwurm: (She/They) If you thought Petite was bad. Well, Fleechwurm is worse. She acts nice and innocent, but will turn on strangers and steal they’re stuff. Like gum and candy. The other have to carry them around and they don’t weight no more then a couple of grapes. However, she is only close and will never turn on Scargo.

[castlebyersafterdark]

that shady wyfstw anon got me laughing too! i watched the film because finn had said it was the closest character to himself he had ever played and i was curious about what that would entail. not just the guitar and music, but the attitude and outlook. ziggy's insecurity really struck me, his front and facade felt very finn, and also the thing about him having thousands of adoring fans but few actual friends. finn also spoke about it being the first adult role he played, and i wanted to see his approach as a technically adult actor. i didnt notice any difference in the quality of his acting to ST, but it was certainly a more cerebral and pensive role.

also wanted to see what the fuss was about with his masturbation scene. it was honestly so tame that i was embarrassed for the folk who frothed at the mouth over it. it wasnt hot and it wasnt meant to be hot, it was showing ziggy's infatuation and apparently some people thought that he went about that a weird way. i imagine these people have never met a teenage boy lol. it was as standard as it gets: teen boy locks door, grabs a tissue, and jacks off to a poem written by his crush. what news lol

vinny i wouldnt build it up but i also wouldnt be afraid of it... its a casual indie movie, easy to watch in an afternoon, its not very emotionally heavy but its still interesting enough if you like tender performances and slow, thoughtful films with a bit of a bleak edge. people here be acting like its apocalypse now or gone with the wind lol

Oh, well I love that Finn was so into the project and found it relatable!! That's nice. It gives him opportunity to really dive into the head of a character, give an authentic portrayal. Maybe that's why he found it so difficult at times - this was one where he has some panic attacks, right? Too seen, too real? The vulnerability of acting.

I do hope that he takes on roles in the future where it's further removed from the self. Because I think we need to see him very deeply acting. Maybe that's not what he's into, though. Maybe he acts as a way to creatively process and find catharsis and even though yes, there's a the want for a lot of actors to find that relatability with all their characters - but I also think there's something worthwhile playing a non-relatable characters, a character so unlike anything you are. Get lost in it. Characters who are strange and entertaining and interesting - not everything must be relatable. Kinda want to see if he has the chops. Want to see how far he can go. But, and this isn't shade because it doesn't appeal to all actors- maybe that's not something that he wants to spend time and skill on so, oh well.

I will admit that I have also watched the masturbation scene because I wanted context. For the outrage and for the ooooh-ing and ahhhh-ing about it. It... wasn't really anything. Implied rather than anything else. Totally nothing burger. Fine and I guess important to context, but people make hills out of everything. This fear of sex is tiring. TOTAL teen boy move, first and final.

Yeah, it's less that I built it up in my mind as terrible or mind-blowing - it just without the Finn angle never seemed like a movie that would interest me in the first place. It's not the type of movie I typically seek out. Perhaps I'll give it a watch just to finally have context for all we talk about it on here, but from all the chatter now swirling around my mind, no clue what I'll take away from it. But maybe I'll end up loving it. Or just thinking it's fine, a one and done check it off the list film. We'll see!!

[shouyuus]

I ASSUMED YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING AND DRIVING SHEESH /jjj

okay okay for the ask game!

7 and 10 >:3

ask game!

OMFG PLS DO NOT TEXT AND DRIVE (i know its a joKE BUT STILL) i was half-joking about that post HAHAHAH

7. what scares you the most and why?

scares me the most? probably losing the people i love/care about? i have relatively little existential dread about dying myself. i think like having chronic depression since like... age 13 has rly cured me of that LOL but like. i am very deeply attached to my parents, so the mere THOUGHT that they could one day just not exist in this world anymore makes me want to like.... idk even. and i think its bc, as an only child, so much of me is tied to them. and im extremely lucky to have a great relationship w/ both my parents, so i love them both v much and i consider them my closest friends and confidants so. yeah. i like tear up IMMEDIATELY if i think about it too hard LOL

10. would you say you’re an emotional person?

yes!!! im a crier. i cry at movies. at tv shows. at books. at poems. at just about anything except for shit that happens to me in my own life? lmfao. i think it's a strange trauma response like. all the girlies at work r like okay how many times have u cried at work and im liek ??? uh zero??? wtf. and they're all like bruh but u have the most annoying clients and im like yeah but like. i just get angry and mean, i don't get sad, right. but yeah. im emotional. my response to most things is emotion first, and then i can like rationalize it out to myself >.< i am a very FEELSY type of person which is also i think one of my strengths (????) as a writer ? i try to feel my emotions as thoroughly as i can. if i'm happy, i try to be like okay WHERE in my body do i feel this happiness? my tummy? my fingertips? if im feeling angry, it starts at the back of my neck (at least for me) and i feel it kinda behind my eyes like this RINGING. etc etc that kind of thing

[emilieautumnarchives]

Happy New Year from the Asylum, and Rare Posters!

Posted: December 28, 2009 Archived from BonnyTymePyrate’s Journal Archives

Dearest Plague Rats,

Have I taken the time to thank you properly for being there with all of us lunatics on the N. American tour? If I have not, THANK YOU!!! From the bottom of my plague-ridden heart, thank you. As I said so many times on stage, you have proven me right and everybody else wrong (we have no audience in America? Really???), and I love you for that. Many of you drove for hours to see us, and god knows we drove for hours to see you;), and I now sit in a cell surrounded by letters and paintings and poems and rats and tokens of remembrance given to me by you, but the most cherished gift of all is that you sang with me. You sang with me, and you knew every word, and I will never forget that. My girls and I saw MANY of you beautiful Muffins coming to show after show after show, and in the end we felt like we were singing to old friends…and don’t think I don’t realize that a lot of you had waited more than five years to see me, and I thank you sincerely for not giving up on me that I would ever come to you, because I know for some time it seemed that I would never make it back to the homeland. I thought perhaps you would have forgotten me, but I didn’t give up on you, and we made this happen at last, both of us hoping and praying that the other would be there, and the magic is that we all were! So, is the economy down? Yes. Are ticket sales down more than 60% for all concerts in America no matter the artist? Yes. But did we all make it happen, and do what it took to find each other at last, despite these odds, AND dress up in our finest Asylum best? YES. Should I stopping asking myself questions? Yes.

Of course, for my VIP Book Reading PRs (you know you are all VIPs to us, PRs): You gave me your time and your love each and every night. You cried with me. You watched me bleed. You heard things about me that my closest friends don’t know, and you accepted them with open ratty hearts. And you sang “My Fairweather Friend” with me and gave new and happy memories to a song I had only before associated with sadness. I adored meeting you, I adored holding you in my arms and taking beautiful sexy crazy photos with you, I adored singing with you, I adored teaching you all about leeches (THE AMAZING LEECH!!!), I adored sharing out secrets, and we ALL enjoyed the tea cookies many of you made for us;)…we had some sweet after-show bus parties with those!

Lastly, I want to thank all of the parents (and there were many) who took their young Plague Rats to see us. Some of you knew about us and wanted to sing along too, and others just went because you saw how much it meant to your little ones that they could be there that night, and you may be sure that it meant just as much to me and the Crumpets, because (a) we recruit early;), and (b) there is something in the Asylum for everybody, regardless of age (we’re pretty much a dinner theatre children’s show anyway…). I saw (and was happy to meet many of you) mothers and daughters (often both dressed to the nines), fathers and daughters, mothers and sons, fathers and sons, (no, I won’t go through every genetic combination here) fathers carrying tiny daughters on their shoulders so they could see…having a four-year-old with a heart painted on her cheek call out “I’m still innocent!!” after the song “I Want My Innocence Back”…well, it just doesn’t get much better than that.

Now, Europe…N. America has raised the bar, so get ready to fight like a girl, because we are coming for you;)…and we can hardly wait!!!

Final note: Sir Edward and the Asylum presents a very limited number of Autographed German “Opheliac” Promotional Posters on eBay. These are up for one day only, and are a bit special if I do say so myself as they have never been made available to the public for sale, but were used for promotional store use only. They are also really big, and the ratties want to have them for dinner, so get them before they do…

So, for the moment, I wish all of my little rats all over the world a very Happy New Year of Plague spreading! I am so proud of us all;)!!!

With Love & Bloody Crumpets from the Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls, Block B, Cell W14, Inmate A,

EA, Sir Edward, and Basil

P.S.

The Asylum Army: Are You Committed?

P.P.S.

The Plague: Get it. Feed it. Spread it.

[archduchessofnowhere]

Has Empress Sisi ever fallen in love or had a lover? Thanks.

Hi! Short answer, yes and no. Longer answer:

When Elisabeth was around fifteen (some months before her engagement), she wrote a series of love poems dedicated to someone named "Richard", who died shortly after. It's assumed this man was someone who worked at the Ducal household (because at that age Elisabeth couldn't have known anyone outside her family and their entourage), but no one has ever been able to identify him, nor she ever talked about him in her later life: her love poems are really the only material evidence left of this first teen crush. And while in her biographies it's always a given that this was her first love, I personally think (and this is just my opinion) there's a possibility that perhaps these poems... were just poems. Like Taylor Swift writing love songs at fifteen when she had never dated anyone before. Whatever the case, these pieces must have been important for Elisabeth, since she kept them her whole life, and passed them over to her descendants.

She seems to have been in love with Franz Josef when they got engaged even if his position stressed her, as the very quoted "I love him so much, if only he were not the Emperor" shows (a quote that comes from Archduchess Sophie btw), and after they got married she wanted to spend as much time with him as possible and was in distress when she wasn't able to. They grew distant with time as Elisabeth found life at court more and more unbearable and started traveling abroad. Countess Mária Festetics, one of the empress' closest ladies-in-waiting, later said that "The Empress valued her husband and was deeply devoted to him. No... he did not bore her, that is not the right word. But she felt it to be natural that he took no part in her spiritual life and was unable to follow her flight to higher things (...) she respected him and liked him, but I doubt that she loved him". This is just her personal opinion and I don't think it should be taken as a fact, but it does show that in the later years of their marriage she didn't strike the people close to her as a particularly loving wife.

And lastly no, she didn't have any lover. We have no evidence of her ever having an affair other than unreliable gossip. For example, there were rumors about her friend Count Gyula Andrássy being her secret lover (and fiction writers love to depict him as such) but the truth is that they could've never had an affair because they were alone literally only once in the more than twenty years they knew each other. In a carriage ride. That lasted like fifteen minutes. Every other time they saw each other, they were accompanied by someone. Portraying them as lovers is a disservice to both of them (because how could possibly a man and a woman become friends for sharing the same political ideas, they must have been sleeping together!), and also just so boring.

Thank you for your question!

[gyaru-wish]

Other students that The Occult club, The bullies and The Delinquents would date

Before starting, I'd like to say that in my AU the ships are:

Shin/Umeji, Supana/Gita, Juku likes Kokuma but she is oblivious, Daku likes Tokuko but she is oblivious, Chojo/Borupen, Kashiko/Hana (crushes, not couple), Hokuto/Hayanari

Oka: Taro / Taeko Yamada

It is not necessary for me to explain this. This is the canon.

Shin: Budo Masuta

This ship was very popular in its time and that makes me happy.

I think I've said it before here on my blog, Umeji and Budo are "rivals" who fight over him. Shin's favorite is Umeji but if he wasn't available for x reasons, he'd date Budo because he's nice to him and has a nice body.

Supana: Hoshiko Mizudori

They are just so mean that they think it's romantic. If Gita wasn't with her, she would be a simp for Hoshiko.

Kokuma: Maka Tansei

She thinks it's very interesting. Maka really is weird but Kokuma would find it cute. Understanding the complexity of Maka is a challenge for Kokuma, and that would be a good dynamic I think.

Daku: Kokona Haruka

He likes people who know how to appreciate the efforts of others and literature, somehow. Kokona would appreciate his works such as poems, scripts, stories... And she would show them to all their friends and classmates. That would make Daku so happy.

Chojo: Daku Atsu / Kaga Kusha

It's hard to find someone he can stand. And it's hard to find someone who can stand him.

Almost everyone drives him crazy with rage and makes him desperate for his lack of patience. But Daku is like a Chihuahua to him. Shaky and small (Although Chojo is shorter than him) and after, like, three years of standing him, he'd give him some attention.

What happens if you put two crazy people together?... Chaos, destruction, world domination... Kaga is unknowingly seducing Chojo(?

Musume: Umeji Kizuguchi / Megami Saikou

She bullied him? Yes.

Does she care? No.

Basically Musume would date him just because he's a badass now. And she'd say things like "The bullying did help" and whatever because according to her, it's funny. Anyway, she knows that Umeji would have to be crazy three times to date her.

Musume doesn't like girls but money is the priority. We love you Megami.

Kokoro: ...Literally anyone who treats her nice.

She tends to "fall in love" fast. She doesn't really think things through, she just likes they because they gave her an ounce of attention, but then someone else shows up and she forgets about those "feelings". She is so silly.

Hana: Miyuji Shan

Hana loves her style. Plus she's a closet fan of the Strawberry Thieves. So if she had the chance to date Miyuji, even for a short time, she would take it.

Kashiko: Nobody

literally no one. There is no one she can be as honest with as she is with Hana. Hana is special and she couldn't be replace her with anyone.

Hoshiko: Info-chan

She won't even pay attention to her. She won't even turn to look at her. But that's what Hoshiko is drawn to, all the mystery around her. Although if for some reason (which would never happen) Info-chan gave Hoshiko attention, she would lose interest.

Umeji: Osoro Shidesu

Actually, the situation of these two is more platonic. Literally, paraphrasing the counselor, UMEJI LOOKED LIKE A DUCKLING FOLLOWING ITS MOMMY. But still, I don't know, everyone thinks that Umeji will be Osoro's suitor... So meh.

Gaku: Kokoro Momoiro

He knows that she is not in that combo because she wants to. She does it for convenience. Although that doesn't mean he forgives her for what she did to him, he would give her the chance...

Hokuto: His car

THIS IS A JOKE, HOKUTO IS NOT MACAPHILE-

Hayanari: Rojasu Norubiru

It wouldn't be possible, but for him it's the closest thing to Hokuto.

Dairoku: Dafuni Bureiku

She is a popular girl with money. And that's it. There's no more.

[malachitegrey]

tagged by @hakunahistata, thank you my friend!

How many works do you have on ao3?

20, but seven of those were written by @voluptatiscausa

What's your total ao3 word count?

125,289, which again counts the stuff vol wrote.

What fandoms do you write for?

Good Omens, and also technically Kushiel's Legacy, although I'm mostly just making stuff up in that one now. My AO3 also has one or two X-Files and Sherlock fics.

Top five fics by kudos:

once again, skipping over the ones written by vol...

float around your tongue

A le Tue Creature Dài Sustentamento

On-the-Job Conflict Resolution Starts With YOU!

Serpent's Eye

Be My Trellis

Do you respond to comments?

yes! this is not a heavy workload!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

you know, for all the angst i do write, most of my stuff actually does have a soft resolution at the end. the angstiest is probably electricity and starlight and even that is kind of a resolution? if you consider "kill your illusions" a resolution!

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

possibly We Yield Old Woe, which was designed to have a satisfying ending, or maybe Be My Trellis?

Do you get hate on fics?

not directly!

Do you write smut?

sometimes! i'm still learning.

Craziest crossover:

my only crossover is Serpent's Eye but as far as i know it is the only crossover between these fandoms so i guess that's crazy?

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

not that i know of!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i have not! vol's Fridge Poem Ficlets include poems by me but that's the closest.

All time favorite ship?

obviously going very hard for aziraphale/crowley right now and MSR will always have a place in my heart.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i'm not jinxing anything but there are a few things in my WIP folder that are extremely short and I can't remember what I was doing with them.

What are your writing strengths?

um. vibes? emotional gut punches?

What are your writing weaknesses?

p l o t

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

i have written some! in What Can Be Trapped Under Glass.

First fandom you wrote in?

terrible X-Files fic i submitted for a contest when i was about 15

Favorite fic you've written?

A le Tue Creature Dài Sustentamento

everyone i know has been tagged already so if you're reading this, consider yourself tagged!